Her eyes conveyed a silent message of gratitude. For all that he'd been trained in the arts of war, Gryffen was a man much as her father had been, gentle and peace-loving. She raised her head and nodded at the earl, stating clearly, "We will take him with us back to Merwen and decide his fate there."
Even as she spoke, he began to gain consciousness. He fought like a wild boar, agile and fiercely determined. It took every one of her men-at-arms to subdue him, yet in the end he was overcome, for he was but one. Six men pinned him to the ground while Gryffen bound his hands behind his back with strips of leather. He was seized by the arms and hauled upright, but there was naught of submission in his bearing. He flung back his black head, lips drawn back over his teeth. The very air was charged with the force of his wrath. Chills raked up and down her spine, for his rage was a terrible sight to behold.
His eyes lit upon her. "Princess, is it?" He sneered. "Well, curse you to hell and back, princess. I do not know what game you play, nor do I care. You may have caught me in your trap, but you'd best be wary, for when I find myself free, you shall be the first one I seek out."
One of her men dealt him a blow to the jaw that snapped his head back "Cease!" the man roared. "Our lady does not have to listen to the likes of you!"
The earl's head came down slowly. Shana stood as if she'd been cast in stone. She was horrified to see a trail of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
Still he taunted her. "Remember, princess. I'll have my revenge somehow ... someday. This I promise—by God, this I vow!"
With a snarl of fury, her man drew back his hand yet again. Shana moved without volition, putting herself between the two. "Nay!" she cried. "Did you not hear Sir Gryffen? We must be off, and quickly now!"
The earl was put forcibly upon his horse. All the while his gaze stabbed at her like the tip of a lance, as if she were the one he sought to kill, with naught but the touch of his eyes. It was almost a relief when Gryffen bound a doth around his eyes so that he could not see. But her stomach churned anew when Gryffen looped a noose around his neck; the other end of me rope was tied to the horn of his saddle. Oh, she knew it was done so that he could make no attempt at escape. Yet it sickened her to see any man—aye, even this one!—treated so. As if—if he were an animal.
He and Gryffen rode ahead while she and the others brought up the rear. There was something so rigidly dignified in his posture that she felt herself pricked by some nameless emotion. Shame? Nay, surely not, for she had no reason to be ashamed. Nor, she reasoned, should she feel guilty. Didn't he deserve to be punished? Didn't he deserve to pay in kind for such vileness as he had perpetrated?
The heavens were clear and bright. The full moon spread its silver veil across the land. They made good time, for it was nearly as light as day. They rode hard, in part to elude any English soldiers that might have followed, in part because they were anxious to return to Merwen. Shana spoke little throughout the journey, her mind all ajumble. She had captured her prey, but the triumphant satisfaction she'd expected to find was simply not to be. Nay, there was naught of victory in her heart, only a peculiar sort of resignation.
The first faint traces of dawn streaked the eastern sky when at last Merwen came into view. Tears stung Shana's eyes, but they were scarcely tears of gladness, for there would be no hearty welcome from her father. Instead she was filled with a despairing bleakness that yawned ever further.
A youth huddled beneath a blanket near the entrance to the keep, no doubt keeping watch. His eyes opened blearily when he heard their approach. They widened when he spied Shana. He bolted upright. Within minutes, the entire household—what was left of it, she reflected bitterly—was up and about.
The hours on horseback and the chill night air had left her muscles cramped. Her knees nearly gave way beneath her when she slipped to the ground. The earl, she noted darkly, had no such problem. Despite the bonds at his wrists, his stance was as boldly defiant as ever.
She motioned for Gryffen to remove the cloth from his eyes. He blinked, protesting the sudden light. Then his gaze slid slowly, inevitably, to where she stood in the center of the bailey.
"Princess." He greeted her with a mocking smile. "You've fed my curiosity these many hours. How do you come to be a princess? I know for a fact Llywelyn's daughter is scarce more than a babe."
"Llywelyn is my uncle," she informed him coldly. "My father was Kendal, Llywelyn's younger brother."
"I see," he said smoothly. "Well, princess, you needn't have kidnapped me. Had you but issued the invitation, I'd have come with you ever so willingly."
Shana's temper soared stark and furious. "My lord earl, you strike me as a man who does what he pleases and goes where he pleases. And I know for a fact that you make war as you please, for not two nights past you and your men bloodied the very ground on which we stand!"
His eyes narrowed, dark as agates. "Milady," he stated flatly. "I made no war on this place, nor did any of my men. I've never set foot on these lands in all my days."
Ah, but he was a cool one! He gazed at her head-on and spoke the lie as if it were the most divine of truths. "What! You do not recognize the place where you struck down so many of our own? How conveniently you forget, milord." Shana was suddenly so angry she trembled from head to foot. She turned to Gryffen. "You may take him to the blue chamber on the second floor. See that the door is bolted and two guards are posted outside."
She spun to face the earl. It gave her no small amount of pleasure to see that his anger blazed as keenly as her own. "I truly regret that we have no dungeon here at Merwen. I'd gladly see you spend the rest of your days there."
She whirled and ascended the stairs into the keep. Not once did she deign to look back.
Thorne was indeed furious, furious with himself for foolishly playing into the lady's hands, and furious with Shana for daring to make him her victim. To think that he'd actually compared her to a queen—and her a princess yet, a princess of Wales at that! He couldn't have known, for her English was faultless. Yet it might have crossed his mind, for only now did he realize her fair coloring bespoke her Celtic heritage.
If there was a twinge of admiration for a plan so boldly carried out, it was swiftly suppressed. He paced the chamber in which he'd been imprisoned like a caged animal, back and forth, incessantly. And he swore over and over again, cursing her, cursing himself, until at last the red mist of rage left his mind and he was able to think more clearly.
Only then did he take note of his surroundings. A smile of little mirth creased his features. "You provide a prison cell unlike any other, princess," he murmured aloud. The chamber was not overly large, but elegantly furnished. The bed was draped in rich blue velvet. The only window was long and narrow, set high in the wall. Not even a child could manage to wiggle through.
He raked a hand through the tumbled darkness of his hair. He dimly recalled that someone had cut his bonds—the old knight, Gryffen.
Stretching out on the bed, he considered what little he knew. Apparently they thought he was to blame for whatever battle had ensued here. He did not doubt that the loss of life had been staggering. He'd seen only a handful of servants and men-at-arms other than those who had brought him here from Langley. A melancholy sorrow shadowed those he passed. There was bitter hatred reflected when they looked at him.
But their suffering was not of his doing.
He could not dwell on their problems for long, however. He had his own to confront, such as how to escape.
With a grimace he moved to stare out the narrow window. And it was there, a long time later, that he spied the she-devil who no doubt plotted even now to see an end to him.
She stood on the last of the steps that led into the hall. There was no concealing cloak to hide the slender lines of her body. Her flowing white gown rippled sinuously about her legs as she strode across the courtyard, all fluid grace and lithe beauty. Her hair was caught in a ribbon at her nape, a rich, lustrous gold streaked through with living fire. Despi
te the hatred simmering in his veins, Thorne stared as if spellbound. But he did not fall prey to her spell, nay, not this time, for such delicate beauty defied all that he knew her to be.
Beware, princess, he whispered silently. You will soon rue the day you dared to cross my path.
His face settled into a, hard, implacable mask. He was about to turn away when a white stallion raced across the courtyard, straight toward Shana. She showed no fear, but stayed her ground with her head held high, facing the intruder unafraid. The stallion stopped in a flurry of dust. A dark-haired man leaped from the saddle. She was caught up against his chest, clearly a willing captive of his arms. Thorne's lip curled as their mouths clung together in an unbroken kiss that spoke of long— and intimate—acquaintance.
Shana clung to Barris long after he released her lips. She was very much afraid she was making a brazen spectacle of herself, but she couldn't bring herself to care right now. It felt so good to be held again, to cling to someone near and dear and comfortably familiar.
Even as a child, Shana had loved and admired Barris. He was keen of wit, clever, and passionate, yet Shana was certain no man was ever more sensitive and tender. But it was only when she'd grown to womanhood that Barris had truly begun to notice her. Kendal had been reluctant to wed his daughter out of expedience and not for love, for he and her mother had loved each other deeply. He could not bear to see her marry a man she did not love, and so he had held off. Shana, too, had been determined to settle for no less than the happiness her parents had shared. Springtime had seen the culmination of all her secret yearnings.
Barris had asked for her hand in marriage. They were to wed after the fall harvest.
Now her beloved caught her in his arms, availing himself of a long, sweet kiss that sent her heart spinning. "I've only just returned from Gwynedd and learned Merwen was stormed a few days past." He searched her features anxiously. "You are all right, love? You were not harmed?"
Pain burned like fire in her chest. "I am unharmed," she said unevenly. "But my father ..." A hot ache closed her throat.
Barris was stunned. Nay, he thought, it cannot be! "Your father is dead?"
Her eyes filled with tears. It was all the answer Barris needed.
He wrapped her close once more. "You need not worry, love. I will care for you, this I swear. And I will find the fiend responsible for your father's death," he vowed. "I will search him out and see that he pays."
Shana pulled back, shaking her head. "There is no need," she said quietly. "I have already seen to it."
His hands tightened on her shoulders. He stared at her, convinced his hearing had failed him.
A ghost of a smile grazed her lips. " 'It's true, Barris. My father yet lived when I reached him. He did not recognize our attackers, but he, and others, saw the pennon they carried."
Barris's face was like a thundercloud. "Englishmen?"
She nodded. "They gather at Castle Langley," she said bitterly. "It appears Merwen was one of their targets." She told him how they had gone to Langley to seek out and identify their quarry.
Barris was both furious and aghast. "Are you mad?" he cried. "You marched straight into the hornet's nest with no fear of being stung? Why didn't you wait until I returned?"
"The duty was mine and mine alone." She withdrew from the binding of his arms, her eyes flashing silver fire. "My plan was simple but effective. I was able to find the man behind the attack on Merwen. I merely told him I knew someone who might lead him to the Dragon, then lured him outside the castle where we were able to capture him."
"Sweet Mother Mary," he muttered. "I pray you didn't tell him who you are!"
Shana bristled. "I was careful to speak to as few as possible. I had no wish to attract attention to myself."
"But you must have been seen leaving with him!"
She bit her lip. This was one detail she had overlooked. It seemed she hadn't been so clever, after all. "We've kept to ourselves here at Merwen, Barris." She sought to assure both him and herself. "I know not a soul in England, so how could anyone at Langley possibly suspect who I am? They may search the area around Langley, but they will never search this far into Wales. The earl told no one of his plans, and I sent a man back to release his horse in the border lands. If perchance they find his horse wandering, they will think he's been thrown—or has met with some other foul play."
Barris had gone as pale as a mountain snow. "I pray you are right, for all our sakes."
Shana felt a hand at her sleeve. One of the kitchen boys stood at her elbow. "Begging your pardon, milady, but the prisoner demands to speak with you."
She glanced inquiringly at Barris. "By all means," he muttered. "I've an urge to meet this butcher."
Shana nodded to the boy. "Please ask Sir Gryffen to bring him into the hall." The boy ran off. She and Barris followed more slowly. They had been waiting in the great hall for several minutes when they heard footsteps on the stairs. Gryffen descended the last steps, slightly behind the earl, whose hands were still tied behind his back. The grizzled knight guided him to a low- backed chair in the center of the room.
Shana and Barris had been standing in the shadows at the edge of the hall. Once seated, the earl tilted his head to stare at them. In so doing, the light fell full upon his face.
An unearthly quiet prevailed.
Beside her, Barris drew a harsh breath. She felt him go rigid as stone and glanced at him in surprise.
His gaze was riveted to the earl. "Jesu," he whispered. "Shana, do you know who this man is?"
Her reply was a bit indignant. "This is the man who saw my father and all the others killed—the Earl of Weston!"
"Aye," Barris said grimly. "The Bastard Earl."
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