Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(60)

With a cluck of his tongue and a tightening of his knees, Ruark slowed the mount and turned him along a narrow path that appeared to lead nowhere, only deeper into the wilderness. Then they came upon a sunlit glade where a carpet of soft grass was surrounded by a multitude of fragrant fuchsia blossoms, and tall trees bowed their branches humbly to the glen’s beauty.

Dismounting, Ruark swept Shanna down beside him.

“You were right,” she murmured in admission. “You do have a way with horses.”

Ruark rubbed Attila’s neck affectionately. “I enjoy working with them. A good steed always recognizes his master once that fact has been established.”

Shanna stared at Ruark until he glanced up with a questioning brow.

“Do you know your master?” she asked sharply. “Indeed, do you recognize any man as master?”

“And what man, madam, will master me?” He stood beside her, gazing down, holding her eyes in a willful vise of amber. His voice was soft as he continued, but it held a note of determination which in an odd way both frightened and angered her. “I tell you, Shanna, love, no man will be my master but that I let him.”

“Nor any woman either,” Shanna snapped. “Will you deny my commands and say nay to my right to give them?”

“Ah love, never that,” Ruark grinned. “I am only your humble servant as you are my most fair spouse. Ever do I seek to serve you and gain favor in your eyes.”

Unable to bear the heavy weight of his heated regard, Shanna swept around the flowered bower and plucked a fragile blossom, thrusting its stem into her hair and gathering the long fall of tresses at the base of her neck. Much fascinated, Ruark leaned back against a sturdy trunk, folding his arms across his chest, to enjoy more leisurely what had become his favorite pastime since their meeting in the gaol, watching Shanna. She could not guess the depth of torture she put him through, for beneath his silken taunts he burned with a consuming desire for her. At night he tossed sleepless upon his narrow cot while visions of her floated teasingly around him: Shanna, soft and yielding in the carriage; Shanna, lovely and haughty across a table; Shanna, beautiful and tempting in a wet, filmy thing that was more stirring than naked flesh. He was ever conscious of her, and whenever her father’s barouche whisked through the fields or the village streets, Ruark would turn in hopes of seeing her seated beside the squire. Compared to the portliness of the huge man, she appeared trim and tiny, fragile like a budding rose; but when he was close to her, Ruark was painfully aware that though indeed she was neither very tall nor heavily rounded, she was very much a woman, and he wanted her.

The scent of her lingered in his mind, the fragrance of exotic blossoms crushed on satin skin, and beneath it the sweet smell of woman mingled with a tinge of soap. She was a fire burning in his blood, and he could find no way to quench it, for the thought of other women soured in his mind when he compared them to Shanna. It was like seeing heaven then considering hell for a substitute when he considered someone like Milly Hawkins, the fish-monger’s daughter, for the easing of his plight. The girl was willing and not unpretty, but she smelled a bit like fish.

Suddenly Ruark burst into laughter, and Shanna turned to stare with eyebrows lifted in wonder. Casually Ruark gestured to the blossom she had picked.

“An Indian woman wears a flower thus when she would tell her husband of her desire.”

Shanna reddened and snatched the bloom from its place, and then, pouting prettily, thrust it above her other ear.

Ruark grinned. “And that means an unmarried maiden is available.”

Shanna took the adornment from her hair and began to idly braid it with other flowers. After a moment she realized that Ruark stood looking at her with a strange and tender smile on his lips.

“My Lady Shanna, your beauty doth dim the very radiance of this haven,” he avowed.

“Why, Ruark, do you court me?” Shanna inquired in soft amusement. Her mouth curved into a tantalizing smile as she came toward him with almost sensuous grace, halting a close measure from him and stretching out a finger to lay its tip in the midst of the black fur that darkened his chest. “I’ve never been courted by a bond slave before. ‘Tis the first ever. Not long ago ’twas one who was bound for the gallows. That was the first, also. But mostly ‘tis been lords and high gentlemen of the courts.”

“Methinks you bait me, my lovely Shanna,” he returned without a pause. “Ah love, do you seek to find the end of my patience that you might then have cause to hate me? Would your conscience then be eased at your broken word?” His mouth curved in a devilish grin. “If that be your game, madam, lead on. I will welcome your attention and the challenge.”