“O, love—love,” he rasped, taking her hand and leading it to him, closing his lean fingers over hers. “I’m a man. Flesh and blood. No monster, Shanna.”
His mouth was upon hers again, and his tongue was insistent until she met it with her own, first with hesitancy, then with welcome, then with passion. He was pressing her down upon the velvet seat.
Her sanity argued, this is madness! Her passion whispered slyly, let him come!
And he came to her, a first sharp piercing pain that made her gasp followed by a warmth deep inside that made her sob with pleasure. He began to move, and he was kissing her, caressing her, loving her—
Suddenly from without, Pitney’s shout roared above the pelting rain, and the pace of the carriage changed. Cursing, Ruark raised his head, realizing they were stopping. Then he heard another voice answer the hail from Pitney; and he recognized it as that of the third guard, the one who had stayed behind with the prison van.
“Ahhh, damn!” Ruark groaned in frustrated agony. “Damn you deceiving little bitch!” He snatched from her roughly and flung her away. “I knew you couldn’t hold to our bargain!”
With much urgency Ruark began to secure his garments, his teeth showing in a savage snarl as he cursed her viciously. Shanna cowered in the corner, her hands clutched over her ears as he vented his wrath in searing words. In the dim light his sneering eyes raked her cruelly, marking her pale, quivering breasts and the soft lovely thighs still naked to his gaze.
“Cover yourself,” he ground out derisively. And then more harshly, “Or do you wish the guards to take my place?”
Shanna snatched the cloak tightly about her as if to shield herself from his ridiculing jeer and penetrating glare. A second later the door was jerked open, and the wide muzzle of Pitney’s oversized pistol gaped its raw threat at Ruark’s chest.
“Out!”
Everything in Ruark rebelled. He had been pushed, shoved, beaten, prodded, goaded, tempted, and finally betrayed at a most degrading moment. A ragged growl tore from his throat, and before anyone could react, he kicked the gun aside and launched himself, feet first, against Pitney’s chest. The force of his attack sent them both sprawling to the mud. Cries of alarm sprang from the guards.
“Catch the bloke! Hicks’ll ’ave our ’eads rolling!”
Shanna cringed as they fell upon him. Muffled oaths and grunts of pain detailed their battle. The guards were bulky, large and heavily muscled; Hicks had chosen them for strength to see the prisoner back to his cell. Each outweighed Ruark by at least two stone, and Pitney was larger than any of them, but Ruark displayed an extensive knowledge of brawling. He fought like a man possessed.
It was several moments before they could subdue him, and even then he was only slightly more battered than his captors, two of whom held him secure now on his knees in the mud with both arms outspread, while the third hurried to fix the manacles to his wrists.
Pitney stood nearby, trying to scrape some of the mucky soil from his cloak. He massaged his shoulder as if it pained him and flexed his arm. Glancing up, he paused as he saw Shanna’s face illuminated in the lantern’s glow, and, following his gaze, the guards also halted their labors. The third, stepping closer, spoke in humble apology.
“Sorry for the delay, mum. Me wagon got stuck in the mud by the pond, else I’d have met ye sooner, like ye wanted.”
Slowly Ruark raised his head and stared into her eyes. His face was bruised, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Shanna’s throat tightened convulsively, and she drew back into the shadows, snatching the deep hood of her cloak around her face so she would not have to meet his gaze. But his voice came, thick with unsuppressed wrath.
“If I fall under the mercy of Almighty God, madam,” he grated out, “I shall see our bargain carried through—”
His vow was silenced by the swing of a meaty fist. Shanna flinched, hearing the thud as it met its target. When she could bring herself to look again, Ruark hung limply in the grasp of the guards. They finished chaining him and flung him roughly into the wagon. The bar slammed home behind him, and his bloodied face showed briefly at the small window before the wooden door shut.
Shanna sank back against the cushioned seat and with unsteady fingers began to rearrange her garments. Except for the fact that she had lost her virginity, her plans had gone according to her wishes, but she could summon no smile of satisfaction. Instead, there seemed an overwhelming emptiness about it all now, and her treachery lay like a dead weight upon her mind. Her young body burned with a yearning she had never experienced before; but there was no solace for it now, for beneath the enveloping cloak her arms were achingly empty.
Her carriage door was gently closed, and Pitney’s weight on the coach made it rock slightly as he took the driver’s seat. The coach lurched into motion, and as they passed the wagon and splashed through the mud into the looming darkness, an almost unhuman, raging howl rose from the wagon accompanied by repeated thuds against the heavy wooden door. Suddenly Shanna could believe that Ruark Beauchamp was a madman.
Clenching her eyes tightly, she covered her ears with her hands. But the image of his battered face was scored into her brain, and nothing could force the image to flee.
Chapter 4
A DEATHLIKE STILLNESS HUNG over the eerie corridors of the gaol. Then a heavy door slammed, its bolt rattled, and the sound of scuffling feet and an ominous dragging broke the quiet. Hicks started from his slumber. Beads of cold sweat dappled on his brow, and he stared with fear-glazed eyes into the shadowed and contorted face bending over him.
“Nay! Nay!” he blubbered pleadingly as he fought the tangled blankets and thrust up fat, pudgy fingers to ward off the ghost of his dreams looming above him.
“Blimey, Hicks, settle yerself!”
The shadow straightened and became more of a man. Hicks blinked as he focused on the group standing before him. Awareness finally penetrated his mind, and his pinched stare turned to one of gaping surprise as he noted their condition. John Craddock gestured to the prisoner.
“The bloody beggar tried to escape, ’e did.” He managed to swagger only slightly. “ ’E gave us a run ’fore we caught him.”
“Run!” Hicks snorted. With a heave of his massive body, he rolled to his feet and surveyed his beefy crew. Craddock nursed a split lip, Hadley displayed a blackening eye, the third guard tested his sore jaw. “Lor’ help ye if ’e ever turns to fight!”
A smirk of satisfaction marked his thick lips as he mused on Ruark’s sorry state.
“So! Ye thought to cheat the ’angman, did ye?” The gaoler chortled, and there was a gleam of cruelty which brightened his small, beady eyes. “Ye can bet yer old doxy won’t care a mite if I lay me stick to yer back now.”
Ruark returned mute defiance to the man’s challenge. His bruised and bloody face had been beaten, but was as yet undaunted.
Mister Hadley tenderly touched his discolored eye. “Ah, she weren’t no old doxie, mate. She were a real beaut, she were, and him hot after ’er. Wouldna mind meself ’aving a piece o’ that.”
Hicks cocked his eye to Ruark. “She got yer blood up a mite, eh? An’ there ye were wedded an’ not bedded. Serves ye right, ye ruddy blighter.” He lifted his cudgel and poked at the prisoner’s shoulder. “Come on, tell us her name. Maybe she’ll be wantin’ more of a man than what ye are. Come on. Tell us.”