Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(47)

Attila snorted and shook his head. Shanna would have reined the animal away to give the man wide berth, but as she passed by the bondsman, a tan arm shot out and firmly grasped the bridle of her steed. On any other occasion the stallion would have revolted and jerked away from unfamiliar restraint, but Attila only whinnied as he nudged the outstretched arm. For a moment, stunned by the steed’s reaction, Shanna could only stare wide-eyed as the horse nuzzled the fellow. Then gathering her wits, she glared down at this incursion of her freedom. She opened her mouth to demand her release. The man turned, and her ire fled. Her jaw dropped as overwhelming disbelief numbed her brain.

“You!” she choked out.

Mocking amber eyes gazed back at her. “Aye, Shanna. ‘Tis the good man, John Ruark, at your service. ’Twould seem you have gained a name, my love, while I have lost one.” He grinned confidently. “But then, ‘tis not oft a man can cheat both the hangman and his wife.”

Some sanity returned to Shanna, but panic was heavily mixed with it.

“Let go!” she snapped and jerked the bridle. She would have fled, but Ruark’s weight held the stallion in place. Her voice broke with the fear she felt. “Let go!”

“Easy, my love.” The golden eyes glinted like hard metal. “We have a matter to discuss.”

“Nay!” She half screeched, half sobbed the word. She lifted the quirt in her hand as if to strike but found it snatched from her fingers and her wrist seized in a merciless grip.

“By God, madam,” he growled. “You will listen.”

His hand clamped tightly about her narrow waist, and she was seized from the saddle as if she were a child and was set on her feet before him. Frantically Shanna struggled, her small, gloved hands pushing against the dark, furred chest that seemed to fill her whole entire vision. He gave her a rough shake that threatened to snap her head off and did, indeed, send her wide-brimmed hat sailing off into the grass and the neat roll of gilded hair tumbling down her back in a torrent. Shanna stilled, staring helplessly into his scathing eyes.

“That’s better,” Ruark jeered and loosened his painful grip only slightly. “You are not so haughty when you fear.”

Shanna summoned a show of weak bravado and lifted her quivering chin. “Do you think I’m afraid of you?”

The white teeth flashed against his bronze skin as he laughed at her, and Shanna could only mark the resemblance he bore to a swarthy pirate. The pallor of the gaol had faded, and in its stead the brown skin gleamed with the healthy sweat of one who now enjoyed his freedom.

“Aye, my loving wife,” he mocked. “And perhaps you have cause. Hicks vowed me mad after you betrayed me, and well I was with a devil’s desire to have revenge upon my beauteous spouse.”

The color drained from Shanna’s cheeks as his words brought back the memory of what Pitney had said. With a choked sob she renewed her efforts to escape, then writhed in silent agony as his fingers clenched again in a cruel vise.

“Be still,” Ruark commanded, and Shanna had no choice. She was far from subdued, though she still trembled violently with fright.

“If you don’t turn me loose I’ll scream until they hang you! And for good this time! Damn it! I’ll bring this island down around your ears!”

“Will you, my dear?” he lightly taunted. “And what will your father say of your marriage then?”

Pricked by his scorn, she was reckless and sneered, “Then what do you intend? Rape?”

Ruark laughed caustically. “Do not fear, Shanna. I have no urge to tumble you among the weeds.”

She was bemused. What did he want? Could she buy him off?

As if he read her mind, Ruark set the question straight. “And I want none of your father’s wealth, so if you think to bribe me, your efforts are wasted.”

He raised a dark brow and considered her flushed cheeks and the soft, trembling mouth. His gaze moved even lower and surveyed her heaving bosom, until Shanna wondered wildly if he could see through her riding habit. Beneath his steady regard, her breasts burned, and she could not control her rapid breathing. Feebly she crossed her arms before her as if naked beneath that stare. Ruark smiled evilly and gazed again into her eyes.

“In the gaol my mind was tortured by your beauty, and I could not forget even the smallest detail of you in my arms. That image was seared upon my memory as if you had branded me.”

He stared at her for a long time with a half-mad light in his eyes that made her doubt her own sanity at ever having sought him out. Then he smiled and became more gentle.

“I will yet find a way to reach among the thorns and pluck the rose,” he vowed.