“Come along, girl. I haven’t all day, and the carriage is waiting.”
Shanna could not refuse him and smiled at his suddenly brusque manner. In the barouche and upon the road, she considered her father. Since her return he had become more tractable. Or was it herself? When he was wont to rave on some minor point, she no longer challenged him or argued with his idea, but rather let him rave on until he had worn his ire thin; then, smiling and gentle, she would calmly agree, or disagree as might be the case, firmly but without the open antagonism of before. And he would snort and carp a bit if she stood against him or smirk and preen if she were with him. She could almost say he valued her opinion and recognized that often she held more insight than he did.
The air in the hills was cooler, the breezes refreshing. Patiently Shanna waited when the carriage paused here and here while her father talked with overseers or left for a moment to see to some trifling matter. They stopped to eat and then resumed riding. They came onto a large cleared field in the center of which a strange wagon was being drawn at a slow pace by mules. A wide cloth shade spread out on either side of the wagon like the wings of a bird, and beneath it a file of men with bags of seed and long sticks walked along poking holes and dropping the seeds into them, pressing the dirt back over them with their bare feet.
In alert attention, Trahern sat forward in his seat and stared past his daughter at the odd contraption. He waited eagerly for the overseer, who was hurrying to the carriage.
“Aye, sir, he’s a smart one that,” the overseer answered her father’s question. “We cleared the field in record time, just cut out the big trees and burned the rest. He said the ashes ‘ud sweeten the soil. And then, that thing ye see there. Why, a man would have to take a bag o’ seed from the shed, an‘ ’fore an hour were passed he’d be back for more seed, to take a rest and a drink. That ‘ere tarp gives ’em shade, and the wagon has seed and water, so we got the field almost planted. Cleared and planted in a week. That’s good, ain‘ it, squire?”
“Aye,” Trahern agreed. He paused for a long time, observing the progress of the planting. Shanna saw that one man stood apart from the rest and did not labor as the others. His back was bare and though it was turned toward them, there was something oddly familiar about him.
Trahern spoke to the overseer. “And you say this fellow, John Ruark, it was all his idea?”
Shanna’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment the world seemed to stand on end. Of course it was him! Those shortened breeches!
The world was steady again, and she drew air in her lungs and calmed her trembling body, eyeing him surreptitiously. As he walked slowly along inspecting the results, sweat glistened on the firm muscles of his back, and his long, brown legs were straight and strong… She could almost feel again the bold thrust of him between her thighs and blushed profusely at her own musings. Leaning across, she plucked at her father’s sleeve.
“Papa,” she pleaded. “I’ve been too long in the sun, and my head aches. Can we go back now?”
“In a moment, Shanna. I want to talk with that man.”
Her heart thumped in her throat. She could not bear to meet Ruark face to face. Not here! Not now! Not with her father!
“I’m terribly sorry, papa, but I feel most ill. A trifle dizzy. Can we please go?” she urged in desperation.
Trahern regarded his daughter for a moment in concern and then relented to her request.
“Very well. I can see him later. We’ll go.”
He spoke to his black driver, Maddock, and the carriage wheeled about, setting off on the route to the manor. Giving a long sigh, Shanna leaned back and closed her eyes as relief flooded over her. But when she opened them again, she found her father staring at her with an odd half smile on his lips. His gaze was steady, and she grew uneasy under it then began to squirm.
“Can it be, Shanna, that you are with child?” he questioned softly.
“Nay!” she blurted out. “I mean, I think not. I mean, the time was so brief. We barely—” She clamped her mouth shut.
“You mean you don’t know?” Trahern snorted. “ ‘Tis been time enough. Surely you know about these things.”
“I—think not, papa,” Shanna replied and read the disappointment in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
She gazed down at her tightly clenched hands as Trahern stared straight ahead, uttering no further words the entire way home.
Berta met them at the door. Her quizzical glance swept them both briefly and then settled on Shanna. Having had her fill of questions for the day, Shanna brushed by the housekeeper and quickly mounted the stairs to her chambers. This time she had the presence of mind to put away her clothes as was her manner, and, clad only in a light shift, she fell across her bed and stared at the treetops beyond her balcony. The French doors were set ajar to catch the cooling afternoon breezes, and an airy rush stirred the filmy silk tied to the heavy canopy over her bed. The sweet scent of the flowering vine twining over the railing swept across the veranda and filled her room with its heady fragrance and Shanna stared—and she stared—and she stared.