Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(62)

Though Shanna was well occupied with her new duties, it was impossible, despite considerable effort, to ignore the man. As her father commented one afternoon with a chuckle, John Ruark was as well known as himself on the island and apparently better liked. But struggle Shanna did, and she managed to immerse herself in work. When the squire was otherwise occupied and she had no duties at the manor, she made her own tours of his various interests, checking the books, the quality of goods, or just listening to the people and hearing their problems.

It was in this capacity that she found herself in the village store on a late Friday afternoon, reviewing the accounts of the bondsmen. As she leafed through the ledger, the name of John Ruark caught her eye, and curiosity made her scan the columns of his accounts. The figures amazed her.

The column of purchases was quite brief. Aside from writing implements, a pipe, and soap, there was only a rare bottle of wine and an occasional pouch of tobacco. The longest column was that which detailed changes in his pay and there—she traced downward with the tip of her finger—why, it had been increased time and again, tripled, nay, more than ten times the sixpence of a new bondsman. She went further over to the balance of credits and with a swift mental calculation found that by the end of the month he would have nearly a hundred pounds of credit. Then another item caught Shanna’s eye. There were moneys other than his wages. At the rate he was building his account, he would probably be free in a year or two.

The back door slammed where Mister MacLaird, the storekeeper, had gone out a few moments before, and the sound of footsteps came across the floor behind her.

“Mister MacLaird,” she called over her shoulder. “There’s an account here which I would discuss with you. Would you come—”

“Mister MacLaird is busy outside, Shanna. Is there something I might help you with?”

Shanna spun about on the high stool, for there was no mistaking the voice. White teeth showed in the tanned face as Ruark’s ready smile spread leisurely across his lips.

“Are you distressed, my love?” He challenged her stunned appraisal. “Have I been away so long you do not recognize me? Some service I can render perhaps or—” he raised a string of shell beads on his fingers—“some bauble for my lady?”

He lowered them and grinned ruefully.

“Your pardon, madam. I forgot myself. You own the store. A pity—and a waste of another of my talents.”

Shanna could not contain a smile at his lighthearted banter. “Of those I am sure you have plenty, Ruark. My father reports you have started building the new crushing mill. ‘Twould seem you have convinced him ’tis necessary and would be more efficient than what we already have.”

Ruark nodded. “Aye, Shanna. I said as much.”

“Then why are you here? I would think you hard at work instead of coming and going as you will. Do you oversee yourself of late and set your own hours?”

Ruark’s eyebrow raised as he contemplated her. “I do not cheat your father, Shanna. Have no fear.” He gestured with his thumb toward the back of the store. “I brought a wagonload of black rum from the brewing house since I had to come in and finish some drawings for your father. Mister MacLaird is testing the kegs now. If ‘tis a chaperon you wish, he’ll be in shortly.”

Shanna flicked her quill to the open ledger. “For a wagon driver you seem highly paid. And there are other amounts here which puzzle me.”

“ ‘Tis simple enough,” he explained. “In my leisure hours, I work for other people on the island. In return they either do a service for me or repay me with coin. There’s a woman in the village who washes my clothes and bedding for—”

“A woman?” Shanna interrupted, her curiosity piqued.

Ruark eyed her with a twisted grin. “Why, Shanna, love, are you jealous?”

“Of course not!” she snapped, but her face was warm with a blush. “I was merely curious. You were saying?”

“ ‘Tis only the fishwoman, Shanna.” Ruark did not relent. “No need for dismay.”

The sea-green eyes narrowed in a glare. “You’re impossibly conceited, Ruark Beauchamp!”

“Shhh, love,” he gently admonished, and his eyes sparkled. “Someone might hear you.”

“And what do you do for Mrs. Hawkins?” Shanna inquired peevishly, irked with his very presence. She wanted to scream at him! Pound his chest with her fists! Anything to get that smirk from his face.

Ruark took his time in answering; he laid his hat on top of a pile of merchandise and slipped out of the open shirt, tossing it atop his other.