Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(22)

Ruark’s regard moved to Shanna who seemed very small and quiet in her corner.

The carriage swung down the gully-washed road. Lightning flashed, and the thunder echoed across the hills. In the voluminous folds of her cloak Shanna flinched with each shattering explosion of sound. The jagged light streaked across the darkened sky, and only Pitney was aware of her distress.

Ruark broached a question to Pitney. “Will you be journeying back to London tonight?”

A grunt answered him. “Aye.”

Ruark thought for a moment about the man’s short reply before asking, “Why do you not stay at the inn? ‘Twill be a good three hours before you reach London.”

“A long enough ride on a night such as this,” Shanna flung at him sharply.

Her husband raised a sardonic brow at her tone and contemplated the snapping green eyes that pierced the gloom.

“ ‘Twould appear you’ve regained much of your courage now that you’re away from the good Reverend Jacobs,” he mocked lightly.

Shanna sneered as she had longed to before. “You crowing cock-a-jay, watch your tongue, or I’ll set Pitney on your tail.”

Pitney lowered his hat upon his broad brow and leaned his head back against the seat as if to snooze. It seemed his young mistress could handle herself once again. Ruark pondered his hulking companion, and then returned his full attention to Shanna who almost cringed as his hand reached toward her. He tugged at one of her hands, which was clenched in her lap, and by greater strength alone won it. Smiling casually, Ruark brought it halfway to his lips while Shanna squirmed nervously on her seat and warily cast glances at her protector to see if he really dozed.

“You are a flower surely, madam, but yonder thorn,” Ruark’s eyes briefly marked Pitney, “pricks me sorely. Indeed, madam, you are a rose, a soft-textured beauty of the bush, tempting, begging to be plucked, but should a careless hand seek to take you, ‘twould only find a multitude of spiney barbs.” He laughed softly, adding to Shanna’s unease and pressed his lips to a spot above her dainty wrist. “But then there is that one who tends the garden and knows no prodding of the thorns. With careful hands he reaches in to pluck the bloom and gently breaks the stem whereon it grows. Then ’tis his forever more.”

Shanna snatched her hand away. “Settle yourself, sir,” she admonished crisply. “Your wit is lagging.”

Shanna braced herself firmly in her corner as he raised his head and studied her. She did not know exactly what he might do, murderous scoundrel that he was. The thing she could not abide was that slow, jeering grin that came across his face, as if she only amused him. Where was his anger? If he lifted a hand to strike her, Pitney would be there to rescue her. No need, then, to pretend even a mild tolerance for him or bear his presence in her coach. He’d be bound and taken on top to ride with the guards.

A violent lurch of the carriage sent Ruark nearly on top of her, and Shanna quailed in sudden fright, raising an arm to shield herself from his attack. His amused chuckle close to her ear brought her courage back in a flare of scalded pride, and his hand upon her thigh as he braced himself drew her outraged fury. Much in the guise of clumsiness, she thought, the long fingers, whether intentional or not, touched her through her gown where no man had dared before.

“Get off me!” she choked in trembling rage and pushed with all her might against his wide shoulders. “Go fondle your doxies in the gaol.”

Pitney peered at them from beneath his tricorn, and Shanna straightened her skirts with a jerk, tossing a glare at both of them.

“And just where is this inn?” she demanded. “Do you suppose we might get there before I’m mauled to death?”

“Calm yourself, lass,” Pitney bade with a chuckle. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

Though only a few short minutes more, the remainder of the ride to the inn was intolerably long for Shanna. Even with Pitney’s cautious but relaxed gaze upon them, the nearness, indeed the very presence, of her colonial husband was stifling and made her agonizingly aware of the trickery she practiced.

At last the carriage pulled to a stop before the inn. A sign before the portal swung wildly in the wind, and trees swayed to and fro, barren branches plucking in nervous frenzy toward the sodden earth as if in search of comfort against the gale. The guards, exposed to the full force of wind-driven rain and sleet during the ride, did not linger for their charge but rushed into the place, leaving Pitney to do the duty.

Alighting from the carriage, Ruark pulled his cloak close around his neck and yanked the tricorn low over his brow, and as Shanna stepped to the door he turned and pulled her into his arms though she protested indignantly at this outrage. He bore her across the puddle-laden path. Shanna ground her teeth in displeasure, hating his boldness and the close contact of his hard, muscular chest.