This was the apparition that entered the town and rattled across the cobbles to the dock, the mottled gray steed with his darker muzzle and stockings, prancing, flinging his legs wide and high, chafing against the control of the bit, his tail arched high and his full mane flowing with every movement. And on his back a vision of beauty such as few men see in a lifetime, cool and relaxed, controlling the beast with a practiced hand. A low-crowned, wide-brimmed hat sat squarely on her head, and the full riding skirt covered both herself and the side of the horse like the draped mantelet of some gallant knight.
Small wonder that the colonial seamen dropped what they were doing and paused in their labors to watch with gaping stares. Finding their gentle attention not unpleasing, Shanna gave them a brief nod in greeting and headed for the slip where the newcomer lay. There Shanna espied her father’s barouche and drew up beside to ask Maddock where the squire might be.
“ ‘Board the ship, ma’am,” the black man drawled and threw a careless thumb toward the tall barque. “Palaverin’ wit‘ the cap’n, I ’spect.”
When Shanna tossed the reins to the man and began to dismount, there was an immediate scuffle. A small crowd of tars had congregated and now jostled for the honor of helping her down. Patiently she waited until a young giant, who would have dwarfed Pitney, elbowed his way through the others and with a blushing grin offered his hand for her assistance. Swinging down, Shanna gave the lad a gracious smile of thanks then proceeded to the gangplank, trailing behind a chorus of half-muffled groans and sighs. Her dainty boots had not yet touched the deck of the ship when another young man stumbled to a halt before her. He stood ramrod stiff and clutched a brightly polished telescope beneath his arm; a brand new tricorn crushed his tousled blond hair. Recalling his manners, he snatched the hat from his head, almost dropping the glass, and greeted her loudly, overeager to be of service.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. May I be of service, ma’am?”
“If you will.” Shanna smiled while the poor youth seemed to swallow his tongue. “Might you carry a message to my father, that if he is to be shortly finished with his business here, I would enjoy a ride home with him.”
The young man began a salute but remembered himself. Instead, he did a smart quarter turn and flung out his arm to point.
“Is that your father, ma’am, with the captain by the—”
He snatched his hat as it threatened to blow overboard and caught the glass again from certain disaster. Holding the two clutched to his chest, he jerked his head toward the men.
“That be him, ma’am, with the captain?” he mumbled, a bit red-faced.
Shanna nodded as her eyes settled on the stocky shape of her father. The other man’s back was presented to her, displaying only a dark, thick thatch of auburn hair tied in a queue above his tall, blue-garbed frame.
The youth brightened. “Whom shall I say is aboard, ma’am?”
Shanna laughed at his spirit. “Madam Beauchamp, sir.”
“Madam Beau—” The young officer’s voice trailed off in unmasked surprise, and the tall man with her father turned abruptly and fixed her with a piercing gaze from beneath a glowering, frowning brow, as if he half expected some leering witch to be aboard his ship. Beneath that condemning stare, Shanna stood transfixed, unable to move or speak.
Ever so slowly the scowl faded. The eyes roamed over her briefly then returned to her face. Now a smile played just behind his features, and he gave a slow nod of what appeared to be approval.
Shanna let out a sigh and realized she had been holding her breath since he faced her. Had her life depended upon it, she could not explain why the approval of this man, whom she had never seen in her life, should please her.
As the captain strode across the deck, Shanna noticed that he was thin, almost to a fault, yet he moved with the easy, rolling stride of a seasoned seaman. His face was long and squarish, somewhat angular. Though a hint of fine humor showed about his brown eyes, there was a trace of sternness about the lips, or rather the firm decisiveness of a man accustomed to command. Pausing before her, he locked his oversize hands behind him as he rocked back on his heels in the briefest of cordial bows.
“Madam Beauchamp?” The words rolled from his lips in a drawl, yet they were spoken as a question.
Like the bow wave of a ship rolling forward, Orlan Trahern came to join them. Placing both hands on the gnarled end of his staff, he leaned heavily on it.
“Aye, captain, I would have you meet my daughter, Shanna Beauchamp.” Something odd twinkled behind the elder Trahern’s eye and, thus warned, Shanna braced herself. Still, the shock was no less stunning. “My dear, this is Captain Nathanial Beauchamp.”