My Rebellious Heart

by Samantha James

  His shoulders were awesome, his skin lit sleek and bronze by the flickering candlelight. He was incredibly lean and long of limb, the muscles of his arms knotted and tight his chest and the whole of his belly matted with dense, dark fur. Drawn by a force she had no power to deny, her gaze strayed inevitably lower, just as he began to strip away his hose.

  She had hidden her face away those two nights he had slept with her, and so she had never seen a naked man before. And last eve, she had felt but not seen ...

  Her heart began to pound with dull, thudding strokes. Snatches of the night's bawdy talk flitted through her brain. Endowed like a stallion ... May God have pity on the poor sweet maid ... She had been right to fear this night, she thought numbly ... split like a pigeon on a spit, indeed ...

  Freed of its constrictive confinement, his shaft thrust out from between his legs like a sword of steel—huge and thick and swollen.

  Her limbs were suddenly trembling. How, she wondered in horror, had her memory failed her so abominably? With a choking cry she lurched forward.

  But Thorne had already gleaned her intention. He snagged her about the waist and brought her shrinking body close against his own. The slender lines of her back curved tight against his furry chest.

  Her half sob was choked. "It was Edward who forced us to wed—but I am the one who must pay the price!" she cried in a shaking voice. "This is naught but a way to retaliate, to persecute me—I felt it when you kissed me in the hall tonight!"

  Her cry of despair wrenched at his chest. But he would not deliberately harm her no matter what the provocation. Dear God, how could he' He could feel her quaking and trembling against him like some trapped, wild forest animal.

  With his fingertips he bared the silky plane of her nape. "I cannot promise there will be no pain," he said softly. "But 'tis my understanding 'twill be this one time only." He pressed his lips against the downy softness of her nape, the vulnerable spot where her neck joined the curve of her shoulder. "I am but a man," he whispered. "The same as any other, princess, no more, no less."

  The same as any other? Shana scoffed, indignant, amazed and fearful all at once. Nay, surely all men were not fashioned so, so ... Lord, she could not even complete the thought! She could feel him rigid and pulsing against the softness of her buttocks ... he would tear her asunder!

  Her nails dug into his forearms. "Why must you torture me so?" she cried.

  "Torture?" Ah, she was so dramatic! Yet the accusation made him smile, at a time when he found he needed that slight release, for he was about to explode with need for her.

  He turned her in his arms. His heart twisted as he spied her eyes, wide and frightened. He shifted her so that she faced him and caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, allowing her no retreat. She was so close the ragged tremor of her breath mingled with his. The delicate peaks of her breasts stirred the mat of hair on his chest.

  "You have naught to fear," he said softly. "If you will but let me, I will show you."

  Her eyes clung as he slowly lowered his head. His lips grazed hers, the contact more caress than kiss, a mere melding of breath. He whispered her name, a searing sound that held a dark intensity that sent an odd little quiver through her.

  Her palms slowly uncurled against his chest.

  His mouth returned again ... yet again. And as he kissed her, a sensation that was painfully sweet caught her in its tide. The tight coil of fear inside her slipped away.

  Thorne's blood began to boil. Yes, he thought. Oh, God, yes! He reveled in the way her mouth clung to his, the contact slow and deep and rousing for them both.

  Shana trembled anew. Oh, but he was a shrewd one. She could defend herself against his anger, rally against his scorn. But he chose to engage her on a level where she had not yet learned to fight, for this was an assault of a kind she'd not expected from this seasoned warrior. She had no weapon to aid her in halting his sweet seduction. She did not understand why this man she so hated could sweep her along in a great tide of sensation. Her pulse was clamoring—and in a way that had never happened with Barris. And why, when that clever hand resumed its taunting play with her nipples, did a shiver of excitement quiver along her nerves, clear to that warm, forbidden place between her thighs?...

  Though his manhood was nearly bursting, Thorne would not hurry his possession of her. Oh, he'd thought to make every touch, every caress an insult, to repay her for her scorn—but that was before he'd seen her tears last night. Nor was she a whore to be taken fast and hard and carelessly. She was achingly beautiful, and he could not forget she was a virgin. There was a fiercely primitive satisfaction in knowing that no other had lain with her—that he was her first.

  Aye, he thought. He renewed his gentle foray, this time intent on still more tender prey. He wanted this night etched in her memory forever ... as he would be.

  His knuckles grazed the hollow of her belly. Shana stiffened, her heart tumbled to a standstill.

  The entire world seemed to hold its breath as those daring fingers ventured still further, pursuing a relentless path toward—and through yet!— the down juncture below A flutter of panic sped through her. She tore her mouth away with a gasp. Sweet Mother Mary, was this some bizarre form of perversity?

  Yet he seemed to know her body better than she herself did, for there was a spot hidden deep within the folds, a tiny nubbin of flesh that seemed to swell and grow. Startled, unsure, Shana tried to clamp her thighs against him, but he gave an odd little laugh. Even as he possessed her lips with the fiery demand of his kiss, he took possession of her there, his touch as bold and brash as he himself was. His fingers initiated a maddening rhythm, elusive and tormenting. There was a sharp stab deep in her belly, a jolt of sheer pleasure. It spun through her mind that he was as well versed in the art of love as in war ...

  Beads of sweat popped out on Thorne's brow. His breath was harsh and scraping. He prayed that he was right—that her pain would be but fleeting—for a delicate foray revealed her sleek and damp, but as small and tight as he remembered. She had tensed at his first intimate caress, but he persisted, gently stretching with his fingers, though he was near bursting with the need to bury himself to the hilt within her velvet sheath.

  She was exquisite, the globes of her breasts delightfully round and full, tipped with vibrant rose nipples, her lips parted and bedewed with the damp warmth of his own, her silver eyes dazed and smoky. With his lips he drank in each tiny whimper she gave, soft, tiny cries that splintered his self-control.

  He rose over her, his knees subtly spreading her thighs until the tip of his shaft hovered at the entrance to her velvet heat. He bent low and whispered against her lips. "You're mine, princess. From this night forward, you are mine ... as I am yours ..."

  Pain sheared through her, a streak of lightning, a sharp, rending agony, and then he was deep, deep inside. Shana tore her mouth away. He had warned her—aye, she had known, yet the pain was a burning betrayal ... She choked back tears and pushed frantically against his shoulders. "Nay! Thorne ... oh, God, stop!"

  His fingertips brushed her cheek, a tender caress. Again she heard his dark whisper and felt the touch of his eyes on her face. "Do not tense so," he said softly, "for you only make it harder ..."

  The shuddering breath she drew only made her more aware of his searing rod buried deep within her, massive and thick. "I can't," she cried on a strangled half sob that cut him like a knife. "I can't!"

  He made no answer, merely shook his head.

  He kissed her then, long and lingeringly, binding her to him with lips as well as body. His shaft left her, only to reclaim her tender flesh before she could draw breath. But he held her firm, smothering her protest with the demand of his lips, and now he was achingly slow. With a gasp her body accepted his; she was stunned to discover the burning sting had ebbed, replaced by a strange pleasure, heady and sweet.

  Her hands dug into the sleek flesh of his shoulders, for his palms were beneath her now, lifting, guiding ... She gasped aga
in as her hips began to match his seeking rhythm. He plunged harder. Faster. And soon he was driving almost wildly ...

  The burning ache was back again, different now, this time a flame that simmered low in her belly, burning higher and higher. Then she was being swept away, flung into the midst of a white-hot explosion, consumed by the fiery blaze that promised so much. Dimly she heard herself cry out. She was both petrified and elated, for never had she experienced such glorious ecstasy. Above her, Thorne gave one last piercing lunge. He buried his head against her shoulder and shuddered. Confused, shaken, she could only cling to him, feeling herself filled with a flooding, melting heat.

  Her pleasure fled as if it had never been. A halo of pain crept around her heart. Barris! His name was a silent cry of anguish. Oh, Barris, what have I done?

  A burning self-recrimination scalded her mind. She had, she reflected with stark, painful clarity, made things ridiculously easy for Thorne. She had thought to fight him, to challenge and oppose him in whatever way she could. But alas, he had gained all he sought with pitiable ease. There had been no need of force at all, for he had seduced her with kisses of fire and bold caresses that made his will her own. She had yielded ... Nay, not yielded ...

  Surrendered.

  Victory was his ... yet again.

  He still lay sprawled on top of her. She shoved at his shoulders, desperate to relieve herself of his weight—his very presence. He obliged, shifting to her side, but one dark hand still lay splayed across her belly. She tried to wrench away but he held her fast, pulling her back against his chest. She lay in stifling silence, but one bitter thought crowding her mind the night through.

  She had been wed ... aye, and bedded ...

  All at the command of the king.

  Chapter 13

  As was his habit, the moment Thorne opened his eyes, he was wide awake, alert and aware. But he did not instantly rise, as was also his habit. Nay, on this particular morn, he had reason to linger.

  The reason lay pressed against his side, beautifully naked and sleek.

  Ah, she was a temptress, this new bride of his, a bewitching temptress who could easily become an obsession. But never would he admit such to her, for this lovely wench he now called wife needed no further weapons to use against him— that tongue of hers was like the lashing of a whip! Nay, he'd admit to no such weakness for her, physical or otherwise, for he'd not put it past her to use such power to her advantage.

  But that did not stop him from savoring her beauty. He shifted slightly and eased the sheet away from the graceful slope of her shoulder that he might appreciate her more fully. Her hair lay spread beneath her, tangled skeins of gold and red. His gaze boldly swept the length of her, lingering on gently quivering breasts, rising and falling now with a soft sigh. Her skin was flawless, pale and smooth. He drew a finger down the flare of her hip; he had discovered last night that his hand just spanned the hollow of her belly, for she was unearthly slender despite her height.

  He had also learned that despite the enmity that raged between them, neither he nor she could deny the fiery heat of desire that erupted between them. Oh, the lady had protested, he recalled with satisfaction. But though no other of her fair sex had ever claimed his heart—nor would!—Thorne knew well and true how to arouse a woman to a fever pitch of passion ,.. and see to his own in the bargain.

  Aye, he had overcome his wife's protests ... and no doubt would yet again.

  For even though he disliked the seething pulse of desire she roused in him so easily, he was powerless to resist her sensual allure.

  She stirred, presenting the naked length of her back to him. Unable to resist, he pressed his lips against the flare of her shoulder. The sweet scent of her was dizzying. His hands filled with the up-thrusting bounty of her breasts. A primitive satisfaction flared when she arched into his caress, her nipples peaking hard and tight against his palm. She was exquisitely sensitive there, he decided ... and elsewhere as well.

  One hand drifted down to the sweet triangle below, sliding through the golden thatch there. Recalling the silken clasp of that part of her around his throbbing member last night made his loins tighten and swell all over again. He touched with delicate demand and earned a tremor of reaction in return. Was she awake? He turned her in his arms.

  His palm laid claim to one silken flank, then slid down to caress the firm back of her thigh. With one fluid move he tugged her leg high about his hip, a move that clearly tormented them both ... though not, he thought with a ragged breath, for the same reason. Still, the way her eyes flew wide with shock sent his ardor spiraling still further. He sighed resignedly, for nothing would have delighted him more than to put her mantle of innocence behind her and teach her the delicious secrets of her body. But alas, a defiant flare leaped within those beautiful silver eyes. He slid out from between the tempting prison of her thighs and arose.

  He yawned and stretched mightily, giving her an unimpeded view of his maleness that made her cheeks flood crimson. Shana's heart lurched, for he was obviously aroused and wantonly so! She did not know why he chose to spare her. She told herself only that she was relieved beyond measure, for she trembled to think he would do to her the things he had done last night ... and in broad daylight yet! She tugged in earnest on the linen sheet, drawing it more tightly over her shoulder, as if to defend herself from that very prospect. But deep in her heart, she knew it was but a meager defense, he had proved last night that her resistance was but a pitiable shield against his vast experience.

  As if to mock her, her mind resurrected what Will had told her that very first day ... the ladies all swoon for the chance to be his chosen one. Ah, and now she knew why—'twas for the sweet, piercing rapture to be had in his arms ...

  Shana squeezed her eyes shut, wrenched with shame and self-loathing. She did not understand how she could despise Thorne so, yet experience such wondrous elation as she had last night. But the night had not blunted her hatred for him. Nay, it had only sharpened it further.

  With but the sweeping stroke of a hand, the touch of persuasive lips, he had made her forget who he was and all that lay between them—that she was an unwilling bride, and he a reluctant groom.

  She would never forgive him.

  She would never forgive herself.

  A shadow blotted out the sunlight, alerting her to his presence. Her eyes opened to behold him towering over her, fully dressed now, strong hands on the jutting plane of hips. His stance was arrogant, his smile more arrogant still. Even as her fingers tightened instinctively on the coverlet, he threw back his head and let out a gusty laugh.

  Shana glared at him. She did not understand his sudden good humor, nor would she share it.

  "I have a question for you, wife. Since I have married a princess, does that make me a prince?"

  Everything in her rebelled. "You are all you ever were, milord. As you said yourself last eve—no more, no less."

  Thorne's smile vanished. Her tone, more than the words themselves, delivered an insult he could not ignore. "Let me guess," he drawled. "You think me a husband not befitting a princess. Ah, but your Barris ... now there is a man you deem worthy of you, eh?"

  She sat up slowly, careful to keep the sheet clutched over her naked breasts. "Aye, and it was a love match—" she smiled, oh so sweetly, "unlike ours, milord."

  Oh, she was so smug, his haughty little wife. Thorne's hands clenched at his sides. It was the only way he could keep from wringing her pretty little neck.

  "Do not tell me," he jeered. "Your Barris would have wooed you with pretty words."

  Her elegant nose tipped high. "Aye," she breathed with a lofty air, "for Barris is a man of honor—not a rutting beast such as you."

  Rutting, was he! Thorne's temper boiled over. She had taken pleasure in the act—mayhap not as much as he—but he had pleased her, and he was furious that she would deny it—as she would deny him!

  His jaw locked tight. "By God, woman," he said between clenched teeth. I took far greater care
with you than I should have. I saw to your pleasure before my own, yet where is your thanks? Of a certainty you can expect no such consideration from me again!"

  Her ire was now as keen as his own. "You expect my thanks for robbing me of my maidenhead?" She cried her outrage. "You took what belonged to another! Nor do you cherish it as a husband should! But then, I suppose 'tis too much to expect otherwise—for I am wed to a bastard!"

  "And I to a shrew. It seems, we are well matched after all." He spun around and strode toward the door.

  Her pillow hurtled toward that ramrod-straight back along with a startlingly vivid stream of oaths. But he was already gone, slamming the door so hard the rafters shook.

  Shana burst into furious, bitter tears.

  King Edward departed at midday, bound now for Scotland. Duty commanded she wish him a pleasant Godspeed, and so she did, feeling as if her face would crack. But while Shana was heartily glad to be rid of the king ...

  The Lady Alice remained, awaiting her brother's arrival to escort her to London.

  On her way back through the great hall, Shana could not help but think there was another reason the beauteous widow had chosen to stay. Mayhap it had something—everything?—to do with a handsome, black-haired earl favored by the king, for indeed, the lady had scarce left Thorne's side the entire morning.

  Disturbed without knowing quite why, that very question filled her mind as she skirted the corner.

  She collided full tilt with a small body. Her eyes flew wide as the boy lost his balance and fell hard on his bottom.

  It was Will.

  His baleful glare underwent a lightning transformation when he realized who had tripped him. She saw many things in the instant before his chin dropped to nis chest—apprehension, defiance, guilt.

  "It seems I must apologize yet again for toppling you. Will." She extended a hand as she spoke, careful to keep her tone deliberately light.

  Shana thought he would refuse her assistance. He did not, but the instant he was on his feet, he withdrew his hand and began to back away