My Rebellious Heart

by Samantha James

  Now Thorne's holier-than-thou attitude—sweet Jesus, when had she begun to think of him as Thorne?—roused her defensiveness all over again. She lifted her chin and met his gaze fearlessly, saying nothing.

  "What!" he mocked. "These many bolts of cloth do not suit a woman of your station? They are good enough for the king to present his queen, but not for a princess of Wales?"

  Shana's lips compressed. Oh, he was so smug, so certain that he was right! "Never did I say that." She dismissed him coolly.

  He picked up a swath of bright green brocade.

  "This would make a fetching wedding gown, would it not?"

  "Black," she stated coldly, "would be a more fitting color."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  Her gaze swiveled back to collide with his. "It will make me look like a hag." She crossed her arms across her breast in much the same manner as he had done earlier.

  He picked up a length of pale saffron silk. "This one, then."

  She grimaced. "Too insipid."

  He chose another, and still another. She found fault with both.

  Thorne's temper had begun to simmer. "The king has been most considerate, princess. While I care not that you offend me with your pettiness, surely even you understand 'twould not be prudent to offend the king."

  "And I wonder, milord, if the king decided to provide this wardrobe because my future husband is too poor to see to it himself."

  Her barb struck home. She knew it by the way his features went hard as granite. "You may fool the others, Shana, but you do not fool me. You wish to be difficult because you did not get your way. Like a spoiled youngling, you are miserable, and so everyone around you must be. You are shallow and vain, princess, and I have no time for such foolishness as this."

  "Foolishness, is it? Well, let me tell you this, my lord earl!" She swept an arm toward the table. "This cloth is naught but a bribe, but I am not so shallow or vain that I would marry you merely that I might have a new gown at the king's expense!"

  His eyes narrowed. "Ours is to be a marriage of convenience."

  "Aye!" she snapped. "The king's convenience."

  "Is it so wrong that Edward hopes our marriage will bind England and Wales?" The tempest alive in his eyes belied his calm. "I am a reasonable man, princess, therefore I will give you a choice, several in fact. You may wear a new gown so generously provided by the king on our wedding day. Barring that, you can kneel at the altar dressed in tatters. Or—and indeed this is my preference— you may take your vows wearing nothing at all—"

  A shock went through her. Surely he was jesting!

  "Aye," he went on, only now there was no mistaking his ruthless intent. "Wearing nary a stitch, which is what you will do if you do not choose from among these many fine fabrics ... now."

  "Even you would not dare." But all at once she wasn't certain of him, not certain at all ...

  He looked her straight in the eye. "Milady, I would dare much where you are concerned."

  The tension spun out endlessly. Oh, he was truly a bastard—in name and in deed. She sensed no yielding in him, none whatsoever. To her secret shame, a burning rush of tears stung her eyelids. She dared not look at him, for fear she would betray the anguish in her soul. This, she thought helplessly, was how it would always be between them. He would strip from her all dignity and pride, and all to bolster his own.

  Three quick steps took her to the table. She reached out blindly, snatching up the first bolt of cloth that touched her fingertips. "This one will do." Her voice was low and choked, sounding nothing at all like her own. She did not look at the cloth but squeezed her eyes shut. She despised herself for weakening, for giving in ... almost as much as she hated him for forcing her surrender.

  "An excellent choice. I will send the seamstress back in." He spun and left the chamber.

  Even as her chest ached from holding back her tears, unfairness raged inside her. Did King Edward really mean to make her wed this arrogant, overbearing blackguard? Her thoughts were tinged with bitter desperation. Surely there was a way to avoid it Mother of Christ, there had to be.

  Chapter 11

  Shana told Gryffen the news that afternoon, though he had long since heard, as all the castle was abuzz with it. Though she tried not to show it, his reaction—or lack of it—hurt. She had thought he might denounce the earl for the scoundrel he was, but Gryffen held his tongue. Oh, he patted her shoulder and dabbed her tears dry. But when she proclaimed that never would she willingly stand before the altar with him, the old mart shook his head.

  "He is one man I should not like to cross," the knight said slowly. "Bear that in mind, girl, for though I have not been here long, I have seen enough to know that Thorne de Wilde is a man of considerable influence and power."

  "Influence? Power?" She scoffed. "Aye, he has so much of both that he would sit at the king's heels like a hound begging for table scraps! This I know for a fact, for why else would he consent to this marriage?"

  "Do not misjudge him," he warned. "Methinks he will treat you fairly, so long as you do the same."

  "Gryffen, he despises me as much as I despise him! And I will not marry him," she cried recklessly. "I entered Langley once without his knowledge. I can leave the same way!"

  Gryffen's troubled gaze followed her as she picked up her skirts and ran across the bailey. For all his lady was gentle and sweet, she was also proud and fiercely loyal—and he alone knew that her cry of defiance was more a plea for help. But alas, he was an old man and as much a prisoner of fate as she. He sighed, greatly fearing that her unwillingness to yield would do naught but cause her grief.

  For even she could not defy the King of England.

  The seamstress and maids set about sewing feverishly in order to complete her wedding gown. Shana sat with a linen chemise in her lap, her needle idle. Unable to stand their incessant chatter, she moved to stand at the window. There she stared yearningly out toward the mist-shrouded hills of Wales.

  Shouts and a flurry of movement pulled her gaze back toward the bailey. There she spied two young boys rolling wildly in the dirt. Clearly they were not at play, for arms flailed and fists flew. She gasped when a tousled brown head popped up above the other—it was Will!

  She thrust her sewing aside and ran from the solar, paying no heed to the maids and seamstresses who shook their heads and clucked disapprovingly. She was a wild one, just like all the rest of her race.

  Shana raced down the stairs and through the great hall. The boys were still at it—pushing, rolling, fists swinging wildly. A small crowd of knights had gathered, laughing uproariously when a punch failed to land, spurring them on. With nary a thought for her own safety, Shana shoved her way through.

  "Stop this at once!" she cried. The boys ignored her—either that or they took no notice. Shana beseeched them no further. Soft lips pressed together in determination; she marched over and seized a bucket of water from a gaping stableboy and threw it on the pair. The fight ceased with a suddenness that was almost comical. No one, however, was further inclined to laughter. Thoroughly doused, the boys fell apart, sputtering and gasping.

  " 'ey!" the older of the two shouted. "What goes on here?"

  Shana seized both boys by the backs of their tunics and hauled them upright. "That," she said firmly, "is what I would like to know." The knights had begun to turn away one by one.

  She recognized the boy who had shouted as Lord Newbury's squire. His eyes widened in turn as he realized he beheld the stern countenance of the woman who would soon be wife to the Earl of Weston. Will, on the other hand, looked as mutinous as ever.

  The boy wasted no time pointing an accusing finger at Will. "It's all his fault, milady!"

  "Why?" she asked calmly. "Did he steal something of yours?"

  Will straightened with a jerk, his eyes flaring indignantly. Newbury's squire shook his head. "Nay," he muttered.

  "Well, then, what? Did he insult you? Call you names mayhap?" The boy dropped his head, staring down at the tip
s of his boots. "Surely something happened for the two of you to start brawling."

  " 'Tis my duty to see to my lord's horse," he answered sullenly. He glared at Will and sneered, "He's always beggering around to see if he can do it instead!"

  "Because you don't," Will retorted. "Not once have I seen you rub him down after Lord Newbury brings him in. Half the time you don't even see that the poor animal is fed proper!"

  "What I do or don't do ain't none of your concern, you little bastard."

  Will clenched his fists. "I told you before, don't call me that!"

  "Everyone knows you're just a bastard," came the taunt. "A worthless little beggar. Nobody wants you here, so why don't you just leave?"

  "That's enough, both of you!" Shana said sharply. Her grip on their shoulders tightened as she pushed them further apart. Will's nose, she noticed, was bloodied. A spot on his cheekbone was cut and had already begun to bruise.

  She transferred her attention to Newbury's squire. "You're at least two stone heavier than Will," she admonished firmly. "Someday it will be your duty to defend those less fortunate than you, such as this boy. Would you bully them instead?"

  The boy dropped his eyes. " 'Course not," he muttered.

  "Then why do you bully this boy?"

  The boy had the grace to look ashamed. "It won't happen again," he mumbled.

  "Good," she said shortly. "I will trust you to see that it does not." The boy retrieved his cap from the ground and moved on. Shana pulled a kerchief from the pocket of her gown. Turning to Will, she began to swab the dirt and blood from his face. He tried to pull back, but she clamped a hand on his nape and persisted. She finished the task to find stormy gold eyes fixed on her face.

  "I didn't need you to come to my rescue, milady." It seemed he was less than grateful.

  "It wasn't you I was trying to rescue. I feared what damage you might do to the other lad's pretty face." Her attempt at lightness failed miserably. Shana sighed. "Will," she chided. "I could hardly stand by and do nothing."

  "I don't see why a lady such as you would even care what happens to me," he said scornfully.

  She stretched out a hand only to let it fall to her side. "I know you don't," she said quietly. "Nonetheless, Will, I do care what happens to you."

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"

  "Why?" She smiled slightly. "You have no one to take care of you. I shudder to think you might end up relying on thievery the rest of your days. Mayhap that's why."

  "I had a mother until she took sick and died last harvest," he argued. " 'Tis said that the Earl of Weston had no one when he was a boy and he didn't end up a thief—why, he's an earl and one of the king's most trusted men. Seems to me he did just fine," Will stated brashly.

  Had he? It was on the tip of her tongue to argue that the earl was hard as the armor he wore. It was with her mind thus occupied that the very subject of her thoughts intruded.

  "Princess, you seem to have a fancy for those who frequent the bailey. Do I dare to hope you will attend your duties as wife with the same attentiveness?"

  She turned to behold the earl dismounting from his destrier. Oh, he was a fiend to annoy her so, and were there not others present she'd have told him to his face! She chose to ignore his jibe for the moment. "Milord," she greeted crisply, "you are just the person I wish to see."

  "Indeed." He hailed this with the quirk of a brow and a dry half smile. He was under the impression he was the last person she wished to see.

  "Aye," she went on, only now beginning to wonder what madness had overtaken her. "Milord, this is Will."

  "I know. I've seen you about, Will." His smile encompassed the boy.

  "Then why haven't you done something about him before this? Will is an orphan from the village. He sleeps in the stables—if he's allowed, that is.

  His meals are scraps from the kitchen, or those he steals! He has naught but the clothes on his back. Why, in these rags he'll never survive the winter!"

  Her indignation caught him off guard. "Mistress," he said curtly. "I've been here at Langley but a short time, and I am not responsible for every poor unfortunate soul in the kingdom. However, if it will ease your mind ..." He started to reach for his purse.

  "Nay!" she cried. "Your coin will not ease his plight, only prolong it, for there will be no more when it is gone!"

  Thorne frowned darkly, totally bewildered as to why she was so outraged. "Milady," he queried with a twinge of annoyance, "exactly what is it you would have me do?"

  Shana hesitated, wondering if she dared speak her mind, for there was every chance the earl would resent her for interfering in his affairs. Certainly she had no right to, as she was not even his wife yet. She glanced at Will, who stood rather uncertainly, as if he were likely to bolt at any moment. There would be, she decided, no better time than the present.

  "You could take him as your squire," she said clearly At her words, a leap of hope flashed across the boy's features. "Aye, milord! Methinks you should take Will as your squire!"

  The earl's reaction was not long in coming. "He's not even been a page! Besides, I already have a squire."

  "I've seen your squire, milord. He'll soon be ready for knighthood and you will need another!"

  Thorne gestured impatiently. "I have no time to train a new squire," he sent her a pointed look, "what with the trouble with Wales."

  Shana flushed, willing to concede the point. Suddenly everything was tumbling out in a rush. "You need not spare the time, for Gryffen could teach him how to attend you at meals, how to carve and serve at table. He is a knight, well trained in the arts of war. He could teach him how to ride and care for your horse—all any knight needs to know!"

  Stunned at her audacity, Thorne did not know whether to laugh in her face or wring her pretty little neck. "What! You wish me to put a sword in Sir Gryffen's hand under the guise of teaching the boy?" His laugh was scraping. "If Sir Gryffen were given a horse, he would desert the boy and head for Wales to bring back an army to rescue you, milady." His tone grew sharp. "Sir Gryffen's first loyalty is with you, and I would be a fool to believe otherwise."

  He would have turned away but she caught his arm. "Gryffen need not take him outside the castle walls, not at first. When the time is right, mayhap someone else might teach him to ride. Oh, please!" she cried softly. "Surely you of all people know how it is to be alone in the world. Do not turn your back on him! You have only to look at Will to see he would be an eager pupil."

  Thorne did look—and he knew the second he did it was a mistake. The boy's clothing was as atrocious as Shana had said, his tunic torn and ripped, his feet bare and blackened with dirt. Will stared up at him with great, golden eyes shadowed with a burden that was far too heavy for the little time spent on this earth—but Thorne saw beyond to the flicker of hope that shone within. He could see in the boy the same hunger, the desire to be worthy, the craving to be accepted, so deep and abiding it was near an obsession. Oh, yes, he thought with a twist of his lips, the lady was right. He knew exactly how it felt to be alone in the world, with nary a soul to care whether he lived or died ...

  A wrenching pain squeezed his heart. His vision blurred; a vague image began to take shape. He saw a black-haired waif even younger than Will, thin arms, poking from the ragged edges of what had once been a tunic. The youth sat with his back against a wooden palisade, bare legs huddled to his chest as he shivered against the bite of the wind. A knight on horseback soon approached, clad in gleaming armor, his destrier tossing his proud head and prancing boldly, in the boy's eyes, he appeared a chariot of salvation sent by the Lord above. The boy staggered to his feet. "Please, milord!" he cried out. "Can you spare a crust of bread? I'll work it off—"

  Thorne flinched. He felt again the fiercesome kick against his chest that sent him reeling, cracking his head against the ground and ripping the breath from his lungs.

  "Please, milord." That plea again, only this time formed by a voice as soft and fleecy as the clouds. The gate
way to his past now closed, Thorne's gaze settled on the small hand that lay on his forearm. Shana flushed as she saw where his gaze rested, but she did not snatch her hand back as he thought she might.

  He could not control the bitter sway of his thoughts. Was this naught but a trick? His gaze lifted slowly to the lovely features of the woman who would soon be his wife. He studied her dispassionately. Her concern seemed genuine enough. But he did not understand why she would champion this poor boy, for it was difficult to conceive of this beauteous little maid ministering to the poor. Or was it?

  His gaze roved over her upturned face. Her lips were soft and parted, the color of ripe, juicy berries in the summer sun. Her eyes, wide and unwavering, held no malice or disdain, just that damnable entreaty that seemed to pierce him clear to the bone. A stab of some strange, unfamiliar emotion cut through him. Though every instinct he possessed urged caution where the wench was concerned, he knew he would eventually say her yea, and he did not even know why ...

  "I will think on it," he growled. He saw that she was about to argue and squelched her firmly "Say no more, Shana, lest I change my mind."

  Her hand fell away from his arm. He strode away without another word. Her shoulders slumped with despair. Thorne would refuse her, if only because it was she who asked. She knew it, and it pained her deeply because it was Will who would suffer most. A lump lodged in her throat as she watched the boy walk away. He, too, appeared just as disheartened, but she could find no words to comfort him—likely as not he would not even let her.

  No one was more surprised than Shana when she saw Will with Sir Gryffen the next afternoon. Though they were some distance away, she guessed Will had taken a bath, for his hair had been neatly combed and trimmed. He also wore a clean tunic and hose—a trifle big mayhap—and boots on his feet. Shana laughed delightedly for the first time in days.

  The chains about Gryffen's ankles were gone, too.

  King Edward had left that morning, bound for his hunting lodge to the east. He planned to stay for several days, then return to Langley for a joust that had been planned long ago; the king himself had decided their wedding would take place the day following the joust. Thorne and a small party of his men rode with the king as escort, though they would return late that afternoon.