Seeing her disquiet, the Reverend Jacobs drew her aside.
“You seem worried and upset, child. Perhaps ’tis well to have doubts, but I must tell you this. As events have progressed today, I have become convinced that what has been set in motion here today is truly blessed and shall bear a long and enduring witness to the will of God. My prayers shall go with you, my child. Your husband seems a fine young man and will no doubt comport himself well.”
His words gave Shanna little ease. Emotions raged through her so turbulently she feared he would see them in her face. But he moved away, heedless of her distress, and began collecting the documents which he had sealed and stamped and were now dry. He folded them in a neat packet, tied it with a ribbon of scarlet, and handed it to Ruark.
“Before you go, my dears,” Mrs. Jacobs beamed. She held out a tray bearing dainty stemmed glasses filled with an amber liquid. “A bit of sherry to warm your way.”
Numbly Shanna accepted the woman’s offering and raised the glass unsteadily to her lips. She paused as Ruark faced her, lifting his own glass in salute.
“To our marriage, my love. May it be long and fruitful.”
Shanna stared at him dispassionately over the rim of her glass. Her longing to sneer was almost overwhelming. It was his smug, conceited, self-satisfied expression she hated most, she thought venomously. How she yearned to set him in his place!
Nearby Mrs. Jacobs talked happily to Pitney, chattering about the ceremony as if her husband had performed none finer, while Pitney stood mute, glancing over the small woman’s head at the young couple. The set of his mistress’s jaw was a good indication of her agitation, and he could only wonder at what next would follow.
Ruark stretched forth a finger and gently urged the glass to his wife’s lips as his gaze warmly probed hers. “Drink, my love. We should be going.”
After they had drunk the cordial and put aside the glasses, Mrs. Jacobs hastened away to get their cloaks. Ruark took the fur-lined garment and wrapped it about Shanna, flinging his own carelessly about his wide shoulders. He led her to the door as Pitney preceded them. Final farewells were said and the best wishes of the minister spoken. Mighty gusts of wind struck them, billowing their cloaks as the ponderous portal was swung open. Fat droplets of water rushed in to pelt them. Pitney ran ahead to open the carriage door and lower the folding step while Ruark waited with Shanna in the shelter of the portal. The two guards were already perched atop in the driver’s seat, hunched in the folds of their cloaks against the pounding rain. Pitney motioned for the newlyweds to come, but as they stepped into the open, a blast of wind, heavy with cold rain, struck them in the face. Shanna gasped breathlessly and whirled away, finding herself fighting for breath against Ruark’s chest. He caught her to him, half covering her with his cloak. Then reaching down, he swept her up into strong arms and dashed headlong to the Briska. Handing her into the snug interior, he immediately followed, taking a place beside her. Quickly Pitney folded the step and swung inside, throwing himself into the seat across from them.
“There’s an inn down the road a piece in the village,” he rasped, “where we can take our sup.”
Ruark’s attention to the man perked. “Our sup?”
“Aye,” Pitney nodded, and in the meager light of dark twilight his gray eyes met Ruark’s. “Unless ’tis yer thought to return to the gaol without a full meal to tide ye ’til the morrow.”
Ruark’s regard moved to Shanna who seemed very small and quiet in her comer.
The carriage swung down the gully-washed road. Lightning flashed, and the thunder echoed across the hills. In the voluminous folds of her cloak Shanna flinched with each shattering explosion of sound. The jagged light streaked across the darkened sky, and only Pitney was aware of her distress.
Ruark broached a question to Pitney. “Will you be journeying back to London tonight?”
A grunt answered him. “Aye.”
Ruark thought for a moment about the man’s short reply before asking, “Why do you not stay at the inn? ’Twill be a good three hours before you reach London.”
“A long enough ride on a night such as this,” Shanna flung at him sharply.
Her husband raised a sardonic brow at her tone and contemplated the snapping green eyes that pierced the gloom.
“ ’Twould appear you’ve regained much of your courage now that you’re away from the good Reverend Jacobs,” he mocked lightly.
Shanna sneered as she had longed to before. “You crowing cock-a-jay, watch your tongue, or I’ll set Pitney on your tail.”
Pitney lowered his hat upon his broad brow and leaned his head back against the seat as if to snooze. It seemed his young mistress could handle herself once again. Ruark pondered his hulking companion, and then returned his full attention to Shanna who almost cringed as his hand reached toward her. He tugged at one of her hands, which was clenched in her lap, and by greater strength alone won it. Smiling casually, Ruark brought it halfway to his lips while Shanna squirmed nervously on her seat and warily cast glances at her protector to see if he really dozed.
“You are a flower surely, madam, but yonder thorn,” Ruark’s eyes briefly marked Pitney, “pricks me sorely. Indeed, madam, you are a rose, a soft-textured beauty of the bush, tempting, begging to be plucked, but should a careless hand seek to take you, ’twould only find a multitude of spiney barbs.” He laughed softly, adding to Shanna’s unease and pressed his lips to a spot above her dainty wrist. “But then there is that one who tends the garden and knows no prodding of the thorns. With careful hands he reaches in to pluck the bloom and gently breaks the stem whereon it grows. Then ’tis his forever more.”
Shanna snatched her hand away. “Settle yourself, sir,” she admonished crisply. “Your wit is lagging.”
Shanna braced herself firmly in her corner as he raised his head and studied her. She did not know exactly what he might do, murderous scoundrel that he was. The thing she could not abide was that slow, jeering grin that came across his face, as if she only amused him. Where was his anger? If he lifted a hand to strike her, Pitney would be there to rescue her. No need, then, to pretend even a mild tolerance for him or bear his presence in her coach. He’d be bound and taken on top to ride with the guards.
A violent lurch of the carriage sent Ruark nearly on top of her, and Shanna quailed in sudden fright, raising an arm to shield herself from his attack. His amused chuckle close to her ear brought her courage back in a flare of scalded pride, and his hand upon her thigh as he braced himself drew her outraged fury. Much in the guise of clumsiness, she thought, the long fingers, whether intentional or not, touched her through her gown where no man had dared before.
“Get off me!” she choked in trembling rage and pushed with all her might against his wide shoulders. “Go fondle your doxies in the gaol.”
Pitney peered at them from beneath his tricorn, and Shanna straightened her skirts with a jerk, tossing a glare at both of them.
“And just where is this inn?” she demanded. “Do you suppose we might get there before I’m mauled to death?”
“Calm yourself, lass,” Pitney bade with a chuckle. “We’ll be there soon enough.”
Though only a few short minutes more, the remainder of the ride to the inn was intolerably long for Shanna. Even with Pitney’s cautious but relaxed gaze upon them, the nearness, indeed the very presence, of her colonial husband was stifling and made her agonizingly aware of the trickery she practiced.