With a burst of fear Shanna came wide awake and then slowly eased back upon her pillow as she realized she was alone in the room. The familiar shadows stalked across her walls, but there was no help for the hollow ache within her. She drew a pillow close and nestled against it. Was it another trick of her mind when, just before deep sleep took her, she felt the hard muscles of a man’s back beneath her fingers?
Morning gave her no answer. The pillow was just a pillow. But the night’s sleep had done wonders. She rose, bathed, and donned a cool gown of pale turquoise, standing still as Hergus laced her narrow waist tightly. With its square décolletage, the garment displayed the higher curves of her round breasts. She considered her reflection in the tall looking glass and idly smoothed her hair, which was swept tightly from her brow and caught in a mass of cascading ringlets. A petulant scowl puckered her brow as Ruark’s taunting words seared through her brain. Womanhood lacking? How so? Where does he find me lacking? In looks? In stature? In wit? Where? A reply was not to be gained from the mirror, and Shanna left her chambers to join her father in a late breakfast as had become their habit since her return.
It was Orlan Trahern’s custom to be up at daybreak, but most often now, unless there was other business pressing, he waited his morning meal upon Shanna’s company. It was usually a pleasant time, though few words were spoken. But as she descended the stairs this morning, Shanna heard voices from the dining room. It was certainly not out of the ordinary for the squire to entertain at the morning meal, and business was generally the topic. But somewhat wary of who visited, Shanna made her way more cautiously. It was Berta who forced the issue.
“Goot morgen, Shanna,” the housekeeper greeted brightly. “Ya’re feeling better today?”
Then her father’s voice came through the open door.
“Here she is. My daughter, Shanna.”
A chair creaked, and in a moment Trahern’s great hulk filled the doorway as he came to greet her. Taking her arm, he led her toward the fresh airy room where white lattice screens allowed breezes to flow through the windows while filtering out the sun and its heat.
“I’m sorry, child, but I wanted to speak with this man,” the squire apologized as he escorted her in.
Shanna halted suddenly as she saw the one mentioned, and she snatched her hand from her father’s arm. The color fled her cheeks, and her lips parted in surprise. Trahern returned to lift her hand again and consider her with a worried frown. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as he spoke to her.
“Aye, a bondslave.” His tone was reproaching. “But I think ’tis not beneath us to share a table with him. If you would be the mistress of this house, be a gracious one and greet all I summon here as my guest.
“Come now, Shanna,” he continued more loudly, tucking her hand in his elbow and patting it gently. “Meet Mister Ruark, John Ruark it be, a man of some learning and of a good mind. He has done us well, and I must consider his advice on some matters.”
John Ruark rose to his feet and amber eyes smiled at her, touching her everywhere when Trahern turned to have a word with Berta. The blush returned quickly to Shanna’s cheeks, mounting high as she experienced again that sensation of being stripped naked by his golden gaze. She mumbled inanely through a greeting while her own regard passed disdainfully over the short breeches. They were clean, but no less objectionable to her state of mind. However, she was thankful for the fact that he had at least donned a shirt. With the straw hat put aside, she noticed for the first time that his hair had been clipped close to the nape. Short heavy wisps curled slightly about his face, accentuating the lean, handsome features. The mocking grin gleamed with startling whiteness against his sun-darkened skin. Grudgingly Shanna admitted to herself that his being a bondslave didn’t appear to have done him ill. Indeed, there was a health and vitality about him that was almost mesmerizing. In all, he was even more handsome than on their wedding day.
“My pleasure, madam,” he answered warmly.
Shanna gritted out a menacing smile. “John Ruark, did you say? I knew of some Ruarks in England. Scurvy bunch they were, murderers and cutthroats. Filthy wretches. Are you perchance related, sir?”
The sweetness of her tone did not hide the sneer she intended. He met it with a flicker of amusement showing upon his lips, but Trahern harrumphed sharply and gave her a warning glare.
“You must forgive me, Mister Ruark. ’Tis not oft I find myself entertaining a slave.”
“Shanna.” Her father’s tone was low but challenging.
If only a trifle, Shanna did relent and slipped into her chair. Ignoring Ruark as he settled again in the place across from her, she turned to the small, elderly, gray-haired black who waited to serve her. She bestowed her best smile upon him.
“Good morning, Milan,” she said cheerily. “Another bright day we’ll be having, don’t you agree?”
“Yes ma’am,” he beamed. “Bright and shiny, jest like yourself, Miz Shanna. And what might you be having this morning? I’ve a juicy melon saved for you.”
“That would be nice.” She smiled.
As he set a cup of tea before her and moved away to the sideboard, Shanna dared to meet the amused regard of Ruark across the table.
While the men’s conversation drifted across many topics, Shanna sipped her tea, listening quietly as Ruark expressed himself in bold opinions in response to the squire’s questions. He quickly took up a quill and made sketches when needed. He acted not as a man who was a slave, but as one who was a valued peer. He leaned with the squire over stacks of drawings which covered their corner of the table and explained in detail the mechanical workings of designs. Shanna was anything but bored as she listened. She realized he was clever, as keen-minded as her father, and he seemed no stranger to the workings of a plantation. In fact, as the conversation progressed, it became evident he could teach his master much.
“Mister Ruark,” she interrupted in a pause as Milan refilled their cups. “What was your trade before you became a bondsman? Overseer, mayhap? You are from the colonies, are you not? What were you doing in England?”
“Horses—and other things, madam,” he drawled leisurely, a slow smile coming as he gave her his full attention. “I worked with horses quite a bit.”
Shanna frowned slightly as she pondered his reply. “Then you must be the one who tended my horse, Attila.” No wonder the stallion was not skittish of him. The wily beggar had taken care of him. “You mean you train horses? For what, sir? And why were you in England?”
“Mostly for riding, madam,” he shrugged. “And some enjoy the sport of racing their mounts. I went first to Scotland to select breeding stock.”
“Then you were trusted by your squire to know good blood stock when you see it?” she persisted.
“Aye, madam, and that I most certainly do.” The lights gleamed golden in his eyes as he lightly measured her form. The insinuation was clear. Her father’s gaze remained on her, so he missed the slow perusal and the nod that followed it.
Squire Trahern sipped the tea, pursing his lips as he savored the spiced warmth of the brew. “I sent my daughter there on much the same mission, but she only returned as a widow with an empty cradle. I didn’t even get to meet her young man and that eats at my heart. Having seen so many swains refused, I was in great suspense to see her final choice.”