John Ruark smiled slowly at his thoughts and rubbed his hand down the nape of his neck, familiarizing himself with the shortness of his black hair. He was garbed like the others in new duck trousers and sandals for his feet. The clothes were all of one size and uniformly large for him and his eight cohorts. Along with the items given him were a broad-brimmed straw hat, a loose white shirt, and a small canvas bag. This last had remained empty until they were taken to the Trahern store and given a razor, mug and brush, a small wooden-handled penknife, two more issues of clothing, and several towels as well as a supply of strong soap and an admonition to use it.
When the fitful breeze waned, the heat was intense beneath the board roof. A single overseer watched them, and it would have been a simple act to escape. But John Ruark surmised there would be little effort wasted in search or pursuit, for it would only be a matter of time before any man would have to come out of the jungle. There was nowhere else to run.
His eyes took in his surroundings as he plucked idly at the loose knee of his canvas breeches. They waited for Squire Trahern; they had been informed it was his habit to inspect and lecture all new arrivals. Ruark was eager to get a look at the fabled “Lord” Trahern and squatted patiently with the others but kept carefully to the end of the line. He was still alive and in the one place in the world he cared to be, that being the place currently occupied by Shanna Trahern. Or would she more properly call herself Shanna Beauchamp? He chuckled to himself. She had gained his name while he, in the same course of events, had lost it; and that would be another matter to settle.
His musings were interrupted by the arrival of the open barouche that had borne Shanna away from the docks. The tall, thin man called Ralston was the first to dismount and struggling down next came the man Ruark had seen greeting Shanna earlier. He assumed this was the dreaded Squire Trahern.
Ruark watched with interest as the man drew near. The squire’s manner was that of authority. He was large and portly, and there was an aura of power about him. Contrasting oddly with the dark woolens of his lean companion, he was dressed in neat white hose and gold-buckled, black leather shoes. His breeches were spotless white linen, serviceable but light and cool. His long waistcoat was of the same cloth and white like the shirt; ruffles and fancy stitchery were noticeably absent. An immense, wide-brimmed, low-crowned, finely woven straw hat shaded his face; he carried in his hands a tall, well-worn blackthorn walking stick as if it were his badge of office.
The two men came toward the shed and after saluting them, the overseer ordered his charges to stand and form a line. The squire took a packet from Ralston and unfolded a paper from it, studying it for a moment before stepping to the man at the beginning of the line.
“Your name?” he asked bluntly.
The bondsman replied in a mumble, and his new master made a check mark on his tablet and proceeded to carefully inspect his purchase. He felt the man’s arm, gauging the muscle in it, and studied the hands for signs of toil.
“Open your mouth,” Trahern commanded. “Let’s see your teeth.”
The man obeyed, and the squire shook his head almost sadly and made several notes in his log. Proceeding to the next man, he repeated the ritual. After the third bondsman, he faced Ralston.
“Dammit, man!” Trahern swore. “ ‘Tis a beggardly lot you’ve brought me. Were these the best you could find?”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Ralston chafed beneath the other’s scowl. “These were all I could get for love or money. Perhaps the choice will be better in the spring if the winter is hard enough.”
“Bah!” Trahern snorted. “A dear price, indeed, and all from the debtor’s block.”
Ruark’s brows lifted slightly as he took note of the man’s reply. So, the squire wasn’t aware he had purchased a felon bound for the gallows. Ruark considered this a moment and what effect it might have on him. He glanced up to catch Ralston’s frown directed toward him. Aye, ‘twas Mister Ralston’s doing, Ruark deduced, and if he had no wish to return to London to see his own hanging done, he’d best play the game.
After a close scrutiny of the eighth man, Trahern moved to Ruark, and there he came to an abrupt halt. His eyes narrowed keenly as he surveyed the last of his lot. The bondsman’s amber eyes revealed more than an average level of intelligence, and the smile that played about his lips was strangely disquieting. Noticeably different from the rest, this one was lean and muscular with wide shoulders and strong arms, a straight back, and the unbowed legs of a young man. There was no flab on him, and the flat, hard belly bore no hint of a paunch. It was rare that such a fine young buck would be found on the debtor’s auction block.