My Rebellious Heart (19 page)

Sir Quentin's attention was on Thorne as wel . For a split second, a hard light shone in his eyes before he cleared his throat.

"Milady," he murmured, turning to her, "you truly honor me, but I hardly wish to provoke a quarrel with either of these men." He glanced at Newbury. "Lord Newbury, I would remind you that the king himself has decreed Lady Shana shal marry Lord Weston. If you persist in this, you risk not only the earl's displeasure, but the king's—and I hardly think that is wise.

What say we let the matter rest and return to the hal ?" He bowed stiffly to Thorne. With firm intent, he began to guide Newbury toward the spiral stairwel . Newbury pul ed away, stalking off with a muttered curse.

She and Thorne were left alone.

Shana glared her defiance, for his lips were curved in a derisive smile. "Mayhap I should have chosen Newbury," she muttered. "I hardly think he'd have been so gal ant as Sir Quentin."

"I would never have al owed you to leave here with either of them," he said easily. "I am a selfish man, milady, and the years have taught me to guard closely what belongs to me."

"1 do not belong to you," she said through clenched teeth. "Nor wil I ever."

He chose to ignore this last. "You are lucky I saw you cross the gallery, princess. Or perhaps 'tis

luckier still that Newbury followed you as well, else 1 might have been too late." He peered over the wal -walk to the distant ground below, then turned back to her, his features amused.

"Is the prospect of marriage truly so repugnant that you would cast yourself over the side in order to avoid it?"

"You flatter yourself," she said coldly. "My life is worth far more than the likes of you, for repugnant is indeed the word for you. The prospect of marriage, however, is not repugnant at al , for Barris is the only man I wil marry!"

He shook his head. "You wil never marry him," he said softly, deliberately. "The king wishes the ceremony to take place within a sennight, that he might be present."

She smiled tightly. "How quickly you forget, milord. I am betrothed and surely Barris has your ransom demand by now. I've no doubt he will come for me, mayhap even on the morrow."

"He wil not come, milady."

"Then if not on the morrow, the day after."

"I say again, Shana. He will not come."

"How can you be so certain?" she demanded, ignoring the tingle of unease she felt. "The ransom demand—"

"I fear I never got 'round to sending it." He gave a careless shrug, his smile cruel. In truth, it had been little more than an idle threat. Why it was so, Thorne refused to admit, or even to examine. He knew only that the thought of Shana with her precious Barris rankled as no other.

Every drop of blood drained from Shana's face. Pain sliced through her like the edge of a broadsword. But pain was the one thing she would never show this man, for he would do naught but use it against her.

"Do I dare ask the reason for your neglect, milord? Could it be that you lack the skills with

which to send off a ransom demand?" She gave him no chance for reply, her eyes as blistering as her tone. "God, but I hate you!"

He raked her with a gaze as cutting as hers. "On our feelings for the other, at least we are agreed." "Then how can you let this mockery of a marriage take place?" she cried.

"I am not so foolish as to oppose my king, princess. Nor should you be."

Her fists clenched at her sides. "You are a pawn," she accused, "A pawn who expects to be rewarded with Castle Langley, this pile of jutting stone! Oh, yes, milord, Newbury told me how King Edward has promised to bestow Lord Montgomery's lands and titles once the rebellious Welsh have been duly conquered. So tell me, did you start your campaign of slaughter with Merwen? And where wil it end? When the River Wye runs red with the blood of poor Welsh soldiers?"

"Those who oppose the king are rebels against the crown—and English blood flows red as Welsh. I would also remind you of this, princess—I am my own man, and do not dare to think otherwise." The pitch of his voice had gone dangerously low but Shana paid no heed.

"Indeed," she taunted. "You are so much your own man that you would shackle yourself to me— for king and country. I wonder, milord, are you to be lauded or pitied?"

He moved like lightning, jerking her against him so that she cried out in shock. "Edward advised me to beget an heir as soon as possible, princess. What say we begin this night?"

His lips took ruthless possession of hers, as brash and daring as he himself was. Struggle was useless; with a low sound of triumph deep in his throat, he crushed her more tightly against him so that her hands were trapped against his chest. His

tongue trespassed boldly within the silken cavern of her mouth. She sought to close her mouth against his invasion but he would have none of it; she discovered he tasted of mead, yet the taste was not so unpleasant. His palm slid up to lay claim to the swel ing ful ness of her breast. His thumb brushed the tip ... a scalding heat seemed to seize the whole of her body-Shana's heart tumbled and lurched as sharp, needlelike sensations burst through the budding tip. Her nipples began to tingle and ache, yet to her horror, she was neither repulsed nor outraged by his touch, as she had been by Newbury's. Nay, al at once she wondered what it would feel like to have that strong masculine hand against her breast without the restriction of clothing, skin against skin ...

She wrenched away with a gasp, shamed and appal ed that she could even imagine such a thing—and with this man yet! Thorne raised his head, regarding her curiously. The slack in his embrace was al the opportunity she needed. She pushed herself free of him and he stumbled slightly.

It was then that she realized ... he was half sotted. "You stupid fool," she cried in outrage.

"You are primed with mead, while Newbury was primed with lust. Wel , let me tell you this, my lord earl. You two are welcome to each other—but leave me be!" She whirled and left him standing there on the wall-walk.

Her chest was heaving when at last she reached her chamber, but not from exertion. Pain tore through her like a spear. Her will had been snatched from her, by none other than the king. Her tears blinded her, tears she could contain no longer.

She was doomed, she realized with stark, painful clarity. She had gone to King Edward to save

herself from one fate . . . only to find herself landed in another far worse.

In a sennight she would be wife to the Earl of Weston, she thought despairingly. Castle Langley was to be his prize ...

Langley ... and her.

A watery light crept through the shutters before Shana final y arose the next morning. Night had seen the arrival of cool, wet weather. Peering through the shutters, she saw that a cold, weepy fog clung to the ground—nature's tears—but Shana's tears were bled dry.

At some point during the night, she had come to the realization there was little she could do to prevent this marriage. She felt she'd been cast into a den of thieves, alone, unarmed, and unprotected. Her only al y was Gryffen—yet how could an old man and a young girl fight the will of the king himself?

Her wounded soul cried out. Inwardly she was devastated that fate would rob her of her heart's yearning. Barris had surely returned to Frydd by now; he would have no choice but to believe her dead. Oh, how she bitterly regretted that they had not wed before this!

But along with the rising of the sun came not hope-but an iron-forged determination ... and an ever-mounting hatred of the earl. It was not in her nature to give in so easily. Both the earl and the king were about to find out that she possessed the fiery spirit of her ancestors.

That afternoon she stood in the solar, surrounded by a seamstress from the village and several housemaids, al of whom wore frenzied, harried expressions. A table was strewn with swaths of velvet and lace, ribbons and fur, wimples and coifs.

"But, milady," piped Adelaide, the seamstress. She held in her hands a length of cloth. "It you would only let us drape it about you, you would see—"

"Take it away, Adelaide, if you please. All of—"

"Adelaide, you and the others may leave us alone for a moment. As for the cloth, please be so good as to leave it where it is."

That baritone was only too familiar. Shana spun from her post near the window in time to see the earl stride brashly into the chamber. The seamstress and maids scurried out the door, clearly relieved by his sudden appearance.

"Only yesterday you saw fit to complain to me about your lack of wardrobe, princess." Hands on his hips, he stopped in the center of the chamber, his stance both intimidating and whol y masculine. "I cannot help but wonder why al the housemaids are abuzz with your disdain for the king's generosity."

The maids had earlier carried in arm after arm of cloth, some pale and glimmering, some bright and jewel-like. Her eyes had widened in awe, for they were in truth fit for a queen. But m the end, pride had dictated her refusal of the cloth—pride and a perverse desire to defy the earl.

Now Thorne's holier-than-thou attitude—sweet Jesus, when had she begun to think of him as Thorne?—roused her defensiveness al over again. She lifted her chin and met his gaze fearlessly, saying nothing.

"What!" he mocked. "These many bolts of cloth do not suit a woman of your station? They are good enough for the king to present his queen, but not for a princess of Wales?"

Shana's lips compressed. Oh, he was so smug, so certain that he was right! "Never did I say that." She dismissed him cool y.

He picked up a swath of bright green brocade.

"This would make a fetching wedding gown, would it not?"

"Black," she stated coldly, "would be a more fitting color."

"I beg your pardon?"

Her gaze swiveled back to col ide with his. "It wil make me look like a hag." She crossed her arms across her breast in much the same manner as he had done earlier.

He picked up a length of pale saffron silk. "This one, then."

She grimaced. "Too insipid."

He chose another, and stil another. She found fault with both.

Thorne's temper had begun to simmer. "The king has been most considerate, princess.

While I care not that you offend me with your pettiness, surely even you understand 'twould not be prudent to offend the king."

"And I wonder, milord, if the king decided to provide this wardrobe because my future husband is too poor to see to it himself."

Her barb struck home. She knew it by the way his features went hard as granite. "You may fool the others, Shana, but you do not fool me. You wish to be difficult because you did not get your way. Like a spoiled youngling, you are miserable, and so everyone around you must be. You are shal ow and vain, princess, and I have no time for such foolishness as this."

"Foolishness, is it? Wel , let me tell you this, my lord earl!" She swept an arm toward the table. "This cloth is naught but a bribe, but I am not so shallow or vain that I would marry you merely that I might have a new gown at the king's expense!"

His eyes narrowed. "Ours is to be a marriage of convenience."

"Aye!" she snapped. "The king's convenience."

"Is it so wrong that Edward hopes our marriage wil bind England and Wales?" The tempest alive in his eyes belied his calm. "I am a reasonable man, princess, therefore 1 wil give you a choice, several in fact. You may wear a new gown so generously provided by the king on our wedding day. Barring that, you can kneel at the altar dressed in tatters. Or—and indeed this is my preference— you may take your vows wearing nothing at all—"

A shock went through her. Surely he was jesting!

"Aye," he went on, only now there was no mistaking his ruthless intent. "Wearing nary a stitch, which is what you will do if you do not choose from among these many fine fabrics ...

now."

"Even you would not dare." But all at once she wasn't certain of him, not certain at all ...

He looked her straight in the eye. "Milady, 1 would dare much where you are concerned."

The tension spun out endlessly. Oh, he was truly a bastard—in name and in deed. She sensed no yielding in him, none whatsoever. To her secret shame, a burning rush of tears stung her eyelids. She dared not look at him, for fear she would betray the anguish in her soul. This, she thought helplessly, was how it would always be between them. He would strip from her al dignity and pride, and al to bolster his own.

Three quick steps took her to the table. She reached out blindly, snatching up the first bolt of cloth that touched her fingertips. "This one will do." Her voice was low and choked, sounding nothing at al like her own. She did not look at the cloth but squeezed her eyes shut. She despised herself for weakening, for giving in ... almost as much as she hated him for forcing her surrender.

"An excel ent choice. I wil send the seamstress back in." He spun and left the chamber.

Even as her chest ached from holding back her tears, unfairness raged inside her. Did King Edward real y mean to make her wed this arrogant, overbearing blackguard? Her thoughts were tinged with bitter desperation. Surely there was a way to avoid it Mother of Christ, there had to be.

hana told Gryffen the news that afternoon, though he had long since heard, as all the castle was abuzz with it. Though she tried not to show it, his reaction—or lack of it—hurt. She had thought he might denounce the earl for the scoundrel he was, but Gryffen held his tongue.

Oh, he patted her shoulder and dabbed her tears dry. But when she proclaimed that never would she willingly stand before the altar with him, the old mart shook his head.

"He is one man I should not like to cross," the knight said slowly. "Bear that in mind, girl, for though I have not been here long, I have seen enough to know that Thorne de Wilde is a man of considerable influence and power."

"Influence? Power?" She scoffed. "Aye, he has so much of both that he would sit at the king's heels like a hound begging for table scraps! This I know for a fact, for why else would he consent to this marriage?"