My Rebellious Heart

by Samantha James

  "You will not release him, will you?"

  "At your behest? I think not, milady!"

  Shana took a deep breath. "Then—then put me in his place!"

  Thorne was stunned to find she did not jest. Was she truly so concerned for the old man? Or did she merely seek to turn the tables and trick him this time? He dropped his boot on the floor and gave her a long, hard look.

  "Please!" she cried. "Gryffen is an old man—"

  "Aye, milady, so you've informed me!"

  "What if he should sicken from the cold and damp? Without food he cannot—"

  Thorne surged to his feet with a muffled curse. "I've no intention of starving the man, milady! But I warn you, he will pay the price should you prove treacherous, princess. You would be wise to keep that in mind. In the meantime"—he pulled off his tunic and let it fall to the bed—"I suggest you hurry. I find I am quite wearied."

  The words dropped into the air with the weight of a boulder. Shana stiffened. Her uncertainty turned to ill-concealed annoyance as she beheld his broad smile.

  He advanced, all lithe power and grace. "You are no doubt used to a maid," he said smoothly. "I shall be happy to oblige, princess."

  The tower chamber, which had seemed so spacious before, now seemed cramped and tiny. Shana swallowed, unable to tear her eyes from Thorne's hair-roughened chest. She did not understand the rush of awareness that seized her, for this was something she had never encountered with Barris; nor could she stop the renegade thought that tumbled through her mind. Her gaze slid helplessly lower. She wondered if that dark, dense pelt extended further, clear to the place which proclaimed his maleness ...

  When he touched her shoulder she jumped.

  He erupted into laughter "Milady, why so nervous? Are you not the woman who stood in this very chamber and claimed she feared no one, least of all any man?"

  She stood stiffly She did not trust this sudden good humor. He stopped directly before her, settling his hands on her shoulders. Alarm shot through her when those night-dark eyes dropped to her lips. She inhaled sharply when his head began to lower.

  With a sharp intake of breath she spurned him, twisting her head away. He held her firm.

  "What!" he mocked. "You did not seem to mind my touch so this morning, princess. Do you find me repulsive as a rodent?"

  Eyes as well as lips declared her hatred. "You are worse—you are an Englishman!"

  A twisted, leering smile touched his lips. "Ah, yes. One who slays the defenseless." He released her and made a curt, dismissive gesture. "I suggest you hurry, milady, before my patience grows thin."

  He retreated to the table near the hearth. She watched as he poured himself a goblet full of wine and drank deeply.

  When she made no move, he lowered the vessel slowly. "I find I'm not averse to repeating last eve," he remarked casually. "I cannot promise, however, that the outcome will be the same."

  Her heart began to hammer violently. "What do you mean?"

  He smiled thinly. "I told you I intended to further our acquaintance. Mayhap it's time I did exactly that."

  Sheer bravado prompted her resistance. "Barris is the only man I would welcome in my bed, milord—or a certainty never you!"

  He shrugged and placed the goblet on the table. "In the dark, princess, all women look the same. All bodies feel the same. From your own lips you are no virgin. I've no doubt 'tis the same for a woman."

  "That just goes to show, milord, how little you know of women!"

  He shook his head, a maddening smile on his lips. "Do not seek to cross me, milady. Methinks you would regret it when I proved you wrong, as I would be bound to do." There was no threat implicit in his tone, but the hardness in his eyes conveyed his import more clearly than words.

  Shana raged inwardly. The man had no conscience—no scruples at all. Knowing he allowed no choice but obedience, her fingers went to the girdle at her waist. It was galling in the extreme that he forced her to disrobe before his very eyes—but better that than for him to do the deed himself as he'd done last eve. Two spots of scalding color hued her cheeks at the memory. Modesty demanded she turn away as she had last eve; pride decreed otherwise. A moment later, her gown pooled around her ankles. She reached for the hem of her shift and tugged it over her head.

  She was naked and wondrously so. Thorne had not taken the time to appreciate her last eve—he did so now, looking his fill, his gaze sweeping the length of her. Though she was tall for a woman, she was slender and deliciously made, long of limb, breasts high and jutting and tipped with nipples the color of ripe summer berries. Her belly, narrow and concave, paved the way to the golden-red curls guarding her womanhood.

  The thought of what lay hidden between those slender white thighs provoked an immediate effect. His blood began to heat, his manhood swelling hard and uncomfortably full, straining both his temper and his hose. He did not welcome the flooding heat of arousal that settled heavy and thick in his loins. He damned and cursed it, even as he damned her for making him fall victim to such unwilling desire. A part of him longed to bury himself hard and deep in her dark cavern of mystery, even as he cursed his lack of control in allowing such weakness.

  He thought of what she'd said that morning. He knows well and true how to make a woman respond to his every whim and will. Ay, yes, her noble swain Barris. Thorne felt suddenly violent. He'd be damned if he'd take her while she thought of another man.

  Shana welcomed the rage that enveloped her as he proceeded to measure all that was bared of her flesh. Hooded eyes forged a slow deliberate pathway down her body. Her arms came up instinctively to shield her breasts, but before she could find the words to adequately vilify him, he turned away as if to dismiss her, and reached again for his wine. Shana seized the moment and scurried toward the bed, sliding beneath the covers. Moments later he snuffed out the candle. The covers were lifted away, then the mattress gave beneath his weight For the second night in a row they lay on opposite sides of the bed, a wealth of silence and distance between them.

  Along with the dark came a rallying anger. Shana finally found the courage that betrayed her earlier. 'The boy Will considers you no less than a hero. I consider you no less than despicable."

  "Ah, yes, so you tell me at every opportunity."

  "Someday you will regret this, milord earl. I swear by all that is holy, you will be sorry—"

  "Princess," her name emerged as a weary sigh, "indeed I am already"

  His tone was not lost on her. Shana remained silent, conscious of a twinge of remorse. Although Thorne seemed quick to take advantage of every Opportunity to bedevil her, was she any less guilty?

  She pulled the covers to her chin, straining to see him through the darkness.

  "If I so offend you, milord, you have only to send me back to Merwen to be rid of me forever." She held her breath and waited.

  His reply was not long in coming. Unfortunately it was not what she hoped for—and all she feared.

  "You must think me a fool," he said coolly, "if you believe I would trust you not to fly straight to Llywelyn's side."

  "Llywelyn! What has my uncle to do with this? I want only to return to Merwen!"

  "Oh, but I think your uncle would be only too eager to hear how many troops we have garrisoned here at Langley," he stated harshly. "And methinks you would be only too eager to tell him. Nay, princess, I'll hear no more nonsense of letting you return to Merwen. You will remain here at Langley."

  Shana felt rather than saw him turn his back to her. A slow burn began to course along her veins.

  'Then may God in his mercy strike you down, as cruelly as you struck down my father. May your burial place be a pile of dung, your skull its only adornment! And may the buzzards be your only companion as your rotted soul journeys into hell."

  A grow erupted from his throat. Thorne rolled to his back. "Lady, my body is weary but it would appear your tongue is not. If you insist on stirring me to wakefulness ..."

  A hard hand descended on her bare
belly, fingertips splayed wide. Before she could discern his intent, he hooked his foot around her legs and dragged her against him. His arms clamped tight around her back.

  She was shackled against him from breast to knee, thigh to ankle Shana instinctively started to struggle only to realize her writhing merely brought her into closer contact with him.

  In shock she realized his body pulsed with awareness of her.

  He continued in a silky tone that sent a shiver of dread all through her. "Aye, princess, I see you've noticed. My body, unfortunately, is not so discriminating as my mind. If you do not cease this tirade, I will have no choice but to ensure that lovely mouth of yours is otherwise occupied."

  Above her the slash of his mouth was almost cruel, his eyes glittering and hard. Her throat parched and dry, Shana lay frozen, subdued and trembling, afraid to move, scarcely daring to breathe.

  He laughed. "I see you take my meaning, Good, milady, for I assure you, coupling with a viperous wench such as you might bring ease to my loins, but it would scarce bring me pleasure."

  He released her. She rolled away and curled her knees into her chest, huddling as far away from him as she could get. Not one word was heard from the other side of the bed. Thorne smiled grimly The threat of bedding her had yielded a bounty he'd not counted on—it appeared he'd found the formula to ensure the lady's compliance. This was indeed an unexpected—and highly satisfying—means of submission.

  Chapter 9

  Shana roused herself to the sound of birdsong coming through the shutters. Hazy sunlight danced against her eyelids, but she lay perfectly still, unwilling to open them and confront the starkness of reality. She would much rather have retreated into the dreamworld from which she'd awoken, for she'd been dreaming of Merwen, of those long-ago years when she'd lam snug in her father's arms and listened to the trill of the lute, the lilting song of the bard. She willed away the pain that lanced her heart, and thought instead of all the happy times they had shared ...

  "You do not fool me by pretending you still sleep, princess."

  Her lids snapped open. The earl stood at the bedside, surveying her with arms crossed over his broad chest, an arrogant smile curling his lips. He was freshly bathed and shaved, and fully dressed. The way he towered over her made her feel foolish and cowardly and weak. Though she longed to leap up and challenge him face-to-face, she did not dare, for she was overwhelmingly conscious that she wore nary a stitch—and the earl appeared highly amused by her predicament, blast his English hide! While she strived to summon an icy aplomb, he chuckled and strode across the chamber where he strapped on his sword.

  A chestnut brow climbed high. "You are leaving?" she inquired.

  "And if I am?"

  "If you are, I wonder what unsuspecting Welshman you will prey on today."

  Thorne's jaw tightened. "There are reports the Dragon seeks aid for his cause. 'Tis said he rallies men to leave field and plow and take up the sword against us."

  " 'Tis not only his cause," she pointed out calmly, "but the cause of all our people. And if the Dragon must seek men from the field 'tis because Wales has no royal coffers with which to hire mercenaries and build an army, unlike your king whose coffers have been filled, I might add, from the toil and sweat of our people."

  It was Thorne's turn to correct her just as sharply. "Many an Englishman is just as burdened by the Crown's taxes, princess. And 'tis not the lack of an army that holds back your people-indeed, Wales could have an army thrice the size of Edward's and still we would triumph."

  His prediction made her see red. Shana pushed herself upright, the sheet clutched to her breast, her expression mutinous. "So says the royal subject of the man who trunks to conquer Wales," she said scathingly. Her lip curled in disdain. "The bastard William could not break us. What makes you think that your king and you—another bastard—can do what William the Conqueror could not?"

  Thorne's body went rigid. His hand tightened on his sword 'til his knuckles showed white. It was all he could do not to haul this haughty little piece from the bed and shake her silly. Princess or no, the wench needed taming. But alas, while he certainly had the inclination, he did not have the time.

  His tone was as brittle as thin ice. "Aye, your people have always resisted, milady. But do you know why they have yet to succeed to break free of the yoke of England? They squabble so among themselves—they acknowledge no authority save their own. Even if Llywelyn and Dafydd succeed in this rash bid for independence, what then? Who would rule, your uncle Llywelyn? Or his brother Dafydd?" He gave a strident laugh. "They would be at each other's throats—and the rest of Wales along with them!"

  Shana opened her mouth; but he stopped her with a quelling look. "I suggest you save your arguments for later," he said curtly, "when you may make your complaints directly to the king."

  Shana blinked; it was an instant before she grasped his meaning. "Edward is expected here at Langley?"

  "This very day, princess."

  "Do not tell me," she snapped. "I suppose he wishes to make certain he has sufficient troops to trounce the downtrodden."

  Thorne spared her not a glance as he grabbed his mantle and strode across the chamber. "You have the temperament of a shrew, milady."

  "And you've the manners you were born with, milord!"

  The thunk of the door closing was his only reply. In fury and frustration, Shana slammed her fist against the mattress, angry that he thought her of such little consequence.

  A girl soon arrived with food and water for a bath. The hot water soothed her muscles, if not the ache in her heart. She soaked until the morning sun was high in the sky and the water cold. Once dressed, she determined she would not stay cloistered in the tower for fear of running into the earl. Her mouth turned down at the corners—no doubt he'd like to see her cowed and browbeaten, but she'd prove to him a Welshwoman had more mettle than that!

  Cedric followed but a pace behind as she swept down the tower stair. There she stopped, uncertain for the first time. Cedric cleared his throat and confided he had been in the service of Lord Montgomery, the old earl.

  "If it pleases milady," he finished, "I could show you about."

  An hour later, Shana's head was spinning. She had known Langley was far more impressive than Merwen, but she had not realized how massive and sprawling it was. Merwen was scarce larger than the kitchens and hall alone. No doubt the king had been only too pleased that Langley had reverted to the Crown, for it was truly grand. The chapel was small but exquisite, with colored glass that turned hazy spears of sunlight into a rainbow of delicate purples, rose, and gold. Cedric, an apt and able guide, showed her the old earl's bedchamber, where the walls were adorned with finely spun tapestries, the floor with brightly colored carpet.

  The outer walls, he explained, were nearly twenty feet thick. In the outer bailey was a granary and mill, storerooms and armory. Langley was, she realized, a city unto its own.

  The realization roused a prickle of fear. King Edward had chosen well, she thought bitterly. No doubt this impenetrable keep could withstand an army from hell.

  They retraced their path through the inner bailey. There Shana caught a glimpse of the earl watching a group of knights practice at the tilt-yard, and she promptly wrenched her head aside. It was then she spied Sir Gryffen's tall, shaggy-haired figure, carrying a sack of grain atop one shoulder.

  She flew across the yard and threw herself against him. "Oh, merciful heaven, you've been spared!" She was both laughing and crying. "I was afraid he'd locked you in the dungeon for good, or—or maybe had you executed just to spite me!"

  Gryffen lowered the sack to the ground, then pressed a hand on her shining gold hair. " "Tis I who give thanks you are still alive, milady." He made no effort to hide the moisture in his faded blue eyes. He searched her face almost fearfully. "He has treated you well? He has not harmed you?"

  There was no need to specify who he was. The light in Shana's eyes was promptly extinguished. "I am well," she said briefly
. "Though it pains me sorely to admit it, he is guilty only of choosing to let me believe he murdered both you and the priest."

  She examined the knight more closely for signs of abuse. She found none, though her expression grew stormy at the sight of the chains around his feet. She had already noticed the sharp-eyed sentry who kept them under surveillance. Cedric had fallen back. She leveled on the sentry an acid disapproval before returning her attention to Gryffen.

  "You are certain they have not mistreated you? Beat you? Deprived you of food mayhap—"

  "Nay, milady. The earl bade me help in either the kitchen or the stables, wherever I am needed. I am to sleep in the stables from now on unless my behavior warrants otherwise."

  "Otherwise? You mean he'll see to it you're thrown back into the dungeon!"

  Gryffen sighed. "Lady Shana," he said gently. "Were the situation reversed, I do not think you would react any differently. 'Tis grateful I am that he allows me the chance to see that you are well."

  Shana was not so inclined toward gratitude, however. Gryffen saw it in the way her soft lips compressed into a thin line. After a moment, her gaze came to rest on a young boy across the yard, kicking pebbles in the packed dirt.

  Gryffen did not miss the frown of consternation that lined her brow. "Who is the boy, milady?"

  "His name is Will. We met the day I first entered Langley. He is a great admirer of the earl—" a note of sarcasm entered her voice, "in fact, 'twas Will pointed him out to me. Will liked me well enough that first day. But then ..."

  "Then we seized the earl and dragged him off to Merwen." It wasn't difficult to guess what had happened.

  Shana nodded, a spasm of guilt flitting across her lovely features. "Now it seems I am his most hated enemy."

  "He was begging from the cook not an hour since."