Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(238)
As Ruark took up his hat and coat, Ralston approached the door where he lifted the long rifle and ran his hand over the smooth, oiled stock of curly maple that bore an engraved brass plate.
“ ‘Tis a fine weapon you have here, Mister Ruark,” he commented when the younger man came to fetch it. “A costly one. Where did you get it?”
Ruark looked down the barrel toward the two hawkish eyes sighting him, and his own narrowed. Shanna held her breath, for the rifle was pointed straight at Ruark’s head, and the thin fingers caressed the trigger as if Ralston wished the gun were cocked.
“I must warn you now if you’re not aware of it,” Ruark casually gestured to the piece. “ ‘Tis loaded.”
Ralston smiled lazily. “Naturally.”
“Mister Ralston!” Orlan Trahern barked. “Put that damn thing down before you blow your own fool head off.”
At the command Ralston’s smile faded, and reluctantly he relented. Ruark caught the rifle from him and beneath the cold stare of the other man, drew a soft cloth over the stock and shiny plate, carefully wiping away the finger smudges. The insult was small but direct. Whirling on his heels, the thin man stalked out of the tavern, slamming the door behind him.
Three Chopt Road was long, in some places narrow, in others wide. Always the countryside varied. They trailed beneath high granite bluffs and teetered along rock-strewn paths on the brink of cliffs. The road plunged through valleys and jolted over logs laid to cover soft bottoms. In the late afternoon they passed a rare plantation and a few smaller farms with log cabins. A hand-hewn sign appeared by the roadside proclaiming a muddy crossing to be the Middle Valley Post Road. A small community blossomed here and beyond was a large house where a simple shingle swung in front, identifying the place as “Inn.”
The road-weary group were mostly silent over the meal of venison. They were content just to sit on a good, sound surface without being jarred or bumped or jostled, and conversation died away almost as soon as it was born.
“We’ve only three rooms to see you through the night, the keeper explained. ”The men will have to share two and the women the other.“
Gaylord glanced up from his plate and pointed to Ruark with his fork. “He can stay out in the stables with the drivers. That should leave Mister Ralston and myself in one and Squire Trahern and Mister Pitney in the other.”
Trahern’s scowl gathered as the knight spoke, and the innkeeper shrugged apologetically. “I’ve no more rooms, but there’s an old cabin out back that no one uses. Someone might sleep there.”
Ruark readily volunteered. Lifting his cup to his lips, he met Shanna’s gaze over it. Then he rose, setting down the mug and swinging up his coat. “I’ll see to Madam Beauchamp’s horses, squire. I would suggest an early bed as we’ll see a good day’s travel on the morrow, and it will be tiring enough.” He clamped the hat on. Turning, he leisurely sauntered across the common room to the door. “Good night.”
Chapter 25
SHANNA CHAFED beside the snoring Hergus and wondered at the time. No noise of movement or voices came from below or from the rooms down the hall, but she had no way of making sure that everyone was asleep.
“Hergus,” she whispered and to her satisfaction received no reply. It was not likely she could test her father or Pitney by the same method. But another half hour, she guessed, might see them all in a good, sound slumber.
Cautiously Shanna rose from the bed and went to the chair where Hergus had laid open her case. A woolen cloak lay atop the one side, and in the dancing firelight she wrapped it around her and then pushed her feet into a snug pair of slippers. Rain still trickled down against the windowpanes, and the wind moaned drearily around the eaves. A cold, wet night, but it would serve her purpose well.
The moments dragged, and Shanna slipped from the room, crept down the stairs, fled across the common room, and was out. Free! Her feet splashed through cold puddles as she ran, but her heart had taken flight.
The cabin was a dark shape beneath great overhanging trees, some distance from the inn. Timidly Shanna rapped on the rough wood of the door. Beneath her touch it creaked slowly open. No sound of greeting came from within, and Shanna pushed the door wider. Ruark was nowhere to be seen, though a fire hissed and crackled on the hearth, casting its warm flickering light upon the walls of chinked logs and the sparse and simple, rough-hewn furnishings. As the cabin was the only one behind the tavern, there was no doubt this was the one the keeper had spoken of. The wind and rain pelted Shanna’s back and billowed her woolen cloak forward as if to urge her further into the shelter. Its chill breath swept between the folds, penetrating the thin, delicately made batiste nightgown she wore beneath, and with its icy touch made the fire an irresistible lure. Gathering the wrap tighter about her shivering body, Shanna stepped within and turned to shut the door. She gasped as a dark shadow loomed before her. But the fear was short-lived, for the face beneath the dripping brim was the one she sought and welcomed.