Ruark’s eyes gleamed with devilish humor, and his lips drew slowly into a deliberate smile. “You’re the light and love of my life, Shanna. Have mercy on me.”
Shanna lifted her fine chin. “Hah! It ever passes through my thoughts that you are much a rake and have had many ‘light and loves.’ I am hardly your first or only one.”
Gallantly Ruark held the door open for her to pass through. “The first I cannot deny, Shanna, for then I did not know of you. But you are my only love and shall remain for as long as I live.” His eyes were serious and seemed to probe her being. “I would demand no more of a wife than I am willing to give. I assure you, my love, that no day will pass henceforth but what you will be in my thoughts.”
Confused by the gentle warmth of his gaze and the directness of his words, Shanna could find no tongue to reply. It was impossible to determine whether he mocked her or told the truth. He was not like any man she had ever met. When she spoke to hurt him, calling him names or seeking to thrust a deeper insult, he took it in stride or with humor and continued to compliment her. Where was the end of his patience?
Lost in her musings, Shanna moved past him and entered the inn. While he doffed his rain-soaked cloak and tricom, she waited, for the moment appearing the docile wife. He returned and with a hand riding the narrow curve of her waist, he guided her to the table Pitney indicated. It was tucked securely into a dark corner, leaving no room for an easy escape.
Mister Hadley and John Craddock having preceded them by some moments, were now seated at the long common table that filled the center of the room. The inn was empty save for the keeper and his wife, for the local patrons had fled to their homes with the onset of the storm. A fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth, casting wavering shadows across the rough wooden beams supporting the ceiling and providing warmth for the damp guests. After a long frown of warning to Ruark, Pitney joined the two guards and quickly drained a tankard of ale.
Much relieved to find himself at a table alone with his bride, Ruark seated her and took a place close beside her. Soon a hearty meal was set before them all, juicy roast meats, bread and vegetables, and a rich wine for the couple. Aware of her husband’s unwavering stare upon her, Shanna found her fingers less than steady and her appetite not at all what she had claimed. He was beginning to wear on her nerves. She had never known a man with such persistence and singleness of mind. She could well understand what he was thinking as he leaned back in his chair and regarded her. And not wanting to answer any question he might broach, she asked some of her own.
“Who was the girl you were accused of murdering? Was she your mistress?”
Ruark raised a brow at her. “Shanna, love, must we discuss that on our wedding night?”
“I’m curious,” she insisted. “Won’t you tell me? Why did you do it? Was she unfaithful to you? Was it jealousy that drove you to kill her?”
Leaning forward to rest his arms on the table, Ruark shook his head and laughed harshly. “Jealous of a chambermaid I spoke but a few words with? My dear Shanna, I never even knew her name, and I’ve no doubt she had many men before me. I was just there in the common room of the inn where she worked, and she left another man to come to my table. She invited me to her room—”
“Just like that? I mean, wasn’t there more between you? You had never met her before?”
Ruark frowned and thoughtfully considered the liquid in his glass as he swished it slowly from side to side. “She recognized the color of the coin in my purse when I paid for my meal. It was enough to make us friends.”
The bitter tone in his voice spoke of much Shanna did not understand.
“You are sorry for killing her, aren’t you?” Shanna pressed.
“Killing her?” He laughed shortly. “I don’t even remember bedding the wench, much less laying a hand to her otherwise. She took my purse and left me with naught but my breeches to meet the redcoats who dragged me from her bed the morning after. They accused me of slaying her, because she carried my child, but God knows that’s a lie. ‘Twas impossible as I had just journeyed from Scotland and taken a room at the inn that same afternoon. I never laid eyes on the wench before that. But I was brought before the magistrate, Lord Harry, he called himself,” Ruark sneered, “and given a moment only to plead my cause before they charged me with lying and cast me in the darkest dungeon ’til Lord Harry himself decided what my guilt was. Murder, he claimed, because I rebelled against marrying the twit. Can you imagine with all the bastards in the world how such a thing could be true? It would have been easier to flee the country. And even simpler yet, if in a maddened state I did kill the girl, to escape from her room before the innkeeper came to rouse her for the day’s work. But like a backward oaf, I took my repose upon her sheets until the next day dawned fair and bright. By God, I did not kill her. As I know myself I did not!”