Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(219)

The room grew quiet, and only Ruark and Ralston showed emotions. Ruark was uneasy, while Ralston smirked in good satisfaction. Then suddenly from the porch a low enraged shriek came from Shanna. Ruark jumped, and Ralston lowered his glass in wonderment. In a hair’s space it was following by a ringing slap, the beginning of a curse growled by Gaylord, followed by a shout—that, too, from the knight—terminated in a loud grunt.

Pitney consulted his watch and said to Trahern, “Ale!”

All of them including Ralston started for the door at once, but before any could touch it, the portal was flung open, and Shanna flounched into the room, holding the torn bodice of her gown shut with one hand while she flexed the other as if it pained her. Her beautiful face was aflame beneath her wildly mussed tresses.

Trahern halted his daughter with a hand on her arm, and his eyes carefully searched her for some sign of mistreatment. “Is all well with you, Shanna child?”

“Aye, papa,” she replied brightly. “Better than you can guess, but I fear our lordly guest has taken to adorning the shrubs with his manly form.”

Trahern stepped past her as Ruark doffed his coat and laid it over his wife’s shoulders. Shanna gazed at him softly as he took her hand to examine it.

“Shall I avenge you, milady?” he questioned in a low voice without raising his eyes.

“Nay, my Captain Pirate Ruark,” she murmured. “Poor fellow, he’s had his just reward. Look yonder.”

She swept the injured hand toward the doors as her father and Pitney pushed them open. Trahern seemed to choke on something as the dim light spilled onto the porch to illuminate the lanky shape of Sir Billingsham as he struggled to pull himself over the railing that bordered the walkway. Shreds of leaves and broken twigs clung to him, protruding from his rose-colored coat in random array. The knight set his feet on the porch and, unconscious of those who stared, paused to pluck the greenery from himself. He had succeeded only to a slight degree when he raised his head to find three of the four men who watched smiling broadly at him, while the fourth gaped in stunned astonishment.

Sir Gaylord was equal to the occasion. Lifting his jowly chin, he stared back at them with a haughty gaze and strode loftily past them as they made way for him, ignoring Shanna completely. Still in all, his bearing lacked something, for his gait had an odd half-step quality caused, no doubt, by his missing shoe.

Tugging the oversize coat about her, Shanna gave a small curtsy. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said and swept out of the room, turning her hand as if it still ached.

Trahern regarded his empty glass for a moment before he sighed almost sadly and went to pour two tall ales, handing one to Pitney. Ralston helped himself to a short brandy and tossed it off before he, half embarrassed, excused himself and left. Trahern poured a third ale and offered it to Ruark.

“Ah, gentlemen,” the portly man chuckled after a long pull at his own glass. “I do not know what I shall do for excitement when the lass is gone.” His chuckle gave way to rolling mirth, which infected the other two and left him gasping in his chair.

“I think I will retire. I am getting too old for all of this.”

He left the room to them and as he went down the hall an occasional chuckle drifted back. Pitney refilled their glasses and nodded his head toward the door.

“A breath of fresh air, Mister Ruark?”

They strolled through the open doors and passed on down the wide veranda and admired the bright full moon, while John Ruark offered his large companion some tobacco from his pouch. To his surprise the man produced a well-browned clay pipe from his pocket and after a first puff of smoke nodded his appreciative thanks.

“Took the habit when I sailed on one of Orlan’s ships,” he murmured. “Hard to get good tobacco ‘way out here. But this is good. Aye, this is good.”

They walked on for a space in silence, leaving a fragrant trail of smoke behind them. They had almost returned to the drawing room doors when Pitney paused to knock the dottle from his pipe bowl.

“A pity,” the huge man commented as he tapped the pipe against his heel.

Ruark gave him a questioning look.

“A pity your brother, Captain Beauchamp, could not sail with us.”

Ruark’s face went blank as he sought for some denial.

“My brother?” was all he could manage, for anything more would have been a lie, bold and open.

“Aye,” Pitney returned, watching him closely in the meager light. He pointed at Ruark’s chest with the stem of his pipe. “And sometimes it tickles me mind that there is even more to Ruark Beauchamp than John Ruark lets on.”

Tucking the pipe in his pocket, Pitney went into the house, and when Ruark entered a few moments later, the room was empty.