My Rebellious Heart Page 13

  She drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, no."

  "Aye, milady. It's hard to miss a boy whose feet arc wrapped in rags."

  Shana need hear no more. She considered but an instant, then bade the knight good-bye. "I will see you on the morrow, Gryffen, if not later today. Keep well."

  "And you, milady."

  "Will! Shana turned and began to stride across the bailey, her strides quick and purposeful. Will chose that instant to glance up. His eyes widened as he gleaned her intent. When he glanced to his left,: Shana was certain he meant to bolt, but he hesitated an instant too long, for she had already reached him.

  "Good morning, Will." Had he known her better, he'd have reaped her dulcet tone masked a will of iron. When he said nothing, merely scowled at her, she turned toward Cedric, who stood several paces behind her.

  "Cedric, 'tis almost time for the noonday meal. Do you think I might have a tray in my chamber?"

  "Of course, milady."

  She graced him with a beaming smile. "For two, if you please, Cedric." She laid a hand on Will's shoulder. "Oh, and Cedric, this boy has the appetite of a full-grown knight such as yourself."

  He straightened to his full height. "I'll see to it myself, milady."

  The giant knight started toward the kitchens. Will did not hesitate to voice his annoyance. "What did you do that for?"

  "For the obvious reason. Will. You're hungry and in need of a meal."

  "I'm not—"

  "Oh, but you are, Will. My friend there. Sir Gryffen—" she gestured toward the old knight, "he heard you begging the cook for food only an hour ago. And 'twas you, Will, who told me you only beg when there's need to."

  "I can't think why you should care," he muttered.

  "Isn't it enough that I do?" He glowered at her, saying nothing. Shana sighed. "I owe you no duty or obligation, but like it or not, I am concerned about your well-being. Every child needs someone to look after him, and none deserves to wonder from where—and when—his next meal will come. Especially when there is plenty to go around." She held her breath and waited.

  "I'm not a child," he countered hotly. "And you don't know how it is for me, milady!"

  Nay, she thought with a wrench of her heart. But she could see what it was like for him. She dared not let him glimpse her empathy for his plight, for fear he might mistake it for pity.

  "Cedric promised to bring food enough for two," she said evenly. " 'Twould be a shame for it to be wasted." She started off in the direction of the tower, not looking back until she reached the entrance. A triumphant satisfaction ran through her as she saw that he plodded along behind her.

  In the tower, she propped the door open for Cedric. She didn't know what the earl might think were he to return and find her sharing a meal with Will—nor did she care. Will appeared less than thrilled when she bade him wash his hands and face, but he did as she asked.

  He displayed no further resistance once Cedric arrived with a tray laden with food; he devoured every morsel she placed on his trencher, and more. Shana hid a smile of amusement when he dunked his bread in the gravy of a rich lamb stew, then proceeded to lick his fingers clean. She did not correct him, for his enjoyment of the meal was too great, and she enjoyed seeing his appetite.

  The boy did not speak until after he'd swallowed the last crumb of fruited honeycake. Eyes on his trencher, he pushed it back and raised his head.

  "I heard one of the butler's boys say you claim your father died beneath an English blade."

  Shana's smile withered. " 'Tis no idle claim," she stated quietly, "but truth, Will. The earl's troops attacked my home in Wales without provocation— for no other reason than to spill blood."

  "But there must have been some reason."

  "There was not."

  "Milady, I could understand your hatred of the earl if it were true—"

  She silenced him with a quick shake of her head. "My father was not a man to lie, Will. I trusted him—I believed in him the way you believe in the earl—and I know what he told me. And I can see 'twill be impossible for you to see my side, so let us speak of it no more." She smiled faintly. "I would like to be your friend, Will, but if that is not possible, then ... at least let us not be enemies."

  She sensed he wanted to argue, but he held his tongue. He got to his feet, his thin features somber, but no longer sullen. She accompanied him to the door, where he surprised her by stammering out a thank-you. Shana watched him disappear down the narrow stairwell, a jaundiced eye on his torn, filthy tunic. She had seen the boy fed decently; now, if only she could do something about his clothing . ..

  It was later in the day when King Edward arrived. Trumpets blared. Knights and men-at-arms streamed toward the gatehouse to catch a glimpse of their ruler. A great hue and cry went up as three mounted knights cantered ahead bearing the king's shield of arms, three gold lions passant on a field of red.

  Shana surveyed the endless procession from the tower window. With every man that passed through the gates, she battled both simmering resentment and an anguish that went soul deep. One thought stood out above all others—if Edward had his way, Wales would be crushed beneath the heel of England.

  She passed the remainder of the day in the tower, feeling listless and defeated. The dusky rose of evening shimmered above the treetops before the earl finally reappeared. He was splendidly dressed in a fur-trimmed brown velvet tunic. The same rich fur lined the tops of his boots. The scent he exuded was pleasant and clean, his hair wet and dark and gleaming; dimly, she wondered where he had bathed.

  He greeted her heartily. "No doubt you are anxious to meet the king. Therefore I've come to escort you to dinner."

  Sheer feminine instinct provoked a glance at her simply cut forest-green gown. Had she been at Merwen, she'd have deemed it unsuitable to meet guests dressed in such a gown—and here he wanted to present her to the king!

  Unfortunately, the earl interpreted her far too accurately. "You need not fret over your appearance." He seemed to take great satisfaction in needling her. "No one will even notice you, princess, for every eye will be upon the king." He opened the door and swept an arm before him, indicating she should pass through it.

  Shana could not countenance his good humor while her own was sour as bad wine. She stopped before him, regarding him with ill-concealed distaste. "The month of June is near ended, milord," she reminded him sweetly. "You may be over-warm wearing fur."

  "In your presence, milady?" He laughed as if genuinely amused. "I think not. Indeed I worry that I shall be frozen through and through."

  Oh, he was truly a wretch to insult her so! Shana ignored him until they neared the great hall. "Wait, milord!"

  He stopped, a jet brow arched high as he awaited her.

  She looked him straight in the eye. "Does the king know I was brought to Langley by force?"

  "He knows." A slow smile crept across his lips but his eyes were hard as agates. "Just as he knows I was taken from Langley by force."

  Her heart plummeted. She should have known he'd not miss an opportunity to cast her in a disparaging light. It had been a mistake to seek retribution against the earl—at least she had conceded her folly. The earl, on the other hand, was determined to make the most of her capture. Shana was no fool; though she would resent King Edward to the ends of the earth, she also realized that he alone might free her from the earl's clutches. Oh, if she could only make Edward see her side, convince him that she, too, had been wronged ,..

  The din in the hall was deafening. Servants darted in every direction, bearing huge trays and jugs of wine. The earl strode purposefully through the crowd, his destination the high table. It riled Shana even further that not once did he glance back to see if she still followed. At length he stopped where a massive high-backed chair had been brought in, dominating the center of the dais. Only then did he deign to lend her his awareness, extending his hand palm up for her to place hers in.

  His gaze pinned hers, coldly challenging. Fury rose within her, like a cl
oud of dust. The urge to slap his hand away was overwhelming. He read her intent in her mutinous expression. His own turned brittle, conveying a silent warning. Hard fingers closed around hers before she could withdraw.

  He drew her forward. "Your Highness," he said smoothly. "I would present to you the Lady Shana, Princess of Wales. And this, princess, is our lord and king."

  Not mine, she longed to shout. The earl's fingers tightened so that she almost gasped.

  "Sire," she murmured, gritting her teeth. The earl's hand released hers and she managed a low curtsy. On arising, she saw that King Edward had come to his feet as well. He was tall and slender, and possessed the famed Plantagenet coloring, boasting fair hair and ruddy cheeks. On his head was a gold trefoiled crown.

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips. While the earl moved away, sharp, assessing eyes smiled directly into hers. "Princess," he intoned evenly, "I hope your stay here at Langley has not been too unpleasant."

  "Being held against one's will is never pleasant, Your Grace."

  Reddish-gold brows shot up. "What! Has the Earl of Weston mistreated you then?"

  Inwardly quaking at her boldness, Shana gathered all her courage. "Aye, Your Grace," she stated clearly. "He has indeed." Though several paces separated her and the earl, she heard his sharply indrawn breath. She half expected him to jump out and refute her charge, but he said nothing.

  "Mayhap," said the king, "you would like to expound on this."

  "Gladly, Sire." She bit her lip uneasily. "However, what I have to say might be better discussed in private."

  "I would be wary, were I you, Sire." The earl interrupted with a dry half smile. "I succumbed to that particular request and nearly ended up losing my head."

  Shana glared at him. She could have cheerfully strangled him when Edward resumed his seat in his high-backed chair. He beckoned her forward.

  "Come, milady. You may speak freely, for my ears alone, I assure you." With a wave of his hand, he dismissed those that clustered around. They dispersed to other parts of the hall so that only she and the king were upon the dais ... all but the earl. She watched as he retreated some twenty feet. But his stare digging like tiny needles into her back was thoroughly unnerving, almost as unnerving as what she was about to divulge to the king.

  "Sire," she spoke with painful dignity. "Are you aware of the circumstances surrounding my presence here?"

  "I know that you mistakenly blame the earl for the death of your father, milady—and sought to see an end to him."

  Mistakenly? Oh, how she longed to argue! She did not dare, however. "The Earl of Weston has chosen to ransom me to my betrothed. He holds me hostage here until the ransom is paid."

  His tone was dismissive. "In light of the recent conflicts between England and Wales, I would have to say Thorne is entirely within his rights."

  A hurried glance over her shoulder revealed the earl, his expression tense, his eyes so like dark frost that she shivered with cold. She was forced to lace her fingers together to still their trembling. "I am aware of that, Sire. But I would much rather he had chosen to lock me away in the dungeon while awaiting the ransom than ... than what he chose to do." She spoke in a hurried rush, lest her determination desert her.

  She had captured his attention; he leaned forward with renewed interest. "Indeed," he murmured, a brow raised high. "Exactly what is it the earl has done to you?"

  She lowered her gaze, for it was the only way she could say what she must. "Your Grace, he has done what no honorable knight would do. He has allowed me no privacy. Indeed, he—he has me kept in his personal chamber, throughout the day and—and the night, too."

  There was an endless silence. "Milady, are you saying the earl has wronged you?"

  "Aye," she whispered. "He—he has sullied my good name, Your Grace, and shamed me before all." She swallowed and raised her head to discover he stared at her intently, one hand fingering his beard.

  "If what you say is true, 'twould seem I have no choice in the matter."

  Relief flooded her. "Thank you, Sire. I prayed you would bear me no ill will and see justice done, no matter that the earl is your own loyal vassal."

  "Lady Shana, if he has ill-treated you, 'tis only right that he atone for his misdeeds."

  The first genuine smile in days tugged at her lips. She had been silly to dread this moment—for all that she decried the king's desire to rule Wales as well as England, she could not fault his manner of justice when dealing with his countrymen.

  His fairness lent her courage—and a brief moment of triumph. "Sire, do I dare ask what form of chastisement you contemplate for the earl?"

  It was King Edward's turn to smile. "Of course, milady. The earl shall marry you."

  Chapter 10

  The earl shall marry you. The ground beneath her feet seemed to crumble. Her heart had forgotten how to beat. It was as if she'd been struck dumb and blind, pitched into some far-flung world of madness. For a mind-spinning instant she thought she might faint—indeed, she would have welcomed the chance to escape this insanity!

  Dimly she heard herself cry out. "Sire, I am already betrothed to—"

  "Indeed you are, Lady Shana—to the Earl of Weston."

  "But he—he despises me for seeking revenge for the death of my father. I cannot marry him! He—he will not have me!" she blurted.

  Edward sighed. It was not every man who could avail himself of such beauty and not help himself to the bounty thereof. He knew full well that Thorne was not one to turn a blind eye to such charms as the lady possessed. Indeed, he could well understand Thorne's compulsion to take the princess to his bed.

  "Lady," he drawled, "methinks he already has." He beckoned the subject in question to come forth.

  Shana flushed crimson. "Nay, Sire, he has not!"

  Edward's smile vanished. "You claim the earl soiled your reputation. Did you lie then?"

  "Nay!"

  His fingers drummed against the ornately carved arm of his chair. "Did he force you to his will?"

  She grew desperate. "Not in the way that you think—"

  Edward spoke in dipped, abrupt tones. "What I think is that you should provide me with specifics."

  Shana trembled, for she knew she had no choice but to accede to his demand. "He stripped my clothing from me,"— her voice was scarcely audible, for the shame which scalded her cheeks was almost more than she could bear —"and then he made me share his bed these past two nights."

  "And did he lay his hands on you as no man should touch a woman, lest she be a whore or a wife?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "Then marriage to him would lessen the stain on your honor. 'Tis the only way to set the matter aright."

  She cried out unthinkingly. 'In your eyes, Sire, not mine!"

  Edward's eyes grew chill. His gaze shifted to a point just beyond her. "My lord earl, do you wish to defend yourself against her charges?"

  With a jolt Shana realized Thorne had resumed his place beside her. Rigid and stiff, she could feel his anger, as great as her shock. "She speaks the truth," he proclaimed flatly.

  "Then my decision stands. You shall marry her."

  Shana recoiled in horror; Thorne bristled with suppressed fury—the wench had truly discovered she spoke once too often! Edward, meanwhile, gestured for a page. "See that the princess's belongings are removed from the earl's chamber and she is installed in a chamber of her own," he instructed the boy.

  He rose to his feet, eyes agleam. A sly smile on his lips, he bid the pair before him turn and face the crowd. At a signal from him, one of his men shouted for quiet. Within seconds the hall was silent as a tomb. Edward reached for Shana's hand, then placed the earl's atop hers.

  "We have a joyous occasion to celebrate!" he called out in a deep, booming tone that commanded every eye to rest upon them. "Shana, Princess of Wales, has just consented to marry Thorne de Wilde, Earl of Weston!" With a flourish he raised their joined hands high.

  There was a stunned moment of silence
before someone started to applaud—the king, Shana recognized hazily—then others soon began to follow suit, until the noise made her want to scream and clap her hands over her ears to shut out the thunderous clamor.

  The king himself led her to the table, seating her on his right, gesturing Thorne to his left. "Milady, I have in my possession a dozen lengths of cloth I'd thought to present to Eleanor upon my return to London. But there is always more to be had, and it occurs to me you will be in need of a wedding gown—and a trousseau. I do not think my queen would mind that I choose to present it to you instead, for she is very fond of Thorne. Aye, 'twill be our wedding gift to you, mine and Eleanor's. Indeed, Shana, I promise you a wedding you'll not forget!"

  In some far distant corner of her mind, Shana registered that the king seemed well pleased with himself. But she could offer neither scorn nor thanks, for her insides had twisted into a sick, ugly knot. She could scarce eat a single bite of the delicious fare served in honor of the king. As soon as the last tray of sweetmeats had been offered, she pleaded to be excused, citing the rich fare had not agreed with her stomach. Edward frowned, a wordless reproach in his eyes, but in the end he summoned a maid to escort her to her new chamber.

  Edward turned his attention to Thorne once she was gone. "You'll soon see the wisdom of this marriage, Thorne. You alone know how I've bided my time, hoping that Llywelyn would see the folly of his ways. But no, he and his brother have united and entered into a plot against me—and the blasted Dragon has joined them as well!" Edward's features tightened with displeasure for a fleeting instant. After a moment, he damped a hand on his knight's shoulder.

  "I don't blame you for bedding so comely a maid, Thorne, and we all know how hot-blooded these Welsh are! You are well aware I've no wish to see more bloodshed, and an alliance between a Welsh princess and one of my most trusted lieutenants could prove beneficial. If this marriage sees an end to hostilities, all the better. 'Tis my hope that the mingling of English and Welsh blood will placate both sides. Besides, 'tis long past time you took a wife, eh?"

  Thorne's smile was a trifle stiff. He wondered fleetingly what the king would say if he told him the truth—first, that the lady was hardly a maid; second, that he had no desire to breed fire-breathing dragons with Shana, princess or no!