Brusquely he gestured to the guard.
“Take them away. All but that one.” He indicated Ruark and when the others had left, he drew close and spoke in a low voice. “You seem to display some doubt as to your position here.”
Ralston waited but Ruark returned his stare without speaking, and the agent’s lips curled back in a snarl. “Unless you wish to return to England and get your neck stretched, I warn you keep a close tongue in your head.”
Ruark’s eyes did not waver, nor did he make any comment. The man had done him a great favor, though he could little realize its extent.
“Get with them.”
Ralston jerked his head toward the disappearing file of men, and Ruark obeyed swiftly, giving him no cause for anger.
Trahern’s ships plied the southern waters, staying away from the North Atlantic where great storms raged and icebergs made the voyages hazardous. They took to the islands rich baubles, fancy silks and other produce of the Continent and England, bringing back the raw materials that in the summer would be sent north again. New fields were cleared on the southern slopes of the island, and the timber thus gained was thrown off the cliffs into the sea, there to be gathered onto the smaller ships and taken to greater ports where it could be sawed into much-needed lumber. Gangs of men went from one field to another as the work was needed. Usually their first duties were to rehabilitate or construct quarters for the overseers and then themselves. Simple thatched huts with half walls were the rule, sturdy enough to provide shelter from the rains and constant sun.
John Ruark was first given to one of these overseers. He was diligent in his labors and offered many improvements for the operation. It was under his direction that a brook was diverted into a flume, and the huge logs were no longer laboriously dragged to the cliff’s edge, but by their own weight were sent on a rapid ride to the sea, thus saving much toil for both mules and men. The overseer was most thankful for this bright young man, because able hands were short enough, and even the mules tired quickly in the steaming heat. The taskmaster mentioned the bondsman’s name in his report to Trahern.
John Ruark was passed to another gang which set about to harvest the winter cane before the dry months came. There, he showed them how to burn the fields which reduced the plant to a charred stalk, still rich in juice, while clearing poisonous spiders and insects that would further reduce the number of bondsmen. He changed the small crushing mill so that a mule could turn the wheel instead of the half-dozen or so men it usually took. Again Ruark’s name appeared in the reports.
It was not long before his skills in engineering were known upon the island, and the overseers passed him around so that he might solve their problems. Sometimes the duty was easy, sometimes difficult, and as with the burning of the fields there was much reluctance, and he had to prove his ideas. Still, he progressed. His pay was doubled, then tripled. His possessions increased by one mule rendered him by a village merchant for labors performed in his spare time.
Above all of his other talents, he had a special knack for horses, and the spirited stallion, Attila, was brought to him lame, suffering from a pulled tendon in the foreleg. When it was made known to John Ruark that this was the favored steed of Trahern’s daughter, he tended it carefully, rubbing liniment into the injured leg and tightly wrapping it. Patiently he walked it and coddled it until the fine animal would take sugar from his hand, something not even the young mistress could get the horse to do. He taught it to come at his whistle and then, pronouncing it fit, sent it back to the lady.
For Shanna, her return was most welcome. She spent the days in riding her horse or swimming in the crystal sea, diving beneath its surface and on occasion spearing an edible fish or two to add to the fare at the table. She renewed her friendship with the people of Los Camellos and saw to the welfare of needy families. It was among her larger worries that in the past years they had been unable to find a tutor for the children, and the small school which her father had built stood empty. For the most part, her days formed into a lazy idyllic thread, like pearls on a string. Other ships stopped at Los Camellos for trade, and their officers usually dined at the manor, giving Shanna an excuse to gown herself appropriately and entertain them with her effervescent wit. She was mistress of the island, daughter of Trahern, and it was almost labor to constantly remind everyone that she was now Madam Beauchamp. It was a happy time for her, an interlude of bliss with enough duty entwined with pleasure to keep her from becoming bored with either. The haunting memories that had plagued her were becoming subdued at last.
February was well on its way, and it was on a Friday afternoon that she called for Attila and set out upon a lazy tour. She had taken the middle road up between the hills near the cane fields, much too close to the gangs of men her father had often warned her were dangerous—though few on Los Camellos woud ever harm the daughter of Trahern. Yet it was not wise to tempt fate, and here in the cane fields the gangs of bondsmen worked day in and day out. Still, Shanna was one to venture where she would with little thought of the consequences. It was a hot day, and Attila’s hooves raised small clouds of dust which floated lazily above the surface of the road. Having passed between the hills, she was headed down the southern slope when she came upon a man leading a mule along the side of the road. He was a bondsman by his garb, though that had been oddly altered. He wore the familiar wide-brimmed hat, and his shirt was thrown over the mule’s back, but his breeches were hacked off high above his knees. His back was well bronzed, and the muscles rippling there showed a ready, capable strength.