My Rebellious Heart

by Samantha James

  Carelessly he tossed the cloth aside. From the corner of her eye Shana saw him liberally soaping his bare hands. She gasped aloud when lean, strong fingers glided up to shape the underside of her breasts; they seemed to tremble and swell. His mouth came down to nuzzle her nape, shockingly warm over and over, with the tips of his fingers, he traced a tauntingly evocative circle around the cushioned fullness, coming close but never quite touching each throbbing summit.

  His whisper, dark and husky, rushed past her ear. "You taunted me once that you could suffer my kiss only by pretending I was Barris. Tell me, princess, is it still true?"

  Her breath tumbled out in a rush. "Nay,' she said faintly. " 'Twas never true."

  Her head fell back against his shoulder. He had only to ease to the side a fraction and then his mouth was indeed on hers, exquisitely sweet and clinging. She felt bereft when he raised his head, for the kiss was but a taste of all she craved.

  "That pleases me, sweet. That pleases me greatly. And yet I wonder ... when I caress you so, when I touch and taste you here,"—those devil fingers grazed the tips of her breasts, rousing her nipples to tingling erectness and wringing a moan from her—"do you close your eyes that you might see your beloved Barris?"

  He gave her no chance to respond, but went on, the timbre of his voice low and rough. "I would know, princess. Is it Barris you long for even as I lay buried deep inside you, so deep I can no more tell if the pounding rhythm that runs rampant through my blood is yours or mine?"

  It was a stark, wanton whisper. Her heart plunged into a frenzy. She trembled to think of all the things they had done—that she had let him do! She had thought she loved Barris with all her being But never had she imagined Barris touching her as Thorne did even now ...

  A lean hand coursed over the mounds of her breasts, the hollow of her belly, threading through the soft fleece that guarded her secret cleft. A trespassing finger delved deep along that place he had carved out as his own, a bold, intimate foray that robbed her of speech and turned her limbs to water. Desire heated her blood, flooding her senses, blurring her mind to all but the need to experience anew all he dared speak to feel the thundering pressure of his manhood imbedded full and snug and tight within her.

  "Tell me, sweet. Is it Barris you dream of? Barris you long for?"

  His fingertips rested lightly on her breast. In that shattering instant, some painfully sweet emotion caught at her breast. She felt as if he reached clear into her heart and she could not stand it. Only half aware that she moved, she twisted around and flung herself against him

  Her voice was muffled against his throat. "It's always been you," she cried shakily. "Only you, Thorne, never Barris, only you ..."

  Her admission acted like a gate flung wide. He crushed her against him. His fingers tangled in her hair, bringing the bright gold mass cascading down around both of them. His mouth trapped hers, a kiss of binding urgency, unleashing a bursting inferno deep within her Shana tumbled headlong into a realm of feverish longing

  Water streamed from her body as he swung her from the tub. She shivered, though not from cold, as a linen towel skimmed the length of her body and back again. Then she was swept upward and borne to the bed.

  Imprisoned deep in his gaze, she could not look away when he stepped back. She watched as he stripped impatiently, for God help her!—there was a wondrous pleasure to be had in watching his muscled hardness revealed to her. Her fingertips itched to explore the dark pelt on his chest and abdomen. His skin was golden, his muscles toned. Candlelight flickered over the sleek, spare lines of his back as he bent to pull off his hose. Her breath dammed in her throat when he turned to face her, dark and striking. He made no effort to hide the jutting proof of his arousal, proud and blatant and bold. Then he was beside her. Wordlessly he caught

  her to him. A thrill shot through her, for his devouring gaze left no part of her untouched. Weaving his fingers through her hair, he brought her mouth to his. The contact was, searing. Shana held back nothing, engaging his tongue in an unbridled duel fraught with eager demand. He buried his face between her breasts and caught one ripe, straining crown between his lips, tugging and teasing, first one and then the other until she moaned her delight. But he was not content to stop there. His lips blazed a path of scorching fire clear to her navel, across the hollow of her belly, clear to the golden-red down that shielded her womanhood.

  Slowly he raised his head. Deep within the depths of fiercely glowing eyes was a fiery demand she did not wholly comprehend; yet she could no more deny it than she could deny the endless ache he roused in her.

  His head lowered. His lips brushed the tender flesh of her inner thigh. Once. Twice. Again. Time stood still as he embarked on a daring, soul-shattering quest that took him straight to the very heat and heart of her, hidden deep within her golden fleece. Shana gasped in shock. Her hands caught at his shoulders, for never had she dreamed of such shameless intimacy ...

  It was wondrous. Glorious beyond anything she had ever known. With torrid, lapping strokes of fire, he teased and tormented, darting ever closer to that place where the pulse of fire inside her beat strongest. And when at last it came, she spun high aloft into the heavens, mindless cries bursting from her throat, for never had she experienced such piercing rapture.

  She drifted back slowly. Her eyes opened, smoky and dazed Thorne was on his knees before her, his manhood thick and rigid, still heavy and throbbing.

  His head was pounding, his senses immersed in a crimson haze of passion. Surprise lit her eyes as he tugged her upright so that she was half sitting, half straddling his thighs. Her arms wound around his neck. He kissed her with ravenous hunger, finally tearing his mouth away with a muffled groan.

  His eyes flicked open. His gaze sheared directly into hers, hot and brilliant. "Wrap your legs around me," he instructed. His voice was low.

  His hands slid around to cup her buttocks. He heard the deep, shuddering breath she drew. He gritted his teeth, for now his shaft lay sweetly cradled against the furrowed cove of damp, feminine flesh.

  "Our marriage has made us two unto one, princess. But I would know, sweet ... do you want me?"

  She searched his face. The cords of his neck were taut, the muscles of his arms bulging and knotted. Her lips parted breathlessly "I ... yes," she whispered. "Yes!" Her nails dug into his shoulders, loving the feel of him "Thorne, please …"

  "Then take me unto you, sweet take me unto you ..." It was a heated, shattering whisper, one neither could ignore. He lifted her, gently guiding, bringing her down upon his pulsing shaft ... his sleek, swollen tip breached her velvet sheath.

  His arms were bulging, the cords of his neck straining. "That's the way," he said thickly. 'Take all of me, all of me ... oh, Christ!" He groaned, and then he was stretching, straining, driving, so deep he filled the very center of her heart.

  She began to pant and churn and undulate wildly, clinging tight to his shoulders, seeking to tell him with hands and lips and body all that feeble words could not . . The tide of emotion surged inside her, unbearably sweet. Deep in her heart she knew it never would have been like this with Barris—never! Scaling pleasure spiraled her higher, ever higher, to that pinnacle of rapture. Against her closed eyelids, the night shimmered— moondust and magic, glitter and gold, sparkle and sunlight.

  Her convulsive spasms but fueled his own. Small hands slipped to ride his frantically plunging hips. He tried to hold back, but there was no hope for it. A ragged groan tore from deep in his throat. He cast back his head and gave in to the gripping desire pouring through his veins. He plunged hotly. Wildly. Desperately, his control all but lost. One last explosive lunge and his seed burst scalding and hot deep within her womb.

  They collapsed, limbs entwined, cocooned by the wild tangle of her hair. In sheer, utter exhaustion, they slept.

  Chapter 20

  A rude hand jarred Shana awake in the morning. From beneath the rumpled covers she mumbled a sleepy protest and turned to escape. It seemed she h
ad barely closed her eyes, for it was near dawn before Thorne had allowed her to sleep. Still that demanding touch persisted. Bleary-eyed and wearied, she pushed herself up on an elbow to face her tormentor.

  He towered at the bedside. That devil's smile held no warmth nor did the stroke of his eyes along her bare shoulders. Although Thorne had slept no more than she, he was fully dressed. His chiseled features bore no trace of the dark tempest of passion that erupted between them throughout the night. Indeed, an air of knife-edged sharpness clung to him.

  He sat beside her, the calloused tip of his finger trailing the length of her collarbone. He raised a roguish brow as he beheld her baleful regard.

  "What is this! Come, tell me, princess! What has happened to the twisting, trembling tigress I held in my arms last eve, the tigress whose desires flamed brighter than the sun!"

  A crimson tide of embarrassment flooded her. A heady, purely sensual discovery had marked the long hours of the night. With naught but the caressing sweep of his hand, the lure of fiery, demanding lips, he had enticed her down a path from which there was no turning back. Time and time again he aroused her until fever burned all through her, until she cried and begged and pleaded for him to ease the piercing ache he incited in her with such brazen ease.

  Oh, but he was a brute to remind her of it. She sought to duck her head but he would not allow it. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, demanding that she meet his mocking gaze.

  "Well, milady, will you not invite me to crawl into bed with you again?"

  Her glare flared hotter. "Milord, I would invite you to leave!"

  "Ah, but I've yet to grant your wish!" He exclaimed with false heartiness. As Shana frowned slightly, he smiled tightly.

  "You play the role of innocent well, princess, but you do not fool me. Or have you decided you no longer wish to bargain?"

  "Bargain?"

  His hand fell away from her. His smile was wiped clean, as if it had never been. "Aye," he went on harshly "Bargain, princess, for we both know the reasons behind your willingness to lie beneath my hand, here in this very bed! You sought to ply me with the sweetness of your mouth, the suppleness of your body, the clinging heat of your tender flesh tight around mine—aye, and we both know you will now plead leniency for your beloved Barris."

  Nay! she wanted to cry. He is not my beloved. You are, Thorne, only you ... But pride held her silent— pride and the rigid cast of oak-hewn features.

  "You think I sought to sway you to my will?" She dared to vent her outrage aloud—but not her hurt. "I am but a vessel for your lust!"

  Lust? Nay, he thought. Never that... He cursed

  himself savagely, wondering what madness beset him that he taunted her so. Oh, he'd thought himself so clever. She had said she would yield all to him, and so she had. Indeed, he had demanded she surrender all she had to give—and more. He'd thought to brand himself into her consciousness so thoroughly that she could never think of another man—aye, even Barris, especially Barris!—without remembering his touch, his caresses, his loving.

  His mouth twisted. He had been determined that she know it was he, not her beloved Barris, who possessed her, body and soul. Yet in so doing, she had forged in him a searing passion that blazed all other to ashes. He had known, as each scalding climax hurst hot and rich in blinding release, that there would never be another woman like this one.

  And so in the end, it was he who found himself possessed ...

  For all eternity.

  But he was not about to offer up his heart to her. Nay, he decided with a twist of his lips. For he was bitterly aware his beauteous wife wanted nothing from him, least of all his heart!

  He arose. Glittering dark eyes rained fiercely down upon her. "You pleased me, princess, indeed far more than you can ever know. But your harlot's tricks were wasted, for your beloved's life is not within my grasp. The fate of the Dragon rests in the king's hands."

  His insult escaped her. Never had she seen him so stark and distant. He presented his back to her and reached for scabbard and sword.

  "I know not how long I will be gone, princess."

  Shana struggled upright, clutching the covers to her breasts. "You are leaving?"

  "Aye. I will return with the king's verdict." He eyed her coldly. "The Dragon has cost us many

  I warn you now, I do not expect Edward will be lenient."

  He did not deign to kiss her or touch her, nor spare her any further regard. He strode through the door, weapons in hand.

  Shana collapsed against the pillows, her heart battered, her pride sorely bruised When it was just the two of them, alone in the woodsman's cottage, she had believed there might yet be hope that she and Thorne might someday attain some small measure of happiness. Oh, but she was a fool! For now that they were back at Langley she was forced to confront the truth, galling though it was, the truth she had forgotten ...

  He was naught but an enemy bent on conquest.

  It seemed she had no choice but to await his return. She was secretly stung when Geoffrey told her Thorne had made it clear that neither she nor Sir Gryffen would be allowed to see Barns. Yet deep down, Shana admitted she was hardly surprised. Nonetheless, she could not banish the elusive hurt that persisted. For she alone knew he issued the order not because he had come to hold her in any regard—why, not even out of jealousy! No doubt, she decided bitterly, 'twas done out of spite—or mayhap the desire to see her humbled.

  It was then that Shana finally conceded what she had surely known for some time now. She did not love Barris, she realized sadly, if indeed she ever had. Yet she could hardly dismiss him, for he would always be dear to her heart.

  Indeed, she feared for his very life ... and with good reason.

  The days slipped by, one into another. Soon Thorne had been gone over a sennight. Concern for Barris's safety gnawed at her. Worry ran rampant within her, for Thorne's last words churned through her mind, over and over. I warn you now, I do not expect Edward will be lenient.

  She confided her distress to Gryffen one day as they walked near the garden.

  A shiver ran through her though it had little to do with the autumn chill. "I am afraid the English will have no mercy." She clutched her cloak about her more tightly. "They seek retribution for those lives lost, and now that they have Barris in hand, I fear he will be the one to pay the price."

  Gryffen nodded, his expression just as troubled. "Feelings against the Dragon run high, I've heard some of the knights say 'tis all the entire countryside talks about. Indeed, one of the earl's knights returned yesterday. He said—" He broke off abruptly.

  Shana focused on him sharply. "What?" she demanded. "What did he say?"

  Gryffen did not answer. An icy foreboding curled its way up her spine. An uncomfortable look had settled over his features. She laid an imploring hand on his arm. "Gryffen, I am no child to be coddled and shielded! Tell me!"

  His sigh seemed to hold the weight of the world. It was hardly the first time Shana had noted the network of tiny lines fanning out from his eyes, but all at once he appeared very haggard and old.

  "He says the Dragon will be hanged, milady," he spoke with defeated resignation, "as soon as the earl returns."

  Barris ... hanged. Dark, invisible hands seemed to snatch at her. The ground before her swirled and dipped sickeningly. Her stomach roiled and pitched. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. For one awful moment she was certain she would be sick.

  Gryffen helped her to a nearby bench. "Milady!" he cried. "Milady, are you unwell?"

  She struggled to speak. "I—I am fine," she said faintly. She did not tell him she had fallen victim to this particular spell rather often of late, so much so that she knew it would not last long. She breathed deeply, far that usually eased the queasiness. As soon as she was able to rise, Gryffen hastened her to her chamber, where he left her alone to rest

  Shana made no attempt to call him back, nor did she rest. Instead she paced back and forth the width of the to
wer, white-faced and desperate. A tight coil of dread clutching her insides, she frantically sought a solution to the dilemma that faced her.

  Her mind screamed silently. She could not let Barns die. Yet how could she free him? Mother of Christ, how?

  She ran to the door and flung it wide, prepared to scurry down the stairs to seek Sir Gryffen. Yet in the end, her fingers fell away from the panel. Her stomach twisted as she pictured anew the raw stripes on Gryffen's back. Nay, she decided fleetingly. She could not stand to see him whipped yet again.

  Nor could she let Barris die.

  She owed him her loyalty, if not her love

  An unfaltering resolve descended upon her. She knew what she had to do.

  But she must do it alone.

  Her mind raced apace with her heart. There would be a price to be paid, a steep one at that … was she willing to risk it?

  Thorne would be furious. Dear God, he might never forgive her.

  Yet what did it matter, taunted a scathing little voice. She could not lose what had never been hers, she thought with a bitter ache in her chest, for never had Thorne professed to love her. Indeed, he would never love her, and the certainty rent her breast like a rusty blade. It seemed she had nothing to lose after all.

  Barris sat alone in his cell, his back against the stone-blocked wall, his feet braced against the damp clay floor. He had been imprisoned at Langley for nine days. And for nine days Barris had been certain each one would be the last he spent on this earth ...

  He knew they would kill him. Deep down in his gut, he knew with a certainty he could not explain that these English soldiers would not be satisfied until he lay cold in his grave. He refused to give in. He refused to give up. For when there was life, there was hope. Other than his conversation with the Bastard Earl that first day, he had had no contact with anyone other than the jailer. He heard naught but the shuffling of footsteps when the jailer slipped food through the cubbyhole at the bottom of the door. So it was that escape proved as elusive as freedom for his people.