Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(50)

Some time later Berta’s knock sounded on the door. She announced the evening meal, and Shanna pleaded illness as an excuse. The sunset faded into darkness, and again Berta gave a gentle rap upon her door. This time Berta would not be put off and insisted that Shanna open the door. Admitted at last, the kindly old woman brought to the bedside a tray with a covered plate of meats and a large glass of cool milk.

“It vill settle your stomach, Shanna,” Berta urged. “Is dere something else I can get you?”

Shanna’s insistence that it was only a bit too much of the sun left Berta clucking her tongue and mumbling about the carelessness of “dis new cheneration” as she returned to the stairs.

Shanna nibbled at the food and sipped the cool milk. Becoming drowsy, she donned her shortened nightshift and slipped between the silken sheets. She was half asleep when somewhere in her mind came a memory of hands cupping her breasts and a mouth, hot and sweet, caressing the softness of them, kisses bruising her lips and searing downward the length of her throat, strong arms crushing her against a hard body, again that first burning thrust and then—

With a burst of fear Shanna came wide awake and then slowly eased back upon her pillow as she realized she was alone in the room. The familiar shadows stalked across her walls, but there was no help for the hollow ache within her. She drew a pillow close and nestled against it. Was it another trick of her mind when, just before deep sleep took her, she felt the hard muscles of a man’s back beneath her fingers?

Morning gave her no answer. The pillow was just a pillow. But the night’s sleep had done wonders. She rose, bathed, and donned a cool gown of pale turquoise, standing still as Hergus laced her narrow waist tightly. With its square décolletage, the garment displayed the higher curves of her round breasts. She considered her reflection in the tall looking glass and idly smoothed her hair, which was swept tightly from her brow and caught in a mass of cascading ringlets. A petulant scowl puckered her brow as Ruark’s taunting words seared through her brain. Womanhood lacking? How so? Where does he find me lacking? In looks? In stature? In wit? Where? A reply was not to be gained from the mirror, and Shanna left her chambers to join her father in a late breakfast as had become their habit since her return.

It was Orlan Trahern’s custom to be up at daybreak, but most often now, unless there was other business pressing, he waited his morning meal upon Shanna’s company. It was usually a pleasant time, though few words were spoken. But as she descended the stairs this morning, Shanna heard voices from the dining room. It was certainly not out of the ordinary for the squire to entertain at the morning meal, and business was generally the topic. But somewhat wary of who visited, Shanna made her way more cautiously. It was Berta who forced the issue.

“Goot morgen, Shanna,” the housekeeper greeted brightly. “Ya’re feeling better today?”

Then her father’s voice came through the open door.

“Here she is. My daughter, Shanna.”

A chair creaked, and in a moment Trahern’s great hulk filled the doorway as he came to greet her. Taking her arm, he led her toward the fresh airy room where white lattice screens allowed breezes to flow through the windows while filtering out the sun and its heat.

“I’m sorry, child, but I wanted to speak with this man,” the squire apologized as he escorted her in.

Shanna halted suddenly as she saw the one mentioned, and she snatched her hand from her father’s arm. The color fled her cheeks, and her lips parted in surprise. Trahern returned to lift her hand again and consider her with a worried frown. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as he spoke to her.

“Aye, a bondslave.” His tone was reproaching. “But I think ‘tis not beneath us to share a table with him. If you would be the mistress of this house, be a gracious one and greet all I summon here as my guest.”

“Come now, Shanna,” he continued more loudly, tucking her hand in his elbow and patting it gently. “Meet Mister Ruark, John Ruark it be, a man of some learning and of a good mind. He has done us well, and I must consider his advice on some matters.”

John Ruark rose to his feet and amber eyes smiled at her, touching her everywhere when Trahern turned to have a word with Berta. The blush returned quickly to Shanna’s cheeks, mounting high as she experienced again that sensation of being stripped naked by his golden gaze. She mumbled inanely through a greeting while her own regard passed disdainfully over the short breeches. They were clean, but no less objectionable to her state of mind. However, she was thankful for the fact that he had at least donned a shirt. With the straw hat put aside, she noticed for the first time that his hair had been clipped close to the nape. Short heavy wisps curled slightly about his face, accentuating the lean, handsome features. The mocking grin gleamed with startling whiteness against his sun-darkened skin. Grudgingly Shanna admitted to herself that his being a bondslave didn’t appear to have done him ill. Indeed, there was a health and vitality about him that was almost mesmerizing. In all, he was even more handsome than on their wedding day.