Shanna was as bright and cheerful as the day was fitful and stormy. She gave herself to waving when persons were sighted along the bank and held her gay spirit even when Gaylord ventured upon the deck in a gloomy mood and bewailed the weather in these climes. But it was much to the relief of all that he shivered in his fox-trimmed cloak and soon took himself back to the nether regions of the ship.
Shanna’s day was only dimmed when the night drew nigh and Mister Bailey ordered the anchors cast out, though Richmond was but some twenty-odd miles away. The man was insistent.
“ ‘Tis not wise to ply the river at night,” he asserted. “A stray current could send ye fast aground, and snags cannot be seen. Better to wait the darkness out and be sure of arriving.”
The wind keened through the rigging the next morning and drove a stinging spray with it, keeping even Shanna inside. She paced the narrow confines of her cabin, suddenly unsure of her self-control. How could she keep from flinging herself into Ruark’s arms in a rush of joy? She would have to reach deep for whatever strength she could muster. A wrong step now could send him to the gallows.
The door burst open, and a gust of wind swept in, bringing Pitney with it. He rubbed his hands and warmed them at the small pot-bellied stove before he spoke.
“We’re almost there. Only a mile or two more. The wind is nigh dead abeam, and the current is strong, but another half-hour should see us tying up.”
Shanna drew a deep breath as the battle raging in her breast blossomed to a din near to bursting. Taking her emotions in a firm grip, she nodded calmly. After Pitney and her father had left for the upper decks, she followed in their wake, outwardly docile.
Crewmen were swarming in the rigging to secure the wind-wild sails as the Hampstead was warped closer to the landing. No sooner was the gangway opened and the plank lowered than Ruark came leaping aboard, a dripping cloak whipping about his boot tops. Runnels of rain trickled from his broad-brimmed hat as he thrust his hand toward Trahern and laughed ruefully.
“ ‘Tis a poor day for a welcome, but there are places where the rain is considered a good omen.”
“And I trust ‘twill be,” Trahern rumbled and broached what had of late become his favorite subject. “By God, Mister Ruark, this land of yours is a veritable warehouse of treasure. I have never seen such untapped riches just waiting”—he chuckled with anticipating relish—“for the touch of a master merchant to bring them alive.”
Ruark turned and waved his arm, bringing two carriages and a covered wagon alongside the ship before he gripped Pitney’s hand in welcome.
“ ‘Tis much on my mind, lad,” the huge man rumbled, licking his lips, “that a good tankard o’ ale would warm me innards. Could it be that your colonials have a dramshop where a man might ease a terrible thirst?”
“Aye,” Ruark laughed and pointed off in the direction of the dock street. “The Ferry Port, that white-washed building there, has a keg of England’s best on tap. Tell the keeper that John Ruark will buy the first.”
Pitney left with a haste that gave credence to his plea and made Gaylord step quickly from the plank, else be brushed aside onto the cobbled jetty. The knight glared haughtily at the broad back but Pitney gave no pause or notice. Gaylord continued on his way toward the shipping office to claim the baggage he had sent ahead on the English frigate.
Ralston had also departed the ship, and for a moment Ruark watched as the thin agent stalked across the pier, the hem of his cloak whipping about his knobby calves.
Not so much as a glance had Ruark given Shanna, who waited demurely several paces behind her father. But now he faced her and his eyes told her everything, Her hand trembled as it hid itself in the encompassing warmth of his.
“Shanna—Madam Beauchamp.” His voice was only slightly strained and husky. “You have provided the brightest moment in my day.” As she stared, his lips moved further in soundless vow. “I love you.”
The ache in Shanna’s throat was almost unbearable as she gave him a casual smile and replied, “Mister John Ruark, I have missed your wit and humor at the table, to say naught of your clever comments and your dancing. Have you been to any festivities of late? Perhaps some colonial lady has caught your eye.”
She bent him a cool, questioning gaze, and Ruark laughed lightly.
“You know my heart is committed, and Dame Fortune has decreed that I should find no other as fair.”
He watched the slow flush of pleasure spread over her face. He had not released her hand and now tucked it beneath his arm as he cast a wry glance toward the heavens.
“There is an ancient oriental saying about the wisdom of standing in the rain,” Ruark mused aloud. “If you will allow me, Madam Beauchamp, I will escort you and your father to a place where you might have a cup of tea while the coaches are loaded.”