Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(48)

His hand wandered up her back beneath the silken tresses and fingered them lightly. His smile broadened into a rakish grin, more like the Ruark she had known in the coach. It suddenly penetrated that he was not mad, but instead, was bent on revenge.

“ ‘Tis not in my mind to let your secret out, Shanna, but I gave to the bargain all that you demanded. The only thing left wanting is your part of the agreement, and my dear, I shan’t rest ’til I see it done.”

Shanna’s mind flew aimlessly in ever-widening circles. “No bargain!” she cried, straining against him. “No bargain! You are not dead!”

“The bargain is met!” he snarled. “You have my name and all you desired. ‘Tis no fault of mine that Hicks is greedy. But I seek the full cost of my barter, a whole night with you as my wife, alone, and with no one to snatch open the door to drag me out.” He leered down at her. “I think you might enjoy it as well.”

“Nay,” Shanna whispered, shamed by the memory of her own response. “The marriage was consummated. Be content with that.”

Ruark chuckled derisively. “If you’re not woman enough to know, my darling innocence, we had barely begun and ‘twas not completed by any means. A full night, no less, Shanna. That is my end!”

It was best to humor him, she thought, at least until she was able to escape, and then Pitney…

Ruark’s eyes narrowed in warning. “Though your womanhood is sorely lacking, Shanna, I have bested the hangman to find you out. Should you set the hounds or that great oaf Pitney or your father after me, I shall escape them all. And I promise you I will come and claim my due. And now, my loving wife—”

His hands dropped away, and he reached for Attila’s bridle, bringing the horse around. Bending, he folded his hands for her to step, and Shanna, eager to be gone, did not hesitate. With a hand upon his sturdy shoulder she sprang upward, lifted by his boost, and settled upon the saddle. A gasp caught in her throat as his hand reached toward her and very boldly led her knee around the horn. Snatching the reins, Shanna jerked Attila around and set her heel to his side until the stallion fairly flew along the road. Ruark’s low, mocking laughter rang in her ears long after she had left his sight.

In front of the white sprawling mansion, Shanna pulled the steed to a halt and flung herself from its back, leaving a servant to chase it down the lane in order to catch it. Racing past Berta—who paused to gape in surprise—Shanna plunged up the curving stairway and slammed the door of her sitting room behind her. She locked it quickly against any intrusion and leaned against it, panting for breath.

“He’s alive!” she gasped. She threw her riding gloves down upon the tall secretary and stormed toward her bedchamber. She left her boots and riding habit in a careless heap upon the rich carpet. In the light chemise, she paced angrily.

“He’s alive!” she raged. “He’s alive!”

There was a dread, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, yet near her heart, pounding heavily beneath her breast, there bloomed an odd sense of elation, even freedom. Beneath her swirling thoughts, it occurred to her that she had felt bound by the death of a man for her own gain. A recurring dream of that sturdy neck twisted by a rope was cleansed from her mind, and a vision of a rotting corpse in a wooden box disappeared, never to be recalled.

“But how? I saw him buried. How—could—this—be?”

Her fine brow showing a puzzled frown, she walked about her chamber and considered this more deeply.

Bondsman? Ralston was responsible for all bondslaves coming to Los Camellos. But how did Ruark come? The Hampstead? Nay, there were no bondsmen sailing on it. Only the Marguerite!

Good lord! Right beneath her nose!

Hysterical laughter threatened, and she flung herself back across the bed, throwing an arm over her eyes as if to shut out the vision of those smirking amber eyes.





Chapter 6




SHANNA STAYED AWAY from the hills and the plateau on the south side of the island. When bondsmen were brought in from the fields, she made it a point to be elsewhere. Whenever she rode Attila, she was careful to stay close to the village or the grounds of the manor. But as she saw no more of Ruark, her apprehensions eased.

Nearly a fortnight had passed when her father urged her to take a ride with him in his carriage, since he had some business in the high cane fields.

“We’ll take a basket of food along,” he said, looking at her and almost smiling. “Your mother and I—we would all go on an outing. You used to love to chew on a stick of cane.”

Growing uneasy at his own nostalgia, Orlan Trahern cleared his throat sharply.