My Rebellious Heart

by Samantha James

  At last he rose above her, his shoulders muscled and sleek and bronzed. Her fingers dug into his back, a wordless plea conveying the depth of her need. They were both shaking when at last he came inside her, hard and driving and filling her so that she moaned in sheer, sweet bliss. She cried out his name; the sound echoed deep in his throat as he claimed her lips, even as he claimed her body and soul ...

  I love you! she thought helplessly. Oh, Thorne, I love you so! With every thrust, with every heartbeat, those words seared her heart and soul, clamoring to be free. But then the sun and the moon and the heavens themselves exploded inside her, a white-hot release that left her content and replete but utterly exhausted. Limp and suddenly wearied beyond measure, she closed her eyes and smiled drowsily when Thorne's arm locked tight about her waist, angling her into the hardness of his form. Her head tucked beneath his chin, one slender hand curled amidst the dark forest on his chest, her mind spun adrift.

  Tomorrow, she decided fuzzily. Tomorrow, as soon as they awoke, she would tell him how very much she loved him.

  But in the morning he was gone.

  Nor did he return that night.

  Shana slept not a wink for the fear that gripped her soul. The next afternoon a lone horseman galloped through the gates. He leaped from his mount and threw his helm high in the air. Shana was sitting in her chamber when the blare of trumpets roused her from her fretful musings. With a frown she arose, glancing out the window in time to see a swarm of servants from the hall streaming into the bailey. She opened the window and leaned out as a great hue and cry arose— shouts of triumph, a cry of exultation. One soared aloft with the wind, one that stood out above all others:

  "Llywelyn is dead ... Long live the king!.., Long live King Edward!"

  The war was over. Llywelyn was dead.

  Even as relief weakened her knees, a shadow slipped over her like a shroud. Her blood moved sluggishly through her veins. She closed her ears to the dm in the bailey, and lay down upon the bed. Hot, scalding tears seared her heart.

  They were the only tears she shed.

  The days that followed were among the most difficult of her life.

  In her heart, Shana had long ago resigned herself to England's victory. She was vastly relieved that the rebellion had ended. The paralyzing fear that Thorne might never return to her was gone, and that was something she could never regret. But there was a price to be paid. She later learned that the Welsh forces were overpowered near Orewain Bridge, not far from Langley. Llywelyn had been caught by a small band of English soldiers and run through with a spear. Dafydd had not yet been captured.

  She felt hollow and beaten ... as Wales had been beaten.

  Yet her emotions were a hopeless tangle. She did not hate Thorne—dear God, how could she? She loved him more with every beat of her heart. But she hated what he had done—what England had done!

  Thorne was not exactly cold, but he was remote and distant, his mind preoccupied, for he was as busy as ever tending to Edward's affairs. She overheard him with Geoffrey one night. King Edward sought to tighten his stranglehold upon Wales even further—he planned to build even more of his monstrous castles along the borders to hold the Welsh in check.

  Her spirit wilted. England had claimed victory, but she felt she had lost everything! Merwen was in ruins. Her heart felt as if it had been crushed by a mighty hand. Her father was dead, and so was Barris. For a time she had nursed a meager hope that Barris might have escaped, for Thorne had said the troops did not search for a body. Yet it had been naught but a foolish hope indeed, for no man could survive fire!

  Even Thorne was lost to her. Oh, he had whispered how very much she pleased him in those shared, shattering moments of wanton rapture. But never had he professed to love her! And neither love nor desire had played a part in their marriage. Indeed, she reflected with wrenching despair, he had married her for one reason and one reason only ...

  Because the king commanded it.

  A sennight after Llywelyn's defeat, Thorne came to her where she sat in their chamber one afternoon, her sewing idle in her hands.

  "Princess, we have received word King Edward plans to visit us on the morrow."

  Slowly she raised her head to meet his regard. "Your news precedes you, milord." The servants who brought in her bath that morning were all agog with the news that King Edward would formally declare Thorne the new Earl of Langley. "Shall I have chambers prepared for the king and his party?" She struggled to control her contempt.

  She did not succeed. She knew it by the way his face shut down from all expression. "There is no need. He will be here but a short time, for he is on his way to Rhuddlan." He paused, his gaze raking over her. "I ask only that you dress in your finest for the ceremony."

  She nearly choked. "What! You would have me at your side, while the king delivers Castle Langley into your hands—your battle prize for conquering Wales? Nay!" she cried. "Do not ask this of me—"

  She was hauled from her perch so swiftly her head spun dizzily. She gasped as he dragged her so close his hot breath mingled with her own. The heated fury or his eyes imprisoned her as surely as his iron grip around her wrists.

  "Do not ask, she says! Princess, you have been my wife these many months and I have asked you for nothing—nothing! Indeed, I should not have to ask, nay, or demand or command or even beg that you be at my side on such an occasion! Oh, I know that you do not consider it a privilege, for nothing is ever good enough for you, as you must ever remind me! But now I would remind you, you will be the mistress of Castle Langley—"

  "I'd sooner be mistress of a dunghill!"

  "Consider it a duty then. An unpleasant one, mayhap, but one that must be borne nonetheless."

  "I cannot do it ... I will not do it!"

  "Before God, you will! Always I have thought myself unworthy of you, princess, for I was the bastard! But I begin to think you the unworthy one, to think always of yourself and never of your husband!" Her eyes widened. Never had she heard him speak with such cold, contemptuous rage. 'If I have to chain you to me hand and foot, you will be at my side before the king and the citizens of Langley. You may not respect me, princess, but I refuse to let you shame me!"

  She sensed his ruthlessness. The very air around them pulsed with thunder and lightning. Her heart twisted. She did not doubt he would do exactly as he promised!

  She despised herself for her weakness, but the following noonday found her at her husband's side before the wide arched entrance to the great hall. She was warmly dressed in rich crimson velvet and soft fur, for the fields beyond the walls were bound with frost. But the chill in the air was as nothing compared to the chill in Shana's heart.

  The bailey was crammed with an endless sea of bodies. Shana scanned the crowd and spied Sir Geoffrey, Lord Newbury, and Sir Quentin just below the stairs. An awesome hush fell as King Edward stepped forward. He spoke first of the great victory scored by the English over Wales, the glory of triumph achieved by his troops.

  "But the fruits of victory could not have been gained without the efforts of many—and of one in particular," he called out. "I have always chosen my advisors with great care, for I truly believe loyalty breeds honor. Tis for that very reason I chose Thorne de Wilde, Earl of Weston, to command my forces here at Castle Langley But such loyalty as I demand deserves to be rewarded ... thus Thorne de Wilde shall henceforth be known as the Earl of Langley, the lord of Castle Langley and all its holdings ."

  The crowd erupted. A raucous cheer went up. Shana stood wooden and stiff as Thorne raised a hand and pulled her close, her face as frozen as the land. He turned her to face the crowd. Feeling numb and listless, she allowed herself to be swept into the hall.

  She determined to escape as soon as she was able. The opportunity presented itself almost at once. First one knight and then another clustered around Thorne, clapping him heartily on the back. She turned to flee only to find herself face to face with King Edward. To her shock he tucked her hand into his elbow and pulle
d her into a corner where the din was less thunderous.

  He shook his head, his tone surprisingly mild. "I see time has not blunted your disapproval of me, milady, nor of England."

  Shana reddened. She had not realized she was so transparent.

  He studied her for a moment, a faint smile on his lips. "Lady Shana, your people have put aside their arms. So have mine. Is that not cause to rejoice?"

  "Sire." She spoke with difficulty. "I do not think the people of Wales are ready to bow to English rule. Both you and my husband claim this war has ended. But is there peace in the land—is there peace between England and Wales?" Her eyes darkened. "Sire, I think not."

  His smile ebbed. "I pray you are wrong," he said very quietly. "For England and Wales are far stronger together than apart. I do not choose to hold by sword and shield what could be held by the Crown alone. But I will if I must, for in the end, I truly seek only peace—and prosperity for England." He shocked her by leaning forward and kissing her forehead. "I wish you well, Shana, you and Thorne and your child." He turned and left her alone.

  Was he truly so wise? Or merely a fool? she wondered bitterly. She had little chance to speculate for Thorne had spied her. He kept her close, a possessive hand heavy on her waist while they took their place as lord and lady of Langley, seeing the king and his retinue on their way.

  Shana had no stomach for the gay feast that followed. She longed to escape to her room, but whenever she turned, she discovered Thorne's eyes upon her, dark and piercing. The fierceness of his countenance robbed her of the courage to slip away as she longed to do.

  He was still angry, she realized. But his fury with her disturbed her far less than knowing she had wounded him—and wounded him deeply. Oh, it was well hidden beneath a facade of icy control, and the pangs of regret bit deep and sharp in her soul. She wondered bleakly if he would ever forgive her.

  The chance to slip away soon presented itself, but she was scarcely in her chamber than a knock on the door sounded. Shana opened it to find a heavy-set soldier there.

  "Milady," the man said urgently. "Your presence is required in the stables. The boy Will has been gravely injured. He asks for you, milady."

  "Oh, no!" Panic gripped her as she whirled and grabbed her cloak, flinging it about her shoulders. She followed the soldier down the stairs and across the bailey, her mind beset with worry. Dear God, Will was just a boy! Oh, surely fate could deal with her no more cruelly! She could not lose him, too ,..

  A torchlight lit the stables. The soldier was at her heels as she stepped within. She spotted Will immediately. The boy lay sprawled in the far corner, limp and unconscious His skin was pale as snow. A horrible gash had split his temple. Blood matted his hair and trickled down his forehead. Shana rushed forward with a strangled cry.

  "Not so quickly, milady."

  A hand seized her. She was spun around, her arm nearly wrenched from its socket. A face Hashed before her, gloating and leering—she cried out in shock and horror at that twisted grin, a grin she scarcely recognized as Sir Quentin's ...

  A stunning blow at the back of her head pitched her sideways. She felt herself falling, tumbling headlong into a black void of darkness.

  That was the last thing she remembered.

  Chapter 23

  Thorne prowled the hall restlessly. Jovial shouts and laughter filled every crack and crevice of the great hall of Castle Langley. Soldiers and servants mingled, eager to share in such a joyous occasion.

  But while Thorne was present in the flesh, he was absent in spirit, distant and apart from the lively celebration, though he hid it well, joking and raising his goblet high when toasted.

  Once he would have been elated, drunk with a heady pride and power, for with this earldom came land and riches aplenty. The land, the title, the glory of owning this sprawling castle symbolized a lifelong ambition. He, the boy who had once possessed nothing, not even a name, would soon be one of the wealthiest men of the kingdom!

  And yet it was but a hollow victory. He felt curiously untouched and he need not ask himself why, for he was bitterly aware that this night—this day—would have meant everything to him ...

  If not for Shana.

  He had felt the brooding in her. Yet Thorne knew not how to fight it, or overcome it, or indeed if he should ever try!

  She would never love him—never.

  With his mind so engaged, he did not notice the slight figure that staggered into the hall from the bailey. Not until he heard a gasp from several ladies nearby was his attention diverted. He glanced up just as Will crumpled to the floor. Blood flowed profusely from a gash at his temple.

  "Milord!" came the weak, bleating cry.

  Four long strides took him to the boy's side. He sank to his haunches beside him. "Will!" he exclaimed. "Son, what happened?" Gently he eased the boy against his chest so he could speak, his expression reflecting his worry.

  Sir Geoffrey knelt down, and several other knights as well. Geoffrey held a clean cloth in one hand, the fingers of the other lightly gauging the severity of the gash. " 'Tis not so deep as it looks. I think he'll be fine given a few days' rest," he muttered with a grimace. "The hooves of someone's horse must have glanced off his temple—"

  "Nay!" Will clutched at Thorne. "Milord, I was hit from behind. I blacked out, but then I heard them ... one of them said what a grand joke it was that they plundered and raided in your name, and all the time beneath your very nose ..."

  Thorne leaped to his feet with a savage curse. He grabbed Lord Newbury by the throat of his runic and yanked him clear from the floor.

  "By God, I knew it was you though I could prove nothing!" he spat. "I shall kill you for this!"

  Newbury's eyes bulged. "I have done nothing! Man, I fought by your side countless times these past months. By the Holy Virgin, I swear I have done nothing!"

  "Nothing! You made it well known you were furious that Edward chose me, not you, to command his forces here!"

  Newbury gasped as Thorne's grip tightened. "I was jealous, aye, I made no secret of it! But it was naught but talk! I swear I did nothing to disgrace your name—"

  "Milord!" Will's thin voice reached him. "I saw the man ... 'twas Sir Quentin, milord, Sir Quentin ... then later Lady Shana was there ... he said he wanted Castle Langley but he'd settle for her ... Milord, I heard him ride out. He has milady with him!" The boy began to cry. "Milord, I tried to reach you as quickly as I could ..."

  Thorne's head turned slowly. He went white as bleached linen. "Dear God," he said numbly. "He has Shana ..." Newbury stumbled back.

  Thorne's mind was churning. He'd been so convinced Newbury was the rogue who had blackened his name—he'd only been waiting for the chance to spring, to gain proof of the vileness that had been done, but all along it had been Quentin! He was awash in a crimson sea of rage, but even as he damned Quentin, he damned himself for the blind, stupid fool he had been!

  But far surpassing his rage was fear for Shana, a fear that reached beyond any he had ever known.

  He shouted for his horse, his face a terrible sight to behold. Sir Geoffrey leaped to his feet as well. The women of the castle now hovered over Will; the boy was in safe hands. He caught Thorne's arm.

  "Thorne! You don't mean to go after Quentin alone! His men departed yesterday along with him—we have no way of guessing how many may still be with him. You could be outnumbered fifty to one!"

  Thorne grabbed his friend as roughly as he had grabbed Newbury. "Geoff! He has Shana!"

  "Aye, but surely he'll not hurt her—"

  "I'll not take that chance! Geoff, Quentin must despise me to have done what he has. God, man, he wanted Langley! But now that Langley is mine mayhap he took Shana simply to get back at me. Who knows what he'll do to her." Thorne squeezed his eyes shut. The thought of her in danger was like a lance turning over and over in his gut. He drew a deep racking breath, unable to hide his anguish, not caring that any and all were there to witness it. "Christ, I can't lose her, not now!"
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br />   Geoffrey's face was just as grim. "He can't be far ahead. I'll ready my men and meet you at the gates."

  Another figure had appeared before him. Sir Gryffen made no effort to disguise the tears swimming in his eyes. "Milord, I beg of you. Do not make me remain here and wait, knowing my lady is in danger." He stood straight and proud as any warrior half his age. "I would be honored if you would allow me to serve you, to ride with you as my leader."

  Thorne did not consider—there was no need to. He pulled a dagger of beaten gold bejeweled with three small rubies from the sheath at his waist, the dagger Shana had informed him had been given to the knight by her father. He seized Gryffen's hand and laid it in his palm, closing his fingers around it.

  "Sir Gryffen, I believe this has been out of your possession for far too long. And I would be honored, sir, if you were to ride with me—" he did not flinch from the older knight's startled gaze—"not as my servant, but as my equal."

  Moments later the pair sped through the gates. Behind them was a small body of mounted knights.

  A brilliant moon spilled through the cold black sky, lighting the heavens so that they blazed with a milky glow.

  Shana sat the horse she'd been given in bone-stiff misery. She had roused herself in the saddle in front of the burly knight who had fetched her from her chamber. She'd been given a mount of her own once they saw that she was awake. She

  knew it was so she would not impede their progress, for they rode as if the devil himself nipped at their heels. But they made certain her hands were tied to the saddle. If she tried to slide from the horse she would be dragged. Instinct alone prompted her to scream as they passed through a slumbering village. Her mount was jerked to a halt so that she nearly pitched forward over its head. A filthy gag was brutally thrust between her teeth.

  She uttered a silent moan. How much longer would they go on? Her head throbbed where she'd been struck. Thankfully, her dizziness and nausea had passed, but she was so cold she could no longer feel her fingers and toes. Every muscle in her body ached. But it was concern for her unborn babe that outweighed her discomfort by far; would this grueling pace harm her unborn child? She directed a fervent prayer high aloft.