Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(7)
“I beg your pardon, milady. My quarters have little to recommend them. Had I foreknowledge of your visit, I would have tidied up a bit. Of course,” he smiled and indicated his surroundings, “there’s not much to tidy up.”
“Hold yer bloomin‘ tongue!” Hicks interrupted officiously. “The liedy’s here on business, she is, and ye’ll show her all respect—or else.” He slapped his open palm suggestively with the club and chuckled at his cleverness.
The convicted man arched a dark brow toward Hicks and stared at him until the fat gaoler began to squirm uneasily.
Having encountered no obstacles to her plan thus far, Shanna was greatly heartened. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, as if she had planned for it all her life when in truth it was not much of her doing at all. Confidence and courage had rekindled within her, and with a graceful, flowing movement, she swept forward into the full light of the lantern.
“No need to bully the man, Mister Hicks,” she gently rebuked.
The sound of her voice, low and honey smooth, assured that the prisoner’s attention was fully upon her. Shanna walked slowly, completely, deliberately around him, evaluating him as she would a prize animal. His eyes, an unusual amber hue flecked with golden lights, followed her in amused patience. The enveloping black cloak and the wide panniers Shanna wore beneath her gown left much to the imagination, allowing no hint of her age or figure to show forth.
“I have heard the dowagers of court practice strange pleasures,” he remarked, folding his arms across his chest. “If there be truly a woman beneath that garb, I see little proof of it. Your pardon, milady, but the hour is late, and my mind is dulled with sleep. For the life of me, I cannot determine your purpose here.”
His smile was only slightly mocking, but there was open challenge in his voice.
Purposefully, Shanna moved closer until she was sure the man could detect the fragrance of her perfume.
The first assault was launched.
“Watch h’it, milady,” Hicks cautioned. “He’s a cagey one, ‘at he is. He’s killed one filly and her wit’ babe. Beat her to a bloody pulp, he did.”
Pitney strode to a place in the light behind his mistress, protectively near. His immense size loomed menacingly in the small confines of the cell and dwarfed those about him. Shanna saw only a flicker of surprise in the prisoner’s eyes.
“You’ve come well escorted, milady.” His tone was no less audacious. “I’ll be careful to make no sudden movements lest I should err and cheat the hangman of his fee.”
Ignoring his jibe, Shanna withdrew a silvered flask from the folds of her cloak and held it toward him. “A brandy, sir,” she said softly. “If you care for it.”
Slowly Ruark Beauchamp stretched out a hand, covering the slender fingers with his own for a brief moment before he drew the decanter away. He smiled leisurely into her veiled face.
“My thanks.”
On any other occasion Shanna would have snubbed the man for his boldness, but she remained cautiously silent. She watched him as he removed the cork and raised the flask toward his lips. Then he paused and tried again to make out her features through the black lace cloth of her veil.
“Would you share it with me, milady?”
“Nay, Mister Beauchamp, ‘tis yours to enjoy at your leisure.”
Ruark sampled a long draught before sighing in appreciation. “My gratitude, milady. I had almost forgotten such luxuries exist.”
“Are you accustomed to luxuries, Mister Beauchamp?” Shanna queried softly.
The colonial shrugged in reply, lifting a hand toward his surroundings. “Certainly more than this.”
A noncommittal answer, Shanna thought derisively. After three months in the place, the man should have been more welcome for her company. She withdrew her hand from beneath her cloak again, this time offering him a small bundle.
“Though admittedly your days are numbered, Mister Beauchamp, there is much that can be done to ease your circumstance. There is this for your hunger.”
He stood without accepting it until Shanna was forced to open the large napkin herself, displaying a small loaf of sweetened bread and a generous share of tangy cheese. He stared at her curiously, making no move to take it.
“Milady,” he implored her, “I do desire this gift, but I am wary, for I cannot guess what you wish in return, and I have naught to offer.”
A shadow of a smile crept across Shanna’s lips. Gazing at her directly, Ruark thought he glimsed a soft mouth curving beneath the gauzy lace veil. It stirred his imagination no small amount.
“Your ear for a moment and your consideration, sir, for I have a matter to discuss,” Shanna replied slowly, placing the food on a rough-hewn table standing near his cot.