My Rebellious Heart (11 page)

"You are quick to rally to her defense, Geoffrey. The lady may be fair—aye, the fairest in the land! But many a man has lost al reason and sense for the sake of a woman's favors."

Thorne regarded him with cool aplomb. "I do not question Lady Shana's loyalties," he added quietly. "I pray you'll do nothing to make me question yours."

Geoffrey watched him spin around and stride toward the stairs. He sank down onto the bench and stared into the half-empty tankard of ale. He was not worried that Thorne would bear a grudge against him for speaking his mind. Over the years, they'd had any number of disagreements, al of which were usual y forgotten by morn.

But he did not envy the Lady Shana ... especially given Thorne's present mood.

Indeed, Thorne's frame of mind was anything but tame as he climbed the tower stairs. He was angry with Geoffrey, for he suspected his friend had fallen prey to a man's worst enemy —the wiles of a woman! He had been a careful observer over the years. He'd seen more than one man succumb to female ambition, particularly at court. Even the stoutest heart had fal en before a husky promise

whispered in the ear, a dainty hand placed just so. Men relied on brawn and strength to fight their battles; women plied the sweetly feminine arts of cajolery and flattery. They would tease and torment a man until he was half crazed with passion; they surrendered or withheld their bodies to suit their own whims, until their chosen victim possessed no wil of his own.

That did not mean Thorne shunned the female of the species. He enjoyed a lusty tumble as much as the next man. Nor was he an inconsiderate lover; seeing to his partner's pleasure merely heightened his own. But he prided himself on his control—he would let no one manipulate him, least of al a woman. He was careful to keep both mind and heart detached, separate and apart from the physical demands of his body.

But Geoffrey's words of warning where Lady Shana was concerned stabbed at his conscience— he did not like it, but there was naught he could do to stop it. Deep within him, there was a burning need for justice, no matter how cruel or harsh either of them might find it. But Shana was a woman—a princess, at that. And so Thorne could not deal with her entirely as he'd have liked.

He approached the tower door and nodded to the guard. "Good eventide, Cedric. You've had no trouble with the lady?"

"None at al , milord."

He dismissed the guard, then paused to listen at the door for a moment. There was no sound from within, none whatsoever. Thorne could not help it; a frown laden with suspicion creased his brow. His senses ready and alert, he pushed open the door and stepped in, thrusting it shut behind him. The chamber was steeped in darkness; a few fading embers in the hearth cast out feelers of weak, wavering light. Thorne scanned the room sharply,

convinced his reluctant guest awaited the chance to pounce on him from the shadows. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. A glance to his left revealed her huddled in the far corner, her legs drawn tight to her chest, her head resting on upraised knees.

She was asleep, he realized. His first impulse was to leave her as she was, crawling into bed and seeking his rest. But some demon inside refused to let her be.

He lit a candle and crossed to stand before her, staring down at her. Her lashes curled heavy and black against her skin. The curve of her cheek gleamed in the pale light, pink and sleep-flushed. Some strange emotion caught at his chest. Thorne knew if he were to stretch out a hand, he would find it warm and smooth beneath his fingertips.

She stirred, slowly raising her head to behold his features. Hers were curiously unguarded, her expression one of befuddled confusion. Thorne stood as if spel bound. Her eyes were pure and clear as crystal, her lips parted and soft and damp. The smudge of dirt on her temple only added to her air of vulnerability. An odd sensation gripped him, like the tightening of a fist low in his bel y.

He knew the exact instant full awareness returned to her. She scrambled to her feet so quickly he had to step back lest the candleflame catch fire in her clothing.

He moved to light the tapers in the wall sconce, then tossed a chunk of wood on the fire in the hearth. Hands on his hips, he turned to regard her. 'If you wished to rest, you should have availed yourself of the bed, for I fear this cold floor offers meager comfort. Or is it that you've realized the rashness of your actions—mayhap you regret your attempt to kill me and wish to begin a self-imposed penance?" A slow smile crept along his lips; he beheld eyes grown dark and stormy.

"There is much I regret, milord/' she retorted sweetly. "Heartiest of al is that I did not choose to see you slain earlier."

That maddening smile widened further. "Newbury was right. You are a bloodthirsty little piece, aren't you?"

She did not reply. Thorne was both admiring and irate as he watched her glide across the room, total y ignoring him. She seated herself in a straight-backed chair near the hearth.

Even now, with her face smudged, knowing her fate lay solely within his hands, she'd lost not a whit of grace and poise.

He presented himself before her and gestured at the tray of food she'd left untouched. "I do not care to be further accused of starving you, Lady Shana." His mildness was deceptive.

She spared him neither glance nor reply. Instead she stared into the fire where flames licked up the chimney, the tilt of her head coolly regal.

This time he did not bother to mask the edge of steel. "I wil ask you once more, milady. Why didn't you eat?"

"I'l not eat English food in an English hovel." she stated flatly.

"Castle Langley is hardly a hovel, milady. And T would remind you, you had no such qualms when you shared a meal with me in this very chamber." He began to circle her. "Ah, but I forget. That was but a. sacrifice in order that you might enact your plan to see me slain."

Shana spoke not a word. She knew what he was about. He meant to goad her, but she'd not give him the satisfaction!

"A pity Castle Langley is a trifle humble for your tastes—and our food not up to your usual standards. My deepest regrets, milady." His countenance was not in the least regretful.

"However," he went on, "methinks you would find fault with

just about anything right now. So tel me, what would please you?"

The question final y brought her head whipping around. 'It would please me to be returned to my home—to Merwen!"

"Impossible, I'm afraid, I do offer a suggestion, though. It might ease your state of mind considerably if you were to think of Langley as your temporary home, milady."

He was cruel to needle her so. "Curse you to hel !" she burst out. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Why, Princess. I think ours an acquaintance we must devote more time to." He bowed low, openly mocking her, his smile leering.

She fixed him with a poisonous stare. "You wil be sorry," she predicted flatly. "Someone wil come for me—"

He laughed outright. One booted foot resting easily on the raised hearth, his pose was casually negligent. "Milady, you forget! They think you dead—fal en victim to my own hand."

"All the more reason for them to seek you out. My people will demand justice for my death— and then they wil discover you hold me against my wil !"

He remained duly unimpressed. "Even if your people rallied to your aid, mere is precious little to fear. I saw only a handful of knights and men-at-arms at Merwen."

Anger brought her surging to her feet. 'Thanks to you," she cried bitterly. "But Barris wil find you and then, milord, you'l see you've met your match!"

"Barris?" A dark brow climbed high.

"My betrothed! And he wil see justice done, I promise you that!"

He shrugged, not in the least swayed by her warning. "Should he choose to come, I wil be

ready." He left her in no doubt he found the prospect highly unlikely.

Shana glared at him, her lips clamped tight. It seemed he had an answer for everything, blast his English hide! Her fury escalated when he merely laughed at her mutinous expression.

"Come, milady. Do not sulk so."

"I do not sulk!" she flared.

"Methinks you do. You are disappointed," he drawled, "that al did not proceed as planned.

Oh, you must have been so very smug when I tumbled into your trap. I admit, I played the fool."

"Aye, milord, a role you play wel !"

He continued as if she spoke nary a word. "You are right, however. 'Us time I decided what we are to do with you." His eyes turned as cutting as his voice. He stroked his jaw, his gaze never releasing her as he pretended to ponder.

"I have it," he proclaimed suddenly. "We could ransom you to your betrothed for a goodly sum." When she said nothing, he went on, "Or we could use you as a hostage. Aye, a hostage! In exchange for your uncle Llywelyn's promise to renew his homage to King Edward. The Welsh people will fol ow his lead and al wil be as it was."

"You underestimate the Welsh, milord. We do not fight for glory or honor or riches. We fight for independence, because we despise English rule—we always have and we always wil .

Nor is it likely my uncle Llywelyn wil come to my aid," she pointed out coldly. "He is seldom on good terms with any of his brothers. Why, he put his elder brother Owain under lock and key. And he drove his brother Dafydd straight into the arms of the English those many months and cal ed himself ruler of all Wales."

"Ah, a typical Welshman! Only Llywelyn did not choose to fight with his neighbors, but his brothers!"

Shana was not so inclined to laughter, as he was. "My father harbored no desire for land or power like Uncle," she said stiffly. " 'Twas for that very reason that he removed himself to Merwen these many years past. He saw his brother only when Llywelyn craved money or arms. I fail to see why I, a mere niece, should fare better than his brothers." Even as the words passed her lips, a chil ing revelation came to her—too late she realized that very fact might well make her life forfeit.

"Why, indeed?" The earl murmured. A shiver ran down her spine when she saw that he recognized her discomfiture. "I see you've realized you are expendable, princess. But you may take comfort, milady, for I do not make war on women and children."

"Nay, you prefer to slay those who are unarmed and lack the means to fight back. You prey upon the defenseless! You say I am expendable. So just ... just kil me and be done with it!"

Fists clenched at her sides, she chal enged him out of angry frustration. But if he intended to kil her, then let it be quick and let it be now, she prayed, for her courage was fast deserting her!

Thorne shook his head, staring into flashing silver eyes. She defied him. She threatened him. And now she dared challenge him to strike her down then and there. Was she truly so valiant—or merely foolish?

His lip curled. "Brave words, those." He spoke with deliberate harshness. "Something tel s me you've known little of pain and heartache, princess, little of life and death. Else you would hardly be so eager for your own."

"You think I've known no heartache? No pain?" She cried out in fervent denial. "Curse you, de Wilde! My father died in my arms, his blood upon my hands. I saw body heaped upon body in fields

that ran red with blood. And now there is you— you who would make my life a living hel !

Thorne's lips tightened; he said nothing. Oh, she was convincing—he'd al ow her that. But Thorne suspected this was just a ruse to employ his sympathy. Nay, she would not cry, or beg, or plead for mercy. He realized he'd expected—hoped for!— tears at the very least. It would have soothed his wounded ego considerably to hear her plea for her life.

"Wel , milord? You do not deny it, so I assume you've already chosen my fate. Wil you ransom me to Barris—or hold me hostage for my uncle's loyalties? Or would you turn the tables and make me beg for a priest that I might give my last confession?" Shana disguised neither her scorn nor her hatred. It gal ed her that he held within his hands the power of life or death. And mayhap it was not wise, but it was at least easier to be angry than afraid.

"You may rest easy, milady. There'l be no need for a priest. As for the other, I've not yet made up my mind."

"Then please, be so good as to secure me a chamber. I wish to retire for the night."

Her tone was coolly dismissive. Thorne began to laugh. The chit's audacity knew no bounds!

She offered no gratitude, no words of thanks that he chose to spare her.

Her eyes narrowed. "I foil to see what you find so amusing, milord."

"I know. That's the beauty of it. However, I think if s time we cleared up a little misunderstanding, princess." The smile continued to dal y about his lips. His tone was oh-so-pleasant as he continued, "You are hardly in a position to give orders. Nay, not to me—nor to the lowliest servant here at Langley You do not command here. You do not rule. You may ask —you may beseech and

plead until you have no voice left with which to speak. If it pleases me—aye, and only if it pleases me, mayhap I'll grant your wish. Do we understand each other, milady?"

If she heard she gave no sign of it; she continued to regard him as if he were the most loathsome of creatures, her elegant little nose tipped high in the air, as haughty as ever.

Thorne's laughter vanished as if it had never been. "Please be so good as to remove your clothes." He borrowed her phrase of the moment before, "I wish to retire for the night."

In shock, Shana felt her jaw drop. She stared at him mutely, convinced her hearing had failed her ... One look at his jeering countenance revealed her folly.

Her recovery was mercifully quick. She raised her chin and spoke with distinct enunciation.

"Go to hell, my lord earl."

She had progressed from angry to livid; Thorne didn't care. He was beyond that point as well. "Milady," he said in a tone of near frigid politeness. "I've already been there. And I warn you— 'tis unwise to disobey me. I may yet decide you are not worth the trouble you put me to."