Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(94)
“I was wondering if I might take the load down for you. ‘Tis been nigh to a year since I left the colonies, and I want to see if that ship might have news of home.”
The aged storekeeper waved a gnarled thumb toward the door as a merry twinkle lit his blue eyes. “Then get yourself down there, laddie, before the rum spoils from sitting in the sun.”
A grin spreading wide on his face, Ruark nodded and eagerly set about his task. Jamming his hat on his dark head, he leapt to the seat of the wagon and clucked to the team of mules, slapping the reins against their broad backs and sending them down the lane toward the pier. As he went, an odd smile played about his lips, and he began to whistle.
Late afternoon brought a cooling breeze, and Shanna escaped the tedium of book work for a ride on Attila’s back. She urged him along the beach where once she had met Ruark, following the same path they had taken through the wooded copse and eventually halting in the clearing to enjoy the serenity of the peaceful glade. Birds called high overhead and fluttered through the trees; frogs croaked from the marshes. Gay-colored flowers bedecked the lush green carpet, while butterflies flitted on vibrant-hued wings, touching a blossom, perching on a leaf, weaving a riotous path on a light and fragrant breeze.
Shanna sighed, content with the day. All fears had been set aside with the affirmation that she was not with child and that those pleasant interludes with Ruark had not left her carrying his seed within her belly. In time, she thought, there would be another man to give her as much pleasure as that cocky colonial, and she would bear his child, but until then she would take no more chances. No matter what, she would hold Ruark at arm’s length and say him nay on every turn. She could not let all she had planned for be swept away in a moment of passion and weakness. Aye, ‘twas weakness which made her forget her resolve and like any common lustful wench fall into bed with Ruark. She had not seen him since that stormy Sabbath nearly a full week before and had purposefully kept to herself and out of his way. If she had learned anything in her dealings with Ruark, it was that she could not handle him or the situation. In any confrontation with him, her plans always went awry, and she could not chance another quirk of nature sending her flying into his arms with no thought of the consequences. However stubbornly she declared her intentions, it was still best not to tempt fate.
In the leafy bower the flowers were the same, the riot of color, the heady perfume, the dark coolness. Beneath her, Attila pawed restlessly at the soft turf, anxious to be at a fast run, but Shanna’s thoughts were elsewhere. Amber eyes invaded her unwilling mind, and a warmth slowly spread through her. They stared down to the depths of her being, stirring unwelcome longings as parted lips bent closer—closer—
“Get out of my mind!” Shanna shrieked to the treetops, setting to flight a flock of birds resting there. Then she slammed her gloved fist into the skirt of the saddle with frustrated rage. Clenching her jaw in determination, she gritted out, “Get from my mind, dragon beast! The bargain is complete as agreed! I have not betrayed you!”
Angrily snatching the reins, Shanna whirled the stallion about and fled from the place, no longer at peace there. She wasted no mercy on the horse as she pushed him to his fastest gait. His hooves churned up the wet sand along the beach, sending heavy clumps of it out behind them. The wind whipped tendrils of hair from the coiled knot at the nape of her neck. She raced as if the whole forest behind her were ablaze and she would be consumed if she but eased her reckless pace. Indeed, there was a plea haunting those amber eyes that burned her even now.
Soon Attila began to labor, and Shanna knew his endurance was near an end. She slowed him to a calmer pace and meandered along the beach until they came to a spot where a small rivulet of water trickled its way across the beach. Turning the mount, Shanna sent him splashing to the source of the brook. The dense foliage opened to reveal a cliff which reached above her head, and from its brink the small stream plunged, giggling like a virgin maid as it tumbled down from rock to rock until it fell to an emerald pool at the bottom.
Shanna flung herself down, and Attila waded fetlock-deep in the water, plunging full half his head beneath its cool surface while he quenched his thirst and rested. Shanna gathered her hair into some semblance of order and laved her neck with a handkerchief she dampened in the chilled spray. As her warmth and excitement waned, she wet the kerchief again and drew it slowly over her face until the flush subsided and she began to regain her composure.
Once more the unruffled daughter of Trahern, Shanna mounted and reined the horse about, continuing on toward the village. Attila had enjoyed the run, and his blood still raced hot in his veins. He fought against Shanna’s hand and would have thrown himself into a wild dash again had she relented but a bit.