Beneath his searching hand, she lay soft and pliant, meeting his kisses with gentle ardor.
“Would I leave my own heart, the very breath of my life?” Ruark asked hoarsely.
“And what of children?” she whispered.
“We’ll have a dozen,” Ruark assured her. “Give or take a score.”
Shanna laughed. “Is it enough to begin with one?”
“Oh, one or two.” His caresses grew bolder. “Whatever the market bears.”
“But of this one—would you be amiss if we had a girl?”
Ruark paused and the silence grew—and grew. Very gently he drew back the cover, revealing her body to the warm light of the fire, touching her taut breasts and the smooth belly.
“That is what is different,” he smiled.
“Are you sorry?” she breathed, watching his face.
“Nay!” He grinned wide, covering her with the fur again. “How long?”
“Were I to guess,” Shanna drew a breath, “I would say the pirate’s isle.”
Ruark chuckled suddenly. “More good comes from that with every passing day.” He leaned nearer and said soberly, “I need you, Shanna, love.” He kissed her softly. “I want you, Shanna, love. I love you, Shanna.”
He was caressing, searching, and again their passions bloomed. The fire reddened, the coals grew dark, and the long night passed with a swiftness little noted.
It was still dark when Ruark escorted Shanna back to the inn, but the first rays of the dawning sun were slipping further up on the horizon. All was still within the common room. A hound lazily rose from the cold hearth and sought a softer place on a braided rag rug, giving them no more than a disinterested glance. They eased their way up the stairs and parted at the chamber door with a last, fierce kiss that would have to suffice the day long.
Moments fled, and it was quiet again. Then the door at the end of the hall opened wider, and Ralston strode out of the room he shared with Gaylord, his storklike frame clothed in a long robe. Pausing before Shanna’s door, he smirked thoughtfully to himself and tapped his cheek.
“Madam John Ruark it might be, milady,” he mused derisively. “But soon you will feel the prick of being a widow again. This I vow.”
The rain had cleared, and the sun had made its debut with a frosty nip that stung one’s cheeks and nose. Shanna waited with Ruark in the shelter of the doorway as the carriages were hitched and brought about. Her father and Pitney were still inside the tavern, finishing the last of their coffee, while Gaylord stalked in circles a short distance away from the young couple in an effort to drive away the cold. Shanna’s hands were clasped deep in her muff, and she huddled in the fur-lined velvet cloak. Though she knew it would be a long day before they arrived at the Beauchamps, she had taken special care with her appearance. The royal blue velvet gown with its frothing of old lace at the throat did her uncommon beauty full credit. Her hair, dressed high beneath the deep hood of the blue cloak, gave her an air of dignity and sereneness, and as Ruark’s eyes feasted upon her, he could only wonder at the variety of women he had glimpsed in this small, trim form, from bold, seductive temptress to the quiet, cool, graceful lady she now portrayed.
Sneering, Ralston passed them.He was less than cautious of Shanna this chilly morn as he questioned offhandedly, “Did you sleep well, madam?”
Shanna did not pause. She smiled sweetly. “Indeed I did, sir. And you?”
He tapped his whip against his boot. “Restless most of the night.”
Without further comment Ralston walked away to where Gaylord chafed and grumbled, leaving the two to stare after him in bemusement.
“What do you suppose he meant by that?” Shanna asked, looking up at Ruark.
“That, my love, only he knows for sure,” Ruark replied, staring at the man from under his brows.
After Trahern seated himself in the coach, Pitney climbed in and took a place beside the portly squire, drawing a raised eyebrow from Trahern, who realized that the girth of the two could have been more evenly distributed. Orlan tapped the knee of his stalwart companion and spoke his piece.
“Watch your flapping wings, my good man. I can well imagine the bruises you put upon Sir Gaylord’s ribs, and I’ll have none of the same.”
The seating arrangement left Shanna to be handed in by Ruark. Gaylord, seeing the lass alone on the seat, made bold to join her, brushing the bondsman aside and setting his foot on the step to climb in, but Trahern’s staff suddenly barred the way.
“Would you mind riding in the other coach?” the squire requested. “I would like a word with my bondsman.”
The knight straightened himself arrogantly. “If you insist, sir.”