Shanna’s glower was more than piercing as she stared at the young woman’s back and watched the slim fingers caress the bronze skin. Absently Ruark brushed aside Milly’s hand.
“Are you free this evening, Mister Ruark?”
Ruark chuckled at the girl’s tactless approach. “It so happens I have duties which will occupy me most of the night.”
“Oh, that old man Trahern!” Milly cried in exasperation, setting her hands on her hips. “He al’ays got sompin‘ for ye to do!”
“Now look, Milly,” Ruark began, not missing the raising of Shanna’s brows. He was having trouble keeping his own mirth silent, and it infected his voice. “The squire has demanded nothing more of me than what I have offered.” He held up the bundle of clothes. “But thank your mother for these.”
It was a known fact in the village that Milly Hawkins was among the laziest wenches about. She and her father were inclined to lie about most of the day complaining of their poor state of finance while Mrs. Hawkins labored hard and long as sole supporter for their family. But the money she earned was much wasted as the father had a taste for rum. Ruark knew it was not the girl who had washed his garments, and he was not of a mind to spread gratitude where it was not due, for the twit would likely be at his shack next with the flimsy excuse of seeing it clean.
“Me ma says ye must be the cleanest man on Los Camellos,” Milly reported gayly. “She sees ye cartin‘ yerself off down to the creek every evening and pretty soon ye come back and give her yer dirty garb. Me pa says bathin’ that much ain‘ good for ye, Mister Ruark. Why, there ain’ nobody, ‘ceptin’ maybe that high and mighty Trahern bitch and her folks there in that big house who waste so much time trying to keep clean.”
Ruark’s roar of laughter made the girl stop abruptly. Shanna sat stiffly upon her stool, considering Milly with anything but love or affection. The young woman, bemused by Ruark’s response, turned to find herself beneath Shanna’s glare, which was cold enough to freeze her on the spot. Milly’s jaw dropped like a dead weight, and she gaped in wordless astonishment.
“ ‘Tis Madam Beauchamp now, Milly,” Shanna corrected icily. “Madam Ruark Beauchamp, if you please, or, if you don’t please, the Beauchamp bitch.”
Milly groaned in abject misery and rolled her eyes at Ruark, who had subsided somewhat. Shanna slammed the ledger closed with a bang and, tossing the quill aside, stepped lightly to the floor.
“Is there something else you wanted here, Milly, besides the good man, Mister Ruark?” Shanna raised a challenging brow to the other. “He’s not for sale, but everything else here has a price.”
Ruark was enjoying himself immensely and moved to the stool Shanna had vacated, there leaning a hip on it while he eyed the two women. Shanna stood majestically proud and haughty, well fired with anger. Sparks flashed in the sea-green pools of her eyes. Milly, on the other hand, slumped and sauntered across the room, hips swaying and bare feet scraping against the wood floor. She was shorter than Shanna, slight of frame with an olive complexion that darkened readily under the sun. She was pretty enough, but it was not difficult to envision her in a few years with a passel of dirty-faced brats hanging to her skirts while one suckled lazily at her breast.
“By yer pa’s own law, a bondsman is free to choose any wife who be willing to have him,” Milly stated, though the retort was certainly softened. Los Camellos belonged to the Traherns. To anger one of them was truly tempting fate. “Why, Mister Ruark might even choose me. There ain‘ many others here on the island.”
Shanna’s surprise displayed itself for a tiny moment. “Oh?” She arched a wondering brow at Ruark. “Has he asked you yet?”
Ruark made no nod or gesture of denial, but grinned lazily into Shanna’s regard.
“Why, he ain‘ had much time, workin’ like he does.”
“ ‘Tis what my father bought him for,” Shanna quipped tersely, annoyed with the girl, “not for breeding as you seem to think and most certainly not for siring a string of brats.”
Before Shanna could continue with her tirade, the elderly Mister MacLaird entered from the back and announced to Ruark, “Aye, the rum’s a good lot. Take it below for me, will ya, laddie?”
He halted abruptly as his spectacled vision fell on Milly.
“Oh, I didna know there be a customer. Shanna, me lovely, see to whatever the lass wants like a good bairn. The tavern keeper will be along after the aged brew, and I’ll have to figure his accounts.”
Shanna nodded graciously to the man, but for some elusive reason felt a growing sense of resentment toward the younger woman.