The hour was late, and the moon was a swollen red ball low on the horizon. It seemed to squat there with ominous deliberation and gave no clue that it would become the pure silver goddess that fled across the sky and lent her name to stricken lovers. The streets were otherwise dark in the village, and Milly Hawkins shuddered as she strolled again by the appointed meeting place to find it still empty. Fretfully she paused and with a worried gaze swept the cobbled street in both directions. The skin on the back of her neck began to crawl, and her spine tingled coldly. She had the distinct feeling she was being watched. She peered into every nook and cranny but saw nothing. Then she gasped in fear as a tall shadow detached itself from a deeper one and came toward her. Her hands trembled to her mouth, and she stared hard for a moment before sagging in relief.
“Oh, ‘tis you, gov’na,” she giggled. “You gave me quite a start. Aye, ’at ye did. Ye’re late.”
The man shrugged and offered no explanation. He wore a full black cape which hid his stature, with a high collar pulled up close beneath a tricorn drawn down to hide his features in the darkness. His riding boots were of soft black leather, as were the gloves which covered his hands, and he carried a quirt as if he had just left a horse. As he drew nearer, Milly gave him no pause.
“Well, gov’na, ‘ave I got news fer ye. We got to ’ave an understandin‘ soon. ’At Mister Ruark ain‘ no good ter me at all like ye said he’d be. ’E’s already got him a missus an‘ ye’d never guess who. Miz Shanna Beauchamp, ’ats who. Only she ain‘ no widow no more. She’s Miz John Ruark, now. An’ the fun of it is, the high lady told me ‘erself.”
Milly paused to savor her news.
“Why, she ain‘ as good as me, beddin’ a bondsman. Ain’t got no taste atall. She’s kept it a fair secret, though.” The girl chewed at a fingernail for a moment, and her eyes took on a gleeful gleam. “Comes ter mind, ‘er pa don’t know, either. What a foin blow he’ll ’ave when I lets ‘im in on it. Me ma, too. She’s always pointin’ out ‘at high Miz Shanna and sayin’ be like ‘er. Well, I’s better’n ’er.” Milly reached out and caressed the arm of the man, missing the pinched frown he gave her.
“I gots me better’n any bondsman. I best tell ye now, gov’na, ye’ve got to pay the due. I ain‘ talkin’ no seaman what’s gone ‘alf the time. I wants me a man ’round when I gets me heat up.”
The quirt began to slap softly against the top of the man’s boot, but Milly did not notice as she bestowed her best smile on him.
“O‘ course, I ain’ one ter tie ye down, and if’n ye roams a bit I ain‘ goin’ ter howl ‘bout it. Not so long as ye comes back.”
The man slipped his arm around her and began to lead her down the street. Milly reveled in this unusual affection and misread his smile completely. She leaned against him and slipped her hand inside his cloak.
“I knows a quiet spot down by the beach,” she murmured, a suggestive look in her eyes. “ ‘Tis a hidden place with soft moss ter pillow me backside.”
In the shadowed street the echo of her light laughter dwindled.
The next day broke clear and cool, with a sharp edge to it that could almost be felt. At the first hint of dawn Ruark and Shanna awoke, and with a parting kiss, he made his way quietly to his own chamber where he shaved and dressed to await the manor’s first stirring. He lounged on the bed, listening to Shanna move about her room then rejected the idea of returning. Hergus scolded her enough without adding more kindling to the woman’s fire. It was a nightly occurrence now that they shared a bed even if it was only to lie in the comfort of each other’s arms until sleep would descend upon them both.
Making his way to the small dining room, Ruark poured himself a cup of coffee. The pungent, nutty taste of the brew had captured him, and he welcomed the steaming warmth of it on this rare chilly morn.
Milan had set out a platter of meats and small oatcakes, and at the man’s invitation Ruark was just seating himself before a liberal plate when Trahern and Shanna entered the room together laughing. The father wondered at the change in his daughter. In the past few weeks she had grown rosy-cheeked and lighthearted and ever since her escapade with the pirates she appeared to have lost much of her starched formality. The frequency of her biting comments had faded until she almost seemed a different person, a warm and gracious woman whose charm now rivaled her beauty. Trahern chuckled to himself, accepting the good fortune without question. The smell of buttered griddle-cakes filled his nostrils, and he hurried to his chair, leaving the seating of his daughter to Mister Ruark, as it seemed the man’s wont, anyway.