My Rebellious Heart Read online

  The haze of night still clung to the earth, but a rosy dawn pinkened the eastern horizon. Shana's pulse leaped when she spied a sleepy stableboy, rubbing his eyes, stumble through the door. Thorne stopped short and jerked her close. "Tell the boy you are seeing me on my way and want two horses saddled." His grip on her arm tightened to a point just short of pain. "And no tricks, princess, else the lad will die. Do you understand?"

  A shudder of revulsion coursed through her. He held her flush against his chest, and it was as if his frame were forged of iron. Though it aggrieved her sorely to give in, she gave a jerky nod.

  "Good. Now move." His voice was like a clap of thunder in her ear.

  She stepped forward. It was difficult to appear as if naught were amiss, when in truth she felt as if her very world were being torn apart—and by none other than the man at her side! Somehow she managed to dredge up a faint smile, feeling as if her face would crack.

  "Good morning, Davy. Would you be so good as to saddle my mare, and Father's mount as well? He's a bit confused about the way back to Tusk, so I've promised to see him to the crossroads."

  "I won't be but a minute, milady." Young as he was, she hoped to convey a wordless message of distress to the lad. The earl stood near, the deep cowling of the robe pulled up over his head to hide his features. But she nearly moaned aloud when the boy hurried to do her bidding with nary a glance at him.

  Her mare was saddled and brought forth. Shana took the reins and tried once again to capture the boy's attention, but it was no use. Behind her, Thorne suppressed a grimace when the boy led a gray nag forward. Apparently this was the horse the priest had used to travel here. Unfortunately, he could not object without giving himself away.

  They set out. Thorne deliberately set a slow pace, riding close to her mare—if the lady decided to take flight, he wasn't entirely sure the nag would catch her mare, which looked like a prime piece of horseflesh. They traveled for perhaps half an hour before he shoved back his hood, reached out, and grabbed her bridle.

  "Hold," he said abruptly. "We stop here."

  Shana watched as he dismounted, distinctly uneasy. They had stopped near the rushing waters of a stream. She offered no resistance as he pulled her from her mare. She stood warily as he ripped the robe from his body. Beneath he wore tunic and hose. He stuffed the robe inside a pouch tied to his saddle. Without a word he returned to her.

  She gasped when his hands went to the brooch that held her cloak together. "Stop!" She tried in vain to strike his hands away. "What are you doing?"

  He tugged her cloak away despite her resistance then turned his attention to her mare, giving her a sharp slap on the rump. The mare lunged and tossed her head, rolling her eyes. He slapped her rump again, this time stomping his feet, shouting and waving his arms like a madman. The mare turned tail and ran full tilt into the forest.

  Shana's jaw sagged; she was too stunned to protest. His expression was cool and distant, but an

  odd half smile curled those hard lips. Dread seized hold of her as a horrible notion occurred to her.

  "Dear Lord," she cried. "Do you propose to leave me here?" Her arms came out to hug herself. She shivered against the bite of the cool morning breeze. "To bind me and let me freeze and starve to death?"

  His laugh was harsh and biting. "The thought is tempting, milady—tempting, indeed. But you see, princess, you are not the only one who can indulge in such trickery. Likely as not, your mare will find her way home. And when they come searching for you, as undoubtedly they shall, all they will find is your cloak." He strode to the edge of the stream and flung her cloak carelessly between two boulders.

  But as Shana was coming to discover, there was nothing careless about him. His every move was calculated and shrewd.

  He straightened with a flourish. And he was smiling—smiling! A staggering fear clutched her heart. It was revenge he sought, and she knew with agonizing certainty that any vengeance he took would be complete and total. He'd said his priest's garb would assure him safe passage from Merwen and so it had ... and now she had served her purpose as well.

  His motives no longer eluded her.

  Her gaze swung between the furiously twisting waters of the stream and her cloak, and back again.

  "When they find my cloak,"—her lips scarcely moved—"they will think me drowned."

  She knew it was true when he made no effort to deny it. It might be days before her body was recovered from the water ... His calm made her want to shrink away in terror. Could she sway him from his goal? She had to try, at least. "When the priest is found they will know you kidnapped me. They will know that you are ..." to her horror she faltered, "are responsible."

  "Princess," he drawled, "your powers of logic never cease to amaze me."

  "You will gain naught from this!"

  "Naught?" There was a brittle edge to his laughter. "I will gain satisfaction—a great deal of it, I daresay."

  Shana was through attempting to reason with him. When he turned his attention to the nag, she took a single step sideways, then another and another.

  "Were I you, princess, I would not."

  She halted in the midst of a step. Quiet as his voice was, it sent terror anew winging through her. She half turned to find him studying her. He held himself immobile as a statue, his carriage relaxed, but she was helplessly aware that if she made but one move, he would pounce upon her like a hawk on its prey.

  She could not help but cry out her ire. "You are mad if you expect me to stand by and meekly submit while you drown me—nay, murder me! I swear by all that is holy that you'll not find it so easy, milord. As long as there is breath in my body ..."

  "Your people will think you drowned—aye, murdered, and by none other than the Bastard Earl! And all the while, milady, you will be snug and warm and dry at Castle Langley."

  So he was taking her back to Castle Langley. The relief that flooded her was extremely short-lived. One glance at his grimly forbidding profile inspired no little amount of wariness. What dire fate did he have planned once they reached Langley?

  She had no chance to speculate. He thrust something at her. "Here," he said brusquely. "Put this on and be quick about it. You've delayed us long enough."

  Shana pulled her cloak about her shoulders, the one he'd wrapped her clothing in. Only then did she realize he'd stuffed her gowns into his saddlebags. When she'd finished she cleared her throat and glanced at the nag.

  "Since we've only one horse, I assume you would have me walk." Try as she might, she couldn't withhold the jab.

  He responded in kind. "Princess,"—his smile was more a baring of teeth—"I would have you crawl. Unfortunately, there is a need for haste."

  There was something so coldly implacable about him that she dared not argue. She suffered his touch as he lifted her to the nag then mounted behind her. She was unprepared for the shock wave that jolted through her. The heat from his body both warmed and repelled her. She found Thorne's nearness vastly disturbing. She could feel far more of him than she cared to—far more than she had ever felt of any man, even Barris.

  With Barris she had been latently aware of his strength, for his strength had always been tempered with tenderness. But the earl's thighs were like sinews of iron hugging her own, his arms like steel bands around her. She was overwhelmingly conscious of the unyielding breadth of his chest at her back, the rush of his breath through her hair.

  He urged the nag into a slow canter. Long minutes passed, an eternity it seemed to Shana. She twisted and shifted restlessly, seeking to find a position where they need not touch.

  Above her head there was a muffled curse. Thorne reined in so abruptly that the binding circle of his arms was all that prevented her from pitching headlong over the nag's head. Shana had no more than drawn a startled breath than a strong hand clamped down on her right breast, fingers splayed wide against her softness, his thumb perilously near the delicate peak.

  She was shocked into immobility. Though Barris was her betroth
ed—and aye, he had kissed and held her close—never had she allowed such intimacy! But far surpassing her indignant outrage was the realization that Thorne dared to handle her so rudely, so familiarly, as if he owned her!

  "Be still, woman!" he warned gratingly. "Or by God, I may change my mind about leaving you behind!"

  "Please do," she snapped. "But first, be so good as to remove your hand from my person!"

  His abrupt compliance startled her further. But it appeared he was not through taunting her. "Better yet," he went on in the same infuriating tone, "I'll blindfold you so that you may see what it's like to have no idea what fate awaits you."

  Her chin angled high, soft lips compressed in a mutinous line, Shana decided against indulging him with a reply. She stiffened her spine as he resettled her against him, all the while heaping curse after curse upon his arrogant head.

  The minutes soon turned into hours. The nag was hardly possessed of any speed to speak of, but he proved surprisingly sturdy and enduring. The earl and his charge maintained a frigid silence, a silence neither seemed willing to break. Oddly, Thorne found himself admitting to a twinge of reluctant admiration. Most of the ladies he knew, particularly those of noble birth, would have fainted dead away at finding themselves in her predicament. He was grimly amused that she had convinced herself he intended to murder her. He'd seen through her bravado to the fear beneath, yet she had faced him defiantly, even boldly. Somehow he'd not expected that.

  Shana's muscles ached from straining to hold herself rigid and stiff, but she said nothing. It was near noonday before he let up his pace, stopping to water the horse.

  Hot needles of pain sliced through her legs as Shana slid to the ground. She hobbled to a nearby tree and gratefully sank to the ground. Leaning back against the rough bark, she closed her eyes with a sigh. When they opened again a short time later, she saw that the earl was bent over the nag's foreleg, prying a stone from the hoof with the tip of his dagger. At length he straightened, pausing to weigh the dagger in his palm before slipping it back into the sheath at his waist.

  There was an elusive tug on her memory. The handle of the dagger was of beaten gold, set with a trio of small rubies. She bounded to her feet with a strangled cry.

  "That dagger," she cried. "How did you come by it?"

  " 'Tis my business, milady, and none of yours."

  "That dagger was Sir Gryffen's, given him by my father." She vented her thoughts aloud. "He would never have parted with it, certainly not to the likes of you." She broke off, her face blanched of all color. Her mind shrank from a thought too terrible to contemplate, even as her heart began to pound with dull, painful strokes.

  "Sweet Jesus," she said faintly. "You killed him, too. You killed Gryffen!"

  Thorne turned to find her gaze fastened on the dagger. Her eyes were huge and glistening, her soft lips tremulous. He was almost—almost!— tempted to spare her, to let her know the truth, that the old knight still lived.

  But he'd not bargained on her vile tongue. Anger brought her to her full height. She lashed out with all the fury and pain held deep in her soul.

  "What, milord! Have you nothing to say? You English do not lack courage to do battle against the weak and helpless. Can it be you lack the courage to speak the truth?"

  Thorne was suddenly filled with a rage as black as any he'd ever known. He cared not if she thought him a barbarian. Indeed, mayhap it would keep her in line! He snatched the dagger from its berth and held it high.

  "The truth? You want the truth, mistress, so be it. Aye," he went on heartlessly. "I struck down the old man and left him beside the priest."

  She shook her head wildly. "Dear God," she cried. "Nothing is sacred to you! You murdered a priest—and Gryffen! Have you no compassion? No remorse?"

  "You dare to speak of compassion—when I merely sought to save my own hide. And nay, I feel no remorse, for I did what I had to do, princess—what you forced me to!"

  His glare was endless, dark and relentless, fired now with a burning hatred that seemed to scorch her very soul. She stumbled back instinctively, for before her was a man who respected neither the Lord nor the sanctity of life.

  Her breath came jerkily. "I sought to spare you ..."

  "Spare me? Ah, yes, princess, you were so righteously proper as you and your lover Barris decided my sentence. Your concern for my life was touching, but hardly convincing. And may I remind you, lady, it was you who sprung the trap that lured me from Langley. I wonder—what did you seek if not my death?"

  As he spoke, lean fingers slid the length of the dagger and back again, over and over. Icy fingers of dread plied their way along her skin as she watched in horrified fascination.

  Her voice came out very low, barely audible. "In my heart, I did not mean to see you dead, milord, only punished. I ... I wanted to get even. I sought..." her voice faltered, "I sought justice for the death of my father."

  He moved like a bolt of lightning. Steely fingers wound around her wrists; he wrenched her to him with a force that jarred the breath from her lungs. "Justice, is it?" His laugh was ugly. "Now that I can understand. But hear me and hear me well. 'Twas you who started this blasted quest for vengeance, but I will see it finished. Rest assured, I will repay you measure for measure, by fair means or foul. So take care, princess. Take care lest you push me too far—lest you offend me further. For I promise I will make you regret it."

  Shana was stung by the scorn she glimpsed in him—the ruthlessness of his hold. She feared what she had done to him ... what she had driven him to do.

  He said no more—nor was there a need to. The threat was implicit in both his tone and his expression. If she made trouble he'd not hesitate to reciprocate.

  He had cursed her, reviled her ... and promised vengeance in return. And so it would be, she realized numbly. A cold hard knot settled in her stomach. When the earl set her upon the nag again, she began to pray. For courage. For salvation. For deliverance from this English bastard ...

  But God did not hear.

  Chapter 6

  It was mid-afternoon before their journey came to an end. Shana's lips tightened with every step that brought her closer to her enemies. Straight away lay the village, cowering beneath the shadow of Castle Langley. Resentment began to smolder within her. Many times her father had told her tales of the ravening Normans who had installed their lords in south and central Wales, that they might flaunt a visible pronouncement of their so-called right and might ... and all on land wrested from the Welsh!

  The late June sunshine showered warm and bright on her bare head. A shudder wracked her body; inside she felt as cold as the northern seas.

  Shouts went up as they crossed the drawbridge. By the time they drew to a halt in the center of the bailey, a small crowd had amassed around them.

  "My Lord, we thought you'd never return!"

  "No one knew where you went off to, milord! We'd begun to worry somethin' fierce!"

  Thorne raised a hand. "Well, now I've returned and I'm none the worse for it," he called out. Shana sniffed in disdain. How would he account for his absence? Would he admit the truth—that a mere woman was behind his abduction? Surely not, for that would prove too humiliating. No doubt he would embellish the truth to swell his ego and play down his own folly.

  She felt him leap to the ground. He turned and offered a hand of assistance. "Milady?" he murmured. The challenge inherent in those night-dark eyes prompted Shana to weigh him critically. She was sorely tempted to imprint the bottom of her slipper to the impressive width of his chest. Her intent must have shown, for his expression grew chill. He did not wait for her consent but set his hands about her waist and swung her from the nag.

  He paid no heed to the curious stares directed at her—at them both. Iron-hard fingers curled around her upper arm, directing her steps. Shana tried to wrench away from his hold, but he would have none of it. He marched her up the stairs and into the great hall. A low murmur went up as they appeared beneath the massive arched e
ntryway. Then three men near the hearth on the far wall started toward them.

  Shana's heart sank as she recognized Sir Geoffrey of Fairhaven. Worry was plainly etched on his handsome features.

  "Milord!" A low exclamation came from the man who reached them first. He was tall, though not so tall as the earl, with even features and chestnut hair. "You should have left word with someone! We've been searching for you night and day, certain you'd met with some foul play."

  Thorne's smile was rather tight. "I'd have left word had I been able to, Sir Quentin."

  Sir Geoffrey's attention was on Shana. "Lady Shana! You took wearied. Here, come sit by the fire and—"

  Thorne cut in abruptly. "I'd not be so inclined to pity her if I were you. I was led a merry chase all the way to Wales—by none other than the lady

  here." He still held tight to her arm, like a falcon on a jess.

  Geoffrey blinked, clearly stunned.

  "I fear the lady was also remiss in her introduction. She called herself Lady Shana," the earl made no effort to hide his scorn, "but she neglected to tell us she is also a princess of Wales."

  "Wales!" The third man, possessed of a powerful build, spoke at last. "So we've a prisoner of war 'ere the war begins, eh? Ah, that all the enemy should be so fair! I'd gladly trade my sword for the keys to the dungeon." Unbridled lust flared in the cold blue eyes that traversed the length of her.

  Shana's chin went up a notch. "Had I a sword," she stated calmly, "I'd gladly show you how it feels to be beaten."

  The man let out a sneering laugh and glanced at Thorne. "Bloodthirsty little piece, isn't she?"

  "Aye, Lord Newbury. That she is." Thorne was unwillingly amused. He glanced at Geoffrey. "See her to my quarters, will you, Geoffrey, and post a guard outside. But beware if she deigns to smile sweetly at you, my friend." His eyes, cool and distant, touched the rebellious fire in hers. "Likely as not, she's plotting the moment she can stick a dagger in your belly."