Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(93)
Ruark kissed her soft palm, her slender fingers, the narrow wedding band she wore. His gentleness touched a quickness in Shanna’s breast, and she gazed at him in soft bewilderment, unable to fathom the tenderness that she suddenly felt for him. Abruptly he frowned and caught her hand, staring at the ring.
“What is the matter?” Shanna asked, seeing nothing about her hand that was odd.
His frown deepened. “I wore a ring on a chain about my neck, and it was there when I visited the wench at the inn. I haven’t had it since. With everything that has happened, I completely forgot about it until now. The band you wear reminded me. The ring was to be yours.”
“Mine?” Shanna’s own brow showed bemusement. “But you didn’t even know me then.”
“It was meant for my wife, whenever I married. It once belonged to my grandmother.”
“But, Ruark, who took it? The girl at the inn? Or the redcoats when they laid hold of you?”
“Nay, I came awake the minute they touched me. The girl must have taken it. But if she did, then I had to have been asleep.”
“Ruark?” Shanna asked quietly. “What does all this mean?”
“I don’t know as yet, but I’d swear the little bitch meant to rob me all along. Perhaps she gave me some drug in the wine.” Ruark shook his head. “But she drank from it, too.” Then he tilted his head as if remembering. “Or did she? Damn fool me for not being more wary!”
After a long moment he gave up trying to recall the events and, sighing, gathered Shanna’s stockings and frilly garters and handed them to her.
“We’d best go before your father comes out in search of you. The next time we might not be so lucky to find Attila at the door.”
Shanna seated herself again on the cot and, beneath Ruark’s admiring regard, lifted her skirts and smoothed the silk carefully over her shapely calves. Finished, she dropped her gown and smiled at him with her question.
“Ready?”
“Aye, love,” Ruark grinned, scooping up his shirt.
His hand rode on the small of her back as he escorted her through the door. Closing it behind them, he stepped around Attila and lifted Shanna up onto the animal’s back, guiding her knee around the horn of the sidesaddle. Placing his foot in the stirrup, he swung up behind her, taking the reins from her hands. Smiling, Shanna leaned back against him and enjoyed the ride up along the hill, well away from the village and prying eyes. A quiet peace descended upon them as they shared the brilliant panorama spread out before them, seeing the blue-green of the sea through the tall trees.
They were, for that moment, aware only of each other and knew naught of the lone figure that stood some distance off, watching them. Ralston held the reins of his horse firm lest the animal betray his presence, and his brow lifted thoughtfully as the couple exchanged a long kiss. His surprise mounted as the bondslave, John Ruark, made bold with his hand upon Shanna’s breast. Instead of the stinging slap the agent expected, the intimacy was accepted most casually without an attempt even to brush away the hand.
“ ‘Twould seem Mister Ruark has caught the lady’s eye and dallies where he should not,” Ralston muttered to himself. “I’ll have to keep an eye on the man.”
Chapter 11
THE CLOUDS RACED over the face of the island, seeming to herald in the billowing sails of a mighty vessel which glided effortlessly through the tossing sea, curling the blue crystal water beneath her lofty prow. The azure sky was vivid beyond the fluffs of white, and, against the indistinct horizon, the ship was like an eagle in flight, soaring gracefully on outspread but motionless wings.
“That’s a big one, ‘tis,” Mister MacLaird stated as Ruark lifted an eyeglass to peer through it. “Can you make out her name, laddie? Is she English?”
“Colonial. She flies the Virginia Company’s flag,” Ruark replied, squinting through the glass as he focused on the banner waving below the other. “She’s the Sea Hawk.”
“Aye, she moves in like one,” MacLaird rejoined. “A beauty she be. As fine a ship as any of Trahern’s.”
Ruark lowered the glass, and even as they watched, the ship dropped some of her sail and entered a trim tack to the harbor entrance. Almost anxiously Ruark turned to the older man, who stared out the window over the top of his small, square spectacles.
“That wagon you have loaded with rum out there.” Ruark gestured with his thumb toward the front of the store. “Is it to be taken aboard one of the ships?”
Mister MacLaird moved his attention to Ruark, lifting his nose and staring at him through the metal-rimmed glasses. “Aye, lad, to the Avalon it be going. The schooner’s making the rounds of the islands this week. Why do you ask?”