“Aye,” her father snorted. “But no need to trouble yourself, daughter. He’s gone. In fact,” Orlan wiped his lips on a large napkin, dusted his lap, rose, and took his cane and hat from the hands of Milan, “his shall be the first business of the day. I have given him another increase in pay, and as I deem that I need him closer at hand, I gave him the choice of cottages.” Trahern chuckled lightly. “He took the best, the far one under the trees.”
Trahern regarded her for a moment, and his voice was only slightly more firm when he continued. “As mistress of my household you will, of course, see that it is presentable.”
Shanna could only stare at him, half afraid as he spoke, trying to find some hidden meaning in his words. Seeing none, she nodded and conceded, “I shall send the servants there.”
Her father fixed his hat with some show of irritation. “I will expect no further slight of the man. Your dislike of him is apparent, but he is extremely valuable to me, and I hope to persuade him to stay on with us after his debt is paid. I should be home for an early meal this evening.”
Trahern paused in the doorway and looked back at her, almost smiling as if to soften his words. “Good day, daughter.”
For a long while Shanna sat staring after her father, but in her mind she saw only Ruark’s lean, tanned form stretched upon the bed.
He’ll be there in the bed we shared! He’ll use the bath again! A full rush of visions filled her mind with one brighter than any, that of the tall canopy towering above them as the full measure of pleasure burst within her.
Had Milan turned then from his preparation of her breakfast, he would have seen her face flushed, her eyes distant and dreaming.
The cottage was readied, and Ruark moved his spartan belongings into it that very same night. He made use of the brass tub and enjoyed a steaming bath, lingering in it as illusions of Shanna in a gossamer veil of white swam about him—Shanna bending to whisper in his ear, standing childlike beside the bed, then naked and writhing in splendorous ecstasy beneath him.
Donning again his brief breeches, Ruark restlessly prowled the rooms, poking in empty chests and armoires, leafing through books, seeking some diversion to settle his mind. He failed abjectly, for there was naught he could put his thoughts to that fascinated him more than Shanna.
Dawn broke clear and bright. Rays of light invaded her bedchamber, waking Shanna from her fitful slumber. As it was her custom to rise at a later hour, Hergus was not in attendance, and pensively Shanna stroked her own tousled curls into some semblance of order. She could not name her mood, but she paused often in her task, the brush threaded through a soft tress while she stared unseeing into the mirror. A wistful sigh escaped her as she donned a dressing gown, belting it loosely about her narrow waist. When she left her chambers, she had no destination in mind and made her way slowly down the curving stairway, pondering the undulating motion of her robe as the opening parted and closed about her long, naked limbs. She had descended halfway when she heard men’s voices in the entrance hall and recognized Ruark’s deep chuckle in reply to the doorman’s jovial greeting. Shanna paused. Her eyes lost their distant look, and attentive now to the world about her, she listened to the rich, confident timbre of Ruark’s voice and the precise clip of Jason’s articulate speech.
“The squire will be down directly, Mister Ruark. Will you have a chair in the dining room and rest yourself while you wait?”
“Thank you, Jason, but I’ll wait here in the hall. I’m early, anyway.”
“Master Trahern would want you to make yourself at home, Mister Ruark. He shouldn’t be but a moment or two. There is hardly a body who will get up earlier than the squire. He has worked hard all his life and does not appear to be in favor of slowing any. I will be in back, Mister Ruark. Call if you should want me.”
Shanna listened to the sound of Jason’s retreating footsteps then leaned against the balustrade, peering down toward the hall. Garbed in his usual attire of white shirt and short pants, Ruark stood before the portrait of Georgiana, staring up at it, and Shanna wondered at his thoughts. There had been much similarity between daughter and mother, though Georgiana’s hair had been paler and her eyes a soft, smiling gray. Did Ruark see her there within the oil-painted image of her mother, Shanna wondered, or was he just admiring, like so many others before him.
If she made a sound, Shanna was not aware of it, but in the narrow space of time she watched, something passed between them, and Ruark turned, glancing up toward the stairs as if he knew she would be there. Shanna was caught and could not flee in dignity. She waited as he crossed with measured stride to the first step, there resting a sandaled foot on it while he gazed at her, his eyes touching her everywhere. The pale aqua robe flowed in fluid lines about her body, molding itself against her as if reluctant to be parted, showing the womanly roundness of her breasts and the graceful curve of her hips, while openly displaying a long, sleek limb. She looked cool and serene, like a high priestess descending the temple steps.