But the seed of doubt had been planted. Thorne had made her feel so unsure of herself, inadequate in a way she didn't fully understand.
Nor did she understand why it even mattered what he thought of her ... she only knew that it did.
Will and Sir Gryffen were her only salvation over the course of the next few days. But while she felt that Will was gradually becoming more open and trusting, her new husband grew ever more distant.
It was late when he sought their bed these past two nights. Shana was always awake, though she pretended not to be They lay in silence, their enmity the only link between them. Shana told herself she was heartily glad he did not force his attentions on her ...
Ah, but there was the rub. While she thoroughly detested the man himself, she did not hate his touch ...
Nor did she find him disgusting. Oh, she tried her best to deny the rapture she had found in his arms on their wedding night... but she had not forgotten it. Her memory proved far too vivid for her peace of mind. She had only to catch a glimpse of him to recall in scorching detail the things he had done to her—the secret, hidden places he had touched and caressed, the stark yearning he had awakened in her, the forbidden excitement. Even the second night he had spawned a restless ache inside, despite her determination to remain passive and aloof. She had clenched her jaw so hard her teeth hurt, for it had been all she could do not to twine her arms around his neck and cry out her pleasure.
But if Thorne was not out with his knights, he was with Lady Alice, or so it appeared to Shana. She told herself Alice was welcome to him, faithless beast that he was! But if that was true, why did the sight of them together make her insides knot into a cold, hard lump? She could hardly breathe, nor eat and drink, for the strange tightness that seized her chest. And why, though she was quick to avert her eyes, did the image of the two of them together remain etched in her mind for hours afterward?
She watched them walk outside the walls one day. Her gaze was riveted to Thorne, though she willed it not. He was darkly, wickedly handsome. Alice was sensual and graceful, with ripe, voluptuous curves. She possessed a sultry, bewitching beauty that Shana could never hope to match. Indeed, taunted a niggling little voice inside, Lady Alice and Thorne, both so dark and compelling, made a striking couple. A shaft of some strange, unknown emotion pierced her chest
No one was more relieved than Shana when Lady Alice's brother finally arrived the next day. In the bailey, Lady Alice slid her arms around Thorne's neck and kissed him full upon the lips Shana began to simmer, though she must surely give, credit where credit was due. For while Thorne did naught to encourage it, he was hardly a reluctant participant. Scalding color heated her cheeks, her entire body. She was stung that Thorne cared not how deeply he shamed her, tor who would dare allow this rapidly escalating kiss to so linger—and in front of his wife yet!
She stared at the corner tower, the endless stretch of sky above, everywhere but at the two of them. In all her life, she could not think when she had been so humiliated. It was one thing to be treated with such callous disregard. It was another for him to ignore her presence, as if she were not even there! Which was worse? she wondered bitterly. To be a wife scorned? Or a wife who was as nothing—who did not even exist?
Never had she been so confused. She didn't understand why her chest hurt so, why it hurt even to breathe! She didn't understand why she even cared that Thorne trifled with another. She had to forcibly remind herself that he was her fiercest enemy—that 'twas he who had given the order that had seen her father and so many others slain!
So why was there a secret part of her that ached for his kiss, sweetly lingering; for the touch of his hands on her naked flesh, tender and caressing ...
Lady Alice's voice intruded. "You must come down to London as soon as you are able, Thorne." Her hand lay claim to the tanned hollow of his cheek now, her lips still moist from his. Her laugh was low and suggestive. "We do miss you so at court . . . oh, and of course he shall bring you, Lady Shana."
This last was clearly an afterthought. With an effort Shana held fast to her simmering temper.
"You shall have to prepare yourself, though, dear. There are more than a few two-legged wolves at court—and despite your tender youth some might find you a rather tasty meal, eh, Thorne?"
Oh, so now she was little more than a child! She bristled still further upon seeing that Thorne was amused by the exchange. Shana ignored him and smiled. "With so many wolves about, Lady Alice, how is it you have been unable to find another husband?"
The victorious gleam in Lady Alice's eyes vanished. She glared openly, the press of her mouth thin and almost cruel. It spun through Shana's mind that all at ones Lady Alice looked rather hard and embittered—aye, and far, far older.
Alice's brother and a groom stepped up with their horses. Shana stood stiffly while Thorne assisted Lady Alice in mounting. Once she was seated, Alice bent and whispered something in his ear with a low laugh. Thorne shook his head, a half smile on his lips. Lady Alice spared no further glance toward Shana as she turned her mount. Then they were off, trotting toward the gate. Thorne turned to stride away as well.
She stopped him with a word. "Wait."
"Milady?" He glanced at her, his expression polite but disinterested.
Until this very moment she had not known what she was about to say. Now there was no stopping her. "I want out," she stated clearly.
Heavy brows arose. "Out?" he echoed coolly.
She took a deep breath. "Out," she emphasized flatly. "I want out of this marriage. Out of this blasted English heap of stone—and away from you."
She was so calm, so matter-of-fact that for an instant Thorne was convinced his ears deceived him. But her posture was rigid and stiff, her lovely features coolly aloof ... and ever disdainful.
His eyes narrowed. "This is not the place to discuss our marriage." His manner curt, he seized her elbow and propelled her toward the great hall. Shana was gasping for much-needed air by the time he halted near the hearth. It seemed she'd finally managed to snag his attention after all.
"Now, what nonsense is this?" He released her, his manner clipped and abrupt.
His expression was black as a thundercloud, his mood just as lethal. Shana began to regret her hastiness. Still, she was not one to give up so easily.
She squared her shoulders and faced him boldly. "I believe you heard me the first time, milord."
Though he said not a word, all at once the tension was stifling. His eyes pierced through her like the tip of a lance.
She tried again. "Our marriage is doomed, milord. I have no wish to remain bound to it, and 'tis clear you feel the same."
She didn't retreat from his glare, though inwardly she began to quake, for now a tempest was keenly alive in his eyes. Shana was not easily intimidated, but she had learned for herself that Thorne's wrath could well prove dangerous.
His smile was tight. "Then I suggest you accustom yourself to the idea, princess—and to me, for as we've already discussed, an annulment is out of the question. This marriage is valid, princess, sanctioned by the king himself. Nor are you the first to be wed against her will. Nay, princess. There is naught you can do to change the fact that we are wed—now and forever."
Shana's heart twisted. God, but he delighted in tormenting her! "I—I accept that this marriage cannot be dissolved," she said, very low. She linked her hands together before her to still their trembling. "Nonetheless, I—I see no reason why we need live together—indeed, under the same roof."
She had startled him. She knew it by the surprise that flashed in his eyes. But then he startled her by laughing outright.
"So what would you have me do, princess? Send you back to Merwen?"
"Aye!"
"So you could return to your beloved Barris?" That brutal smile widened. "Has it occurred to you he might not want you now? Mayhap he will have no desire to take another man's leavings—aye, especially a woman tainted by English hands!"
"Oh, blast your
hide," she burst out. "I don't care if I go back to Merwen. I don't care where I go as long as it is away from you. If I can't be rid of this marriage—then let me be rid of you!"
Rage splintered across his features He dragged her against him, his face a mask of menace. Panic raced through her like wildfire, for she could feel the fury in him, steaming and alive.
His breath fell like blows against her cheeks. "I begin to understand why Henry chose to lock Eleanor away those many years! But no—I'll not do that, for it would please you too much. You are mine, Shana, my wife, and mine you will remain. Do not forget, else I will be forced to remind you again ... and, aye, princess, you will regret it ..."
He released her, as if he found her abhorrent. Shana battled a scalding rush of tears. The anguish that ripped through her was like a dagger from throat to belly.
Princess, he called her. Always before—with Barris—the name had been a whisper of sound, a sweetly voiced caress ...
Now it was naught but a curse.
That night was worse than any before.
The tension throughout the evening was almost more than Shana could bear. She was scarce able to force a bite past the knot in her throat. When Thorne offered her his cup, she drank. But he did not deign to speak to her, nor she to him. His gaze was elsewhere, never on her. More than anything, she longed to flee, but Thorne would brand her a coward and she would not give him the satisfaction! Nor would she give in and break the war of silence that had sprung up between them.
The hour grew late and still wine flowed freely. Thorne had retreated to talk with a group of his knights before the hearth. Shana remained at the table, alone and subdued. Before long someone picked up a lute and began to strum a merry tune. Amidst the laughter, one of the young maids who had cleared the table arose. Red-haired and buxom, she began to clap her hands and stamp her feet. Encouraged by boisterous calls, she tossed her head and twirled to the music. Cheers and shouts abounded. Emboldened still further, the girl began to sway and whirl. Her skirts flew high, her bodice dipped low, and a thunderous roar of approval went up.
"Looks like she's about to serve a juicy tidbit indeed!" the knight next to Thorne leered. Apparently the girl had imbibed as freely as the men. She tossed back a bawdy remark that made Shana's entire body turn scarlet.
Now the sport began in earnest.
On and on the girl spun and twisted, arching and bending in sinuous rhythm, like a tree bowing to the wind. A number of the outside sentries wandered in to watch. All there were granted a lavish view of white thighs and ripe, swelling breasts, glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.
Shana could not tear her eyes away from the spectacle. Her breath felt like fire in her lungs. Thorne's regard of the girl was as avid, as outrageously bold and irreverent, as the rest of the men. Aye, and he was the one the girl seemed to favor, drawing closer and closer, until with flying red curls and a final chord from the lute, she cast herself straight into Thorne's lap.
Her hand caught his and lifted it toward her breast. The laughter in his bold, dark eyes met the sultry promise in hers.
Shana was up and on her feet before she realized she had even moved. The image burned in Shana's mind all the way up the stairs. By the time she reached their chamber she was shaking with fury.
She shed her clothes quickly and crawled into bed, clad in her shift. Sleep was not forthcoming, and she soon arose to pace back and forth before the hearth, expending her energy but not her anger. She kept seeing the girl, lips smiling and beguiling, her nearly naked breasts jutting forth in wanton invitation ... and Thorne's slow, appreciative grin.
She had just retreated to the bed again when Thorne sauntered through the door to their chamber—every inch the master in command! He paid no heed to whether she slept or not, but strode to light the tapers in the wall sconces. She propped herself up on an elbow and glared at him.
Thorne turned and stopped short. His brows shot up. "What! Have I entered the wrong chamber?"
Shana's spine stiffened. "Indeed, milord, I wonder if you have. This is not the servant's quarters," she pointed out coldly. "Nor will I provide you the same entertainment you found belowstairs."
"Why, princess! Surely you are not jealous!" He ventured further within the chamber and faced her.
"Certainly not," she snapped. "But I cannot help but wonder—will the wench be up to warm your bed later? Mayhap I should leave now before she arrives."
A smile that was almost lazy quirked his lips. "Now why would I do that when I already have a wife to warm my bed?"
"A wife that leaves you cold—" she smiled sweetly, "praise God."
Thorne scowled at her air of self-satisfaction. Apparently he'd done a good job of convincing her he harbored no desire for her—now if only he could convince himself!
In truth, he was still chafing that Shana longed to end their marriage. Aye, he'd married her because Edward demanded it, for it was not wise to be at cross-purposes with the king. But he did not feel trapped by their marriage as she did. Nay, he decided, he was not so displeased by it at all. She was young, beauteous, and no doubt would bear him many sons. Aye, he could have done worse ...
But she could have done far better. For she is a princess ...
While you are naught but a bastard.
And that, he thought blackly, was something his lofty little wife would not let him forget.
Caught in the darker side of his spirit, Thorne's jaw hardened. He knew a sudden desire to bedevil his lovely wife as she bedeviled him.
Very deliberately he pulled off his tunic. Shana swallowed, aware of a peculiar tightness in her middle. In some shadowy corner of her mind, she admitted he cut a fine figure of a man at any time. Half-naked, as he was now, he was truly awesome. Her gaze touched the hardness of his arms and lingered on the jungle of dark, curling hairs that grew in such profusion on his chest and belly.
"Mayhap," he returned softly, "it's time I showed you just how cold you leave me."
Panic raced through her, tor his air was distinctly predatory as he advanced toward the bed. Yet somehow she met and matched his stare bravely.
"Lady Alice is welcome to you, milord. And so is the wench belowstairs. Indeed, it matters little to me whom you bed as long as it's not me."
Oh, if only she knew, he thought with a twist of his lips. Both women were indeed willing—aye, more than willing—but Thorne knew instinctively he would find no ease in either Lady Alice or the maid. Nay, not when his mind scarce strayed from this vixen in his bed ... But he wasn't about to divulge that to her. Oh, no, for she was far too smug, far too sure of herself already.
The mattress dipped low. He leaned over and ran a fingertip across the line of her knuckles where she clutched that blasted sheet to her chin. "Do you worry that I will spread myself so thin there will be naught left for you?" He smiled directly into stormy gray eyes.
It spun through her mind that his sudden, wicked smile should have served as a warning. But alas, he pounced before she gleaned his intention. The sheet was ripped from her grasp. Before she could draw breath she found herself relieved of her shift as well as her ability for speech.
But not for long. She bounded up and lunged for the sheet. But he was too quick again and swept it completely off the mattress onto the floor. She scrambled back on her knees with a gasp. "You said you'd not touch me!"
His eyes gleamed his triumph. "I did not say I would not look my fill—and by God, so I will!" His gaze trespassed boldly over the ripe swelling of her breasts. Her arms came up instinctively to shield herself but he stopped her with a shake of his head. The glint in his eyes conveyed a blistering warning.
Rage and embarrassment swept through her. "Must you subject me to such crudity?" she cried. "For what you have in mind I do believe what you said is true—most any woman will do!"
Thorne gritted his teeth. God, but she strained his patience, his temper, and all his good intentions. He'd only thought to teach her a lesson— that all the world need not dance
so readily to her tune. Someday, he vowed, someday he would see her brought low before him, humble and contrite.
Yet despite his rage, despite hers, the proximity of her bare, slender body proved a temptation too potent to ignore. He wanted to feel the rampant pounding of her heart flush against his own; fill his palms with sleek, rounded flesh and taste her velvet skin with the eager glide of his tongue. He wanted to brand her softness with his sinewed strength; he longed to plant himself hot and deep in the right, silken prison between her thighs. At the thought, his blood rushed hot and scalding, swelling his loins to rigid, near-painful erectness. "Aye," he said heartlessly. "Most any woman will do, princess—even you."
His arms engulfed her. Shana had one glimpse of fiercely glowing eyes before his mouth trapped hers. But the onslaught she expected never came, at least not in the way she thought.
For a timeless instant his kiss was like fire, hot and consuming. She could feel his determination in the grip of his hands on her shoulders, the crush of his mouth against hers, and she braced herself for the ravishing stroke of his tongue. She would not cry or plead, for she sensed it would have pleased him too much.
But despite the tension that pulsed like thunder between them, he neither demanded nor coerced—oh, if only he did, for then she might have closed her mind against him, defied him in spirit if not in deed. He lulled and seduced, wooed and persuaded with naught but the possession of her mouth, a foray both tender and bold, piercing and sweet—a foray that sapped the strength from her limbs and melted what little resistance she had left.
Her heart pounded with thick, painful strokes. She trembled, for she didn't understand the quickening heat that made her feel as if she burned from the inside out. He released her mouth, only to blaze a trail over her cheek, down the slender grace of her throat.
My Rebellious Heart Page 21