My Rebellious Heart

by Samantha James

  "If you are advising, Sire, that I should beget an heir as soon as possible, I think it only fair to warn you—I shall have to keep careful watch over my weapons lest the lady rob me of my manhood. Indeed, I've no doubt she would sooner carve my heart out than see it set before her."

  Edward chuckled. "Since when has a mere woman—be she saucy or gentle as a summer breeze—swayed you from your goal? I foresaw in you the ability to bring the Welsh to heel. You are just the man to bring your wife to heel as well!"

  Thorne's lips smiled, but inside he was seething. Although Shana's face had been pasty white when she'd left the table, that dainty nose of hers was tipped as high as ever. Nay, he was hardly moved to pity, for if the wench had seen fit to refrain from slandering him, they might have been spared this damnable marriage! He clenched his jaw and swallowed heartily of his mead. God, he wished he'd done the deed of which he'd been accused. He'd been a fool to curb his lust, especially when the lady had totd him over and over how she'd eagerly spread her thighs for another. Indeed, the prospect of marriage to that haughty bitch so repelled him that he found himself reaching for his mead far more often than was his wont. He did not think of the woman soon to be his bride with eager longing, but ruthlessly pushed aside the hellish path the king would make him trod.

  Upstairs, Shana's thoughts were not so very different. Tears stung her eyes as she thought of Merwen and all she had left behind. She cursed Thorne de Wilde and his English king along with him. For with the advent of King Edward, all her wistful hopes—her cherished dreams of a future with her beloved Barris—had slipped from her grasp like water through her fingers. She decided bitterly that the only good to come of Edward's arrival was that she now had her own chamber, and need not share her bed with the earl.

  But it was only a matter of time, a little voice taunted, before she would share it again ...

  A shudder wracked her body. She slipped from the bed and hugged her arms about herself, shivering anew. Though the chamber she'd been given was wide and spacious, she felt suddenly cloistered and shut in; the air seemed stale and stuffy. She hesitated but a moment, then slipped back into her gown and slippers.

  The passageway was dark except for a candle notched high in the wall here and there. Her steps faltered as she neared the great hall. The raucous shouts and laughter had not abated in the last hours, and a hasty glance down the stair confirmed those below were still avidly engrossed in food and drink. Holding her breath, she crept across the narrow gallery that spanned the hall. From there it was not far to the wall-walk, where she and Cedric had strolled only that morning.

  She paid no heed to the chill of the night, but welcomed the rush of the cool wind on her cheeks. Moonlight spread its gilded veil over the land, but the peaceful sanctuary she sought was simply not to be. She leaned against the battlements, weaned in mind and spirit, but unable to quell the single thought which tolled through her mind again and again. She was to marry the earl. Sweet God in heaven, the earl.

  A hand touched her shoulder. With a gasp she looked up into the close-set eyes of Lord Newbury.

  "Lady Shana, what brings you out at such a late hour? I thought you would be abed."

  "I could not sleep," she said briefly. A prickle of unease tingled down her spine even as his eyes roved boldly down to her breasts and back again.

  "The earl is remiss to let you wander about without escort, alone and unprotected—especially on the night of your betrothal."

  "There is no need for pretense. Lord Newbury. We both know the earl is hardly enamored of me, nor I of him."

  He edged closer. "Then perhaps you'll not be averse to a kiss."

  "I think not—" she began coolly.

  "Come now, milady. You are not yet wed. Under the circumstances, Thorne can hardly begrudge me a taste of his soon-to-be wife. After all, Castle Langley will soon be his."

  "His?" Shana was confused. "But Langley is the king's—"

  "Exactly, milady. On Lord Montgomery's death, title to Castle Langley reverted to the king, to hold or bestow as he sees fit." He smiled at her obvious confusion. "We all know Wales cannot hold out against the might of England. The king summoned the four of us—the Bastard Earl, Sir Quentin, Sir Geoffrey and myself—and dangled Castle Langley as reward for a job well done."

  An icy jolt went through her. "What! You mean Edward will cede Langley as the spoils of victory if—"

  "Not if, milady, but when, for 'tis only a matter of time till the Welsh are put in their place once and for all. Surely you know this." Shana was too shocked to argue. "And aye, Edward is a shrewd one. Langley is the bait to keep us here, though we all know the Bastard Earl is the king's favorite, for 'twas he who was chosen to command our united forces."

  "But what if this fight drags on for months? The king is owed but forty days' service!"

  "But who among us would dare turn his back on the chance to be the next Earl of Langley, whether forty days or four hundred? Why, I'd give ten years of my life if I thought I could gam such booty as this castle!" His arm swept wide in silent indication. "For what if Thorne de Wilde should fall out of favor with the king? What if he should meet with the arrow sprung from a Welsh longbow? And so like fools we will wait and watch and do our duty unto our king." His lip curled in disgust. "The Bastard Earl stands to gain Langley. But by God, he'll not deny me the pleasure to be had from you!"

  He caught her against him in a brutal hold, his fingers digging like talons into the soft flesh of her upper arms. A choked cry of revulsion burst from her lips as his mouth ground against hers, open and wet. One hand groped for her breast. Clawing, gasping, Shana struggled to free herself. His tongue sought to ram itself deep within her mouth; she gagged and bit down instinctively.

  Newbury's head jerked back. He released her with a vicious curse. "By God, bitch, 'tis time you learned a lesson!" He reached for her again, but Shana brought her knee up hard against his groin.

  Newbury doubled over with a grunt. 'Indeed," intruded a familiar, amused voice, "it seems a lesson well learned." Shana's head whipped around to see the earl lounging against an archer's window slit. She began to fume—'twas just like him to stand there and do naught while Newbury mauled her!

  But by the time Newbury straightened, Thorne was there, standing but a breath behind her.

  "Methinks the lady is a trifle too lively for you, Lord Newbury."

  "She would not be so were she mine for the night!" Newbury's voice was hoarse with fury.

  "What! Do you suggest I turn my back and allow you to take her to your bed?"

  "You've sampled her wares these past two nights—she will be yours for the taking after your marriage! Aye!" Newbury proclaimed with glittering eyes. "Give me this one night with her!"

  Thorne laughed and spoke lazily. "I suggest you find a more sweet-tempered wench for the night, Lord Newbury. This one has already tried once to put an end to me—do you truly wish to risk such harm yourself?"

  A wench, was she? Oh, damn his arrogant, English hide! She would have spun and fled, leaving each of them to the other, but his hand snaked out and closed around her wrist. He pulled her to his side.

  "Mayhap," he said lightly, "we should let her choose between us."

  His suggestion brought her upright. Saints above, was the man daft? All the furies of hell were alive in her now. "I'd infinitely rather have neither of you!"

  "Nonetheless, princess, you must choose."

  Shana's glare burned hotter. Triumph and mockery and laughter gleamed in his eyes. Shana longed for the daring to prove him wrong, but Newbury made her skin crawl.

  A slight rustle from behind her diverted her attention. The trio glanced around just as Sir Quentin stepped from the shadows.

  He bowed and spoke quickly. "Forgive my intrusion, milords. I thought I'd have a word with one of the night sentries." He turned as if to leave. Newbury stopped him with a guttural laugh. "No need to scurry off, Sir Quentin. The king has granted Lady Shana's hand in marriage to the Earl of Weston.
But tonight my Lord Weston has generously offered the lady a choice the king did not—my arms or his! Why, you are just the man we need! You may stand as witness while she chooses!"

  Sir Quentin's gaze flitted uneasily to Thorne, who merely quirked a brow and shrugged.

  "Choose, milady! Do you prefer Weston—or me?"

  Sir Quentin glanced uncomfortably among the three of them. Newbury leered at her, while the earl stood with the faintest of smiles on his lips. Shana felt a spurt of ire. Oh, he was so smug, so certain that she would choose him over Newbury. But neither of them cared a whit for her feelings in the matter. To them it was naught but a contest!

  "You are right, Lord Newbury," she said evenly. "I have a choice the king did not offer me." Her chin tipped high. "Therefore I choose Sir Quentin!" She stepped to his side.

  The disbelief which flitted across Thorne's face was gratifying, but there was scarce time to savor it. Newbury cursed foully.

  "Nay, milady, you will not get off so easily! You have but two choices, not three!"

  Shana did not budge from Sir Quentin's side. Her gaze tangled briefly with Thorne's before she coolly turned her head aside.

  Sir Quentin's attention was on Thorne as well. 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 shall 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 hall?" He bowed stiffly to Thorne. With firm intent, he began to guide Newbury toward the spiral stairwell. Newbury pulled 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 gallant as Sir Quentin."

  "I would never have allowed 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."

  "I do not belong to you," she said through clenched teeth. "Nor will 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 I might have been too late." He peered over the wall-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 all, for Barris is the only man I will marry!"

  He shook his head. "You will 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 will 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 will 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 swelling fullness 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, all 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 appalled 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 all 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. Well, 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 finally 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 ally wa
s 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, all 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 wholly masculine. "I cannot help but wonder why all 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.