Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(52)

Shanna recognized the threat in his statement and with some display of anger retorted, “Sir, I find your reference to justice ill-advised, for you are obviously the victim of it and are where you belong. My father may welcome your advice, but I find the presence of a half-naked savage at my breakfast odious!”

At her vindictive burst, the squire lowered his cup and stared at her, missing Ruark’s leer which belied the soft apology in his voice as he replied, “Madam, I can only hope you will change your mind.”

Daring no further words, but with turbulent emotions roiling within her and darkening the green of her eyes, Shanna came to her feet and stalked out of the room.



It was only after Ruark left that Shanna dared approach her father, and she did so apprehensively, for she could not name another bondsman who had gained the squire’s interest as much as this colonial. Trahern was in his chamber study going over some accounts Ralston had prepared when Shanna strolled into the room, her hands folded behind her back and the look of angelic innocence on her face.

“Do you suppose we’ll be having rain before the day is out, papa?” she inquired, staring out through the open French doors toward the dazzling blue sky. If any had taken serious note of her topics of conversation, they might have raised a question over her apparent concern with the weather this day.

Trahern grunted an answer, but his attention remained on the open pages of the account books. Deep in thought, he frowned and scanned the figures before him, hardly aware of his daughter taking the chair beside his desk.

“I wonder if Mrs. Hawkins might have caught some lobsters in her traps today. Perhaps I’ll ask Milan if we might have them for dinner. Would you like that, papa?”

The squire cast a glance toward his daughter that barely acknowledged her presence and returned to his task. Shanna was not to be so easily dismissed. She leaned forward and peered over his arm at the work he was attempting to complete.

In a small voice, she inquired, “Am I interrupting anything, papa?”

With a sigh Trahern pushed back his chair and faced her, clasping his hands together over his paunch and nestling his head down between his shoulders like a wary hawk.

“I see I shall have no peace until we have discussed whatever you’re here about. Get on with it, girl.”

Shanna smoothed her skirt and made a small shrug.

“Ah—this man, Ruark, father,” she began hesitantly, unconsciously slipping into more formal address. “Is he really the sort to do any good here on Los Camellos? Can’t we get rid of him some way? Trade him? Or sell his papers perhaps? Anything to get him off the island.”

Shanna paused and glanced up to see her father staring at her, his lips pursed as if he were lost in thought. Before he could answer, she rushed on.

“I mean, Mister Ruark seems so bold and arrogant for a bondsman. Indeed, it is as if he were more acquainted with being a master than a bondslave. And his clothes! Why, they’re simply ghastly! I’ve never seen a man prance about half naked like that before. And he doesn’t even care what people might say. And there’s another thing. I’ve heard it rumored that most of the young girls in the village are simply agog over him. You’ll probably be supporting several of his brats before the year is out.”

“Huh,” Orlan Trahern grunted. “Perhaps we should geld the stud to protect the ladies of our fair paradise.”

“Good heavens, father!” Shanna rose to the bait like a half-starved flounder. “He’s a man, not a beast! You cannot do that sort of thing.”

“Ah, I see.” Trahern’s voice was slow and ponderous, and he rocked in the chair to emphasize his words. “A man! Not a beast! So fine of you to admit that, dear Shanna. So fine.”

Shanna almost relaxed back in her chair until she realized that her father’s eyes were hooded, and his tone had been strangely flat, a sure sign of simmering anger in him. Her mind flew as she tried to recall what she had said, and her breath almost stopped as she braced for the approaching storm. She jumped as his hand slammed down onto the desk, quivering the quill in its well.

“By God, daughter. I’m glad you admit that!”

Trahern leaned forward, grasping the arms of the chair as if he would hurl himself from it.

“I own his papers, and he shall serve me as a slave ‘til ’tis paid. I know not what his sin was, but I recognize that he has a good mind and indeed a deeper understanding of this plantation than I do. I may know markets and trading, but he knows men and how to get the best out of them. He has proven his worth to me in the short time he’s been here, and I respect him more as a man than you ever could. He is not a beast to be broken or trained to some simple task. He is a man to be worked and used where best he fits, and I will wager whatever you choose that he will pay for himself a hundred times over. To that point,”—he shuffled the papers on the desk, throwing one which was covered with sketches and figures into her lap—“he has suggested a large cane mill and a distillery combined which should increase both the syrup and rum production ten times or more. ‘Twill take fewer men than now work the fields.”