My Rebellious Heart (13 page)

"You may also walk in the bailey," he went on. "Do not tell me. With you or Cedric in attendance?" Her tone dripped honey. She struggled to hold tight to a patience that was fast unraveling. "Aye." The glint in his eye told her he took a perverse delight in reminding her.

"But do not give me cause to regret al owing you this freedom, princess. I would remind you mat the right to revoke such privilege is solely in my hands."

"I believe you've made that abundantly clear, milord." This time she did not bother to disguise the bite in her tone.

He approached her. "I hope so, milady. For your sake, I truly hope so." His smile was as frigid as her expression.

Shana watched warily as he closed the distance between them, halting so close that she had to tilt her head in order to meet his gaze. But meet it she did, her eyes moving slowly up the corded column of his neck, past those rigidly carved lips that no longer smiled, to inevitably mesh with his. His eyes were dark and depthless; she found it discon-certing that he betrayed no expression, neither scorn nor indifference.

A faint alarm seized her. Despite al her claims to the contrary, his presence was more than a little intimidating. His size alone was enough to make even the mightiest of warriors take heed—and though she was tal for a woman, she scarcely reached his chin. She found herself admitting that this man alone possessed the ability to make her long to turn and flee to the ends of the earth, never daring to look back. But she dared not let him know it... oh, no, for if she did, it would be but one more weapon he would use against her.

And he needed no help on that score.

"This marriage of yours, princess. When is it to take place?"

Shana blinked, momentarily taken aback. Whatever she had expected him to say, this was not it.

"Barris and I plan to wed at summer's end."

"And what if you are stil here? What if he has failed to surrender your ransom?"

There was a leap of hope in her breast. "You've sent a demand for ransom then?"

Her eagerness grated on him; Thorne did not bother to ask himself why. "Not yet," he stated smoothly. "There is, you see, the matter of deciding what settlement is to be made." He tapped his finger to his lips. "Is he a sheep farmer, like so many of your people? Mayhap he could be persuaded to part with some of his precious sheep. It seems a fair enough trade, don't you think—a flock of sheep for a princess?"

His tone was laden with mockery. Shana's nails dug into her hand. She yearned to hear the crack of her palm against that hard cheek—soon, she promised herself, she would.

"Whatever your price," she said quietly, "Barris wil not fail me."

"Indeed. It occurs to me mayhap I should in-

stead ask a paltry sum to ensure that he takes you off my hands." Thorne circled her slowly, surveying her keenly. Her spine was rigid, her silvery eyes ful of mutiny, but she endured his barbs remarkably wel . Yet he could not find it in him to admit she was a worthy adversary.

She regarded him calmly. "If that is your wish, you have only to free me here and now."

"Here and now? Nay, milady." A wicked grin made a brief appearance. "I've no doubt you'd not leave without sticking a dagger in my back."

"The thought is tempting, milord"— a sweet smile curved her lips, "tempting indeed."

He stopped directly behind her, so close his breath stirred her hair. The tension thickened, along with the silence. Shana's thoughts grew wild and disjointed. Did he mock her still? Or did he contemplate turning her threat around and throttling her here and now? She frantical y wished he would move that she might see him. Long seconds passed in which she longed to scream her frustration. Her knees were like melted wax; she feared they would buckle any instant.

"Milady/' he murmured. "I can feel you trembling. May I ask why?"

Oh, but she'd had enough of his baiting. She whirled and fixed him with a glare. "Why else?"

she snapped. "I tremble in revulsion!"

"Indeed?" he inquired smoothly. "Mayhap we should put it to the test."

She did not like his slow-growing smile, nay, not at al ! But the notion had no sooner bolted through her mind than strong hands took possession of her shoulders, branding her with their heat. She had one terrifying glimpse of fiercely glowing eyes; her lips parted and a swift aborted sound escaped.

His mouth closed over hers, smothering her cry of alarm. For one mind-splitting instant Shana

feared it would be as it had been before, when he had sought to conquer and defeat. And aye, his arms caught her ful and tight against him—he left no room for retreat. Again his lips plundered the softness of hers, only this time ... this time there was naught of force in the touch of his mouth on hers, nor the searing blatancy that so shocked her last eve—and oh, how she wished there were! For then she might have summoned the determination to resist.

Instead, his lips conveyed to her a stark, compel ing persuasion that sapped the strength from her limbs and stripped from her al wil to resist.

Yet she had to try. She told herself it was just as she'd said—he roused naught in her save revulsion and disgust. But to her horror, she discovered that though her lips might form the lie, her body was of a different frame of mind altogether ...

In some ever-distant corner of her mind, Shana was appal ed that this man whom she hated and despised should find in her a wil ing captive. But her heart beat the rampant rhythm of a drum, echoing in her ears, thrumming throughout her body. Harris's kisses had hinted at heat and fire, but this—ah, this was pure flame! Pierced by a dark, sweet pleasure she did not understand, time lost al meaning as he kissed her, spinning her into a dark vortex where nothing existed save the intoxicating pressure of warm lips full upon hers.

By the time he raised his head, Shana could do naught but cling feebly, her fingers twisted into the front of his tunic.

Thorne was no less affected than she, but experience al owed him to shield it. He had not mistaken the tremor of her lips beneath his, he thought, with a purely triumphant satisfaction.

Her head was bowed low, the curve of her lashes silky and dark against the heightened color of her cheeks. He felt as wel as heard the deeply ragged

breath she expelled. She sought to step back but he retained his possession of her shoulders.

"Why, Shana, what is this?" He shook his head. "You tremble still. Do I dare to hope you would have me prove my point yet again?"

Her subdued pose was deceitful. Her head came up, her eyes blazing as if she would unleash upon him all the furies or the earth. He was smiling, oh-so-gal ant, oh-so-pleased with himself.

"If I tremble," she said coldly, " 'tis because the only way I can stomach your touch is to think of Barris—to pretend that his lips, not yours, lay warm upon mine." She wrenched herself from his hold and snatched up the linen napkin from her tray. Knowing full wel he gauged her every move like a hawk, she blotted the taste of him from her lips.

By the time she dropped the cloth to the table, his smile was wiped clean. Shana relished her satisfaction like a plump, tasty fruit. "Aye," she added sweetly. "Barris alone makes me burn with passion. Of a certainty not you, Englishman, never you!"

The glitter in his eyes had gone cold. When he spoke, the mildness of his tone masked an edge of steel. "You appear to have been most familiar with your betrothed, princess. I find I am curious—did you lay with him as wel ?"

A rash boldness descended upon her. "Aye, milord, many times over—and with the greatest of pleasure, for he is truly a man above al others! He knows wel and true how to make a woman respond to his every whim and wil ."

His lip curled. Shana was stung by the venom she glimpsed in his dark, hard features.

"Then, pray, milady, pray that he finds you of value." With that he left her, as swift and silent as the night. The taste of victory was hol ow indeed. Shana

made her way slowly to the bed, immensely shaken without knowing quite why. She should have been glad, for it seemed the earl truly meant to spare her.

But her father had not been so lucky. Nor had Gryffen, and the priest ...

Tears glazed her eyes. Seized by a bitter despair, she pressed a hand to the burning ache in her breast. Her father was gone, and a part of her along with him. Never had she felt so lost —so very alone! She'd have given anything for life to be as it had been before, to be back at Merwen, and far, far away from here. But she was trapped here in this wretched pile of English stone ...

And she had the awful feeling her life was about to be forever changed.

When Thorne strode into the stable, Geoffrey was lounging against a post supervising the saddling of his horse. "Thorne! You're looking very fit this fine morn!" He straightened and greeted his friend with casual ease.

A jet-black brow climbed high as Thorne halted nearby. "Indeed," he drawled. "Wel , if I do, 'tis probably because I slept better than I have in more than a sennight." He paused, watching with half a smile while a highly uncomfortable Geoffrey strived mightily to conceal his anxiety—with precious little luck.

Thorne gave a dry laugh and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Your eyes give away your every thought, my friend. But you need not worry—the lady's virtue, questionable though it is, is stil her own."

Though Shana's name had yet to be spoken, a silent current of understanding passed between them. Gone was the dissension that had marked their last encounter.

Geoffrey sighed and shook his head. "Consider-

ing who she is and what she's done, I shouldn't give a care about what happens to her. But like it or not there's a part of me that cannot help but be concerned."

Thorne gave him a long, slow look. "Not still smitten, are you, Geoffrey?" "Nay!"

"You've a soft spot for a woman, any woman, Geoffrey. I pray it won't be the death of you someday."

"Aye!" Geoffrey admitted. "But I do believe the Lady Shana has taught me a lesson I'l not soon forget. I'll not be so easily deceived by the next pretty face I meet."

"NOR wil I, Geoffrey. Nor will I." A thin-lipped smile touched Thorne's mouth. "And while we're on the subject of the lady fair, my guess is that although she'd been pampered and indulged, she's far from helpless. Unless I'm sorely mistaken, she's a wench who can handle just about anything."

"Even you, Thorne?" Geoffrey's tone conveyed a lightness he was suddenly far from feeling.

Thorne calmly stated his prediction. "Lef s just say the lady may have met her match."

Geoffrey's regard sharpened. Thorne's words made him faintly uneasy, but there were some matters in which he dared not overstep his bounds. Thorne's behavior both yesterday and this morning warned him that his friend would brook no interference where Shana was involved.

"I've a few men riding in from Fairhaven." Geoffrey decided a change of subject was in order.

"I thought I might ride out and give them escort. Wil you come as wel ?"

There had been no reports of Welsh raiders in the area during the two days he'd been away, but Thorne was not about to let down his guard. He nodded. "Aye, I believe I wil . It might be wise to

make certain your men meet with no unexpected surprises."

It was Cedric who delivered the noonday meal. Shana picked at the bread and rich stew, finding she had no more appetite than she'd had last night. At length she pushed aside the tray with a downward tug of her lips. She'd spent the mor-ing restlessly pacing her cel , thirty steps in length, twenty-five in width—and though it lacked neither comfort nor space, it was indeed naught but a prison.

No doubt, she thought with a sniff, the earl expected her to cower here in this chamber, fearful y anticipating his return. But a coward she was not—and fear was the one thing she'd not let him glimpse at all cost! Such resolve spurred her to her feet; she marched toward the wide oaken portal, quick to assure herself her bravado had little to do with the fact that she'd seen the earl and Sir Geoffrey ride out earlier this morning. Dauntlessly determined, she threw open the door.

Cedric looked up from where he sat carving a chunk of wood. On seeing her standing in the doorway he clambered to his feet, nearly knocking over his stool in his haste.

"Milady! Is there something you need?"

"Aye!" she said sharply. "If I don't get a breath of fresh air I shal surely perish!" Lifting her skirts she started to sweep past him.

"But ... milady!..."

One small slippered foot was daintily poised on the first step of the stair; she glanced back at him, a slender brow arched high.

"The earl informed me I might walk in the bailey, Cedric. Is this not true?"

"Aye, but ..." He faltered once more, his expression harried and distressed. Shana was given

the distinct impression he had expected to neither see nor hear so much as a peep from his charge. A whol y unexpected amusement softened the compressed tightness of her mouth.

Unlikely as it was, it seemed this huge hulking man who could crush her senseless with one swift blow was just a little in awe of her!

"Cedric,"— she spoke his name, the bite in her tone absent as if it had never been—"I have no wish to make trouble for you. I wish only to stretch the ache in my legs and feel the warmth of the sun for a time. I pray you wil not deny me in this." She lifted her eyes, wide and clearer than the skies above, to his. A battle-hardened man who had known little of a woman's tenderness, Cedric caught his breath. Rumors abounded about the captive Welsh princess—it was said that beneath her guise of loveliness lurked the soul of a she devil. But it was not so much the lovely vision he beheld, as the softness in her voice—the gentleness in her eyes—that prodded in him a gnawing doubt.

He cleared his throat. "I'll not deny you, milady. But neither can I permit you to go alone."

The most fleeting of smiles touched her lips. "Then let us dawdle no longer," was all she said. She picked up her skirt and descended the stairs, Cedric fol owing behind.