"I must be off, milady, or—or Sir Gryffen will wonder where I am." He spun around.
"Will," she said softly. "I bear you no malice."
He halted in mid-whirl, then slowly turned to face her. He raised his head, his gaze on the shining coronet atop her crown, the shoulder of her gown, everywhere but her face. Something twisted inside her when she saw him swallow. "You—you know, don't you?" He spoke so low she had to strain to hear. "That 'twas me who told the earl—"
"That I planned to flee him. Aye," she said softly. "I know." It was her turn to hesitate. "It was wrong of me to ask you to help me, Will, for I know how much you admire the earl, how loyal you are to him. But I truly thought you would be glad to have me gone ..." She broke off, for he was shaking his head.
A tiny frown pleated the smooth skin of her forehead. "I cannot think why else you'd have told him," she said slowly.
"I—I did not do it out of loyalty to the earl," he blurted. "At least, that's not the only reason I did it!" Will eyed the rushes beneath his boots. He had not thought to feel either shame or guilt for divulging Lady Shana's plan to escape, yet he'd thought of little else of late. Oh, he'd told himself he hated Lady Shana, despite her kindnesses to him. But he did not, he realized suddenly. And now she looked so—so sad, and it was all his fault!
"I—I did it to spite you," he said haltingly, then suddenly it was all coming out in a rush. "I—I betrayed you because I ... I felt as if you had betrayed me that first day we met... and you were Welsh ... and I—I liked you, milady. I thought you were kind because you—you felt the same! But then I hated you because you only sought to find out about the earl—and I felt awful because I had helped you lure him from Langley. And now—now methinks you truly have cause to hate me and 'tis no more than I deserve! You should never have tried to help me, milady. I'm just what Lord Newbury's squire said I am—a bastard. A worthless little beggar not fit to serve the earl—or anyone! So you might as well just—just have me sent from here now!"
Stunned by his outburst, Shana stared down at his bent head. He was trying very hard to be brave, his thin hands fisted at his sides as he struggled hard not to cry.
She had been wrong, Shana acknowledged dimly. She'd thought Will had accepted her overtures and was convinced of her sincerity. She hadn't realized he was still suspicious of her. Her soul cried out for him, for he thought himself unworthy. He was so young, she thought with a pang, so young and far too hard on himself! And, oh, it wasn't right that there was no one to love him, no one to care for him ...
Her throat achingly tight, she gripped his hands, uncaring of who might see, or what they might think. "I'll not have you sent away, Will, and I'll not let anyone else send you away. And do you know why?"
He shook his head mutely.
"Because I think," she said softly, "that you will someday be the finest knight in all of England." She quelled his protest with a shake of her head. "My father once said there was no greater measure of a man's worth than his honor and loyalty, and you have proved you have both, Will. You told the truth of your own volition, when you might have lied or denied it. And—oh, I know it may be too much to ask of you,"—her smile was as unsteady as her words—"but I would consider it an honor were you to call me your friend, Will."
He gazed up at her, his expression solemnly intent. "I've never had a friend before," he said slowly, "but 'twould please me—'twould please me greatly."
Shana's smile was blindingly sweet. "Then I will be your first. And you will be my first English friend." Unbidden, Thorne's harsh features swam in her mind. For the life of her, Shana did not understand why it was so, for never would she call him friend ...
Indeed, he was her greatest foe.
Will ran off a moment later. Shana's heart gave a fierce leap of joy, for she could have sworn his eyes shone bright with pride.
But no joy dwelled in her breast as the day wore on. Thorne demanded she lend him her presence throughout the evening, and then proceeded to ignore her. The Lady Alice sat on his left, next to Sir Geoffrey. She did a fine job of entertaining both men, both of whom scarce took their eyes off her the entire evening. Her new husband, she observed in disdain, could be quite the charming rogue when he so wished. He was attentive to Lady Alice's every word, smiling and nodding—aye, even laughing with her, a sound she herself had yet to hear!
Shana gritted her teeth, discovering it was increasingly difficult to conceal her displeasure, for she was vastly irritated. It annoyed her still further that she did not know with whom she was more irritated—her husband or Lady Alice!
At length she could stand it no more. She stood abruptly, determined to leave the hall. He would never notice, she decided, engrossed as he was in his discourse with the simpering Lady Alice.
She was wrong. She was scarce on her feet than a hand shot out, shackling her about the wrist. In dismay she saw she now commanded his full attention, but the smile which abounded for Lady Alice was wiped clean. Displeasure was clearly seen on his harshly carved features. His voice was curt. "Where do you think you are going, milady?"
Shana did not seek to free herself from his relentless hold on her wrist, though she knew from the glitter in his eyes he expected it. "I am wearied, milord. I would like to retire."
His diamond-hard gaze never strayed from her face. "I will join you shortly." He released her.
Eager to put some distance between them, she stepped back. "You need not hurry," she said sweetly. "I have no desire to intrude upon your hearty enjoyment of the evening." Her head held high, she swept from the room, but not before she glimpsed Lady Alice's tiny smile of triumph.
She was brushing her hair before the fire when the door creaked open. Thorne stood framed in the doorway, booted feet braced wide in a supremely masculine stance, his shoulders so wide they nearly spanned the width of the opening. It was on the tip of her tongue to inquire how he was able to tear himself away from Lady Alice. She did not, however. Instead she pressed her lips together and turned her head aside, pulling the brush through the long strands and ignoring him.
In truth, she was shaken more than she cared to admit, for along with his entrance came a seething awareness. She had not expected him so soon; she'd hoped to be long since abed when he presented himself. Clad in only her thin linen shift, she felt vulnerable and exposed.
Her stomach knotted as he approached. Yet his words were not what she expected.
"We had word of Llywelyn's reaction to our marriage, princess."
His announcement had the desired effect. Her head came up. The brush went still in her hands as she twisted around to face him. "What! What did he say?"
He smiled rightly. "He demands that the marriage be annulled."
Her lips parted. Thorne could almost hear the thought that leaped in her mind, even as he spurned the leap of hope in her eyes. 'There will be no annulment," he informed her harshly.
The force of her fury brought her feet to the floor. She surged upright. "You refuse to even consider it?"
"Aye."
He uttered his verdict like a proclamation from the king. His harsh expression discouraged further argument, but Shana paid no heed. She was suddenly spitting with rage, thoroughly incensed at his high-handed refusal.
"And why is that, milord? Nay, do not tell me. You refuse to consider it only because Edward has not commanded it!"
Throne's lips thinned into an ominous line. He could not ignore her challenge, for it was a scathing denunciation, evidenced by her cutting accusation, her militant stance, the defiant blaze in those beautiful silver eyes.
"The king has naught to do with it, princess." His tone was deceptively mild. "Indeed, an annulment is out of the question, for this marriage has already been consummated. I think I need not remind you of what took place between us here in this chamber ... in that very bed?"
His eyes lingered on the subject in question, as if in fond remembrance. Shana was not fooled. Bedding her had been naught but another conquest for him, and by
God, she'd not dignify him with an answer.
A dark brow arched high. "Does your memory fail you, princess?" His smile widened at her silence. "Well, then," he went on lightly. "Mayhap you need a reminder—"
"I need no reminder of what you did to me!"
He sighed. "Ah, yes, rutting beast that I am."
His eyes caught her in a brazenly thorough study. Feeling stripped to the bone, Shana longed to snatch up her gown from the floor and clutch it to her breast, yet to do so would brand her a coward. Nonetheless, she bent and reached for it, but the toe of his boot shoved it cleanly out of reach.
He snared her by the waist, his hands disturbingly warm, drawing her so that she stood between his booted feet. "Remember, princess? I kissed you so." She gasped when his mouth nipped gently at hers. "And then I touched you ... here, I believe." Strong fingers shaped themselves to her breast. His thumb swept across her nipple. She inhaled sharply.
His smile boasted his satisfaction. "Aye," he murmured, raising his head. "We may have been forced to wed, but I made you my wife with the greatest of pleasure—"
Oh, the arrogant lout! He was so smug, so certain that she would fall at his feet—like the Lady Alice seemed wont to do! She shoved at his chest, hating the way he
touched her with blatant intimacy, as if he owned her! "Pleasure from one such as you! Nay, milord—" her tone was biting. "You are not such a great lover as you think, that you so readily mistake a woman's disgust for pleasure."
She had just done the unthinkable—struck a blow to his masculine pride, a fierce one, at that. Inexperienced as she was, Shana did not realize it... until he went utterly still. Something dangerous flickered in his eyes, something that frightened her. She tried to pull back, but he held her fast.
His fingers bit into the soft flesh of her waist. For a never-ending moment their eyes clashed. Then, to her shock, he stepped back and began to disrobe. Shana gaped numbly as, piece by piece, his clothing dropped to the floor, until he was naked.
Naked ... and aroused.
Shana had but one thought. She whirled and bolted for the door, but he moved like lightning. She was caught and hauled up against his naked chest, her thighs welded against his, her breasts crushed against the hardness of his chest. The tension that gripped his features flooded her with terror.
An ugly smile twisted his lips. "What!" he mocked. "Are you afraid, princess? There are some who say a little fear in a wife is a good thing."
"I do not fear you," she cried rashly. "I have naught but contempt for you!"
His hands were like a vise around her waist. She sought to pummel his chest but he did not allow it. He snared her wrists and tumbled her down on the bed. His mouth came down on hers, searing her lips with a kiss of bruising passion.
She gave a low moan, awash with humiliation. God, how she hated him, yet no more than she hated herself. For he turned her pride into weakness, her resistance into submission. The knowledge was bitterly galling, for she had always counted herself strong and in control of her destiny. Always ... until now.
This day had seen her vow he would not find her such easy prey as he had last night. She'd told herself over and over that she'd been afraid of the unknown—of what he would do to her—and so she had let him have his way. But now she knew what to expect, and she could not surrender ... not again.
Her shift was ripped from her body, leaving her as naked as he. His scouring gaze raked over her, brazen and bold, leaving no part of her untouched. His eyes were dark and fever-bright, afire with scorching desire. Knees alongside her hips, he straddled her, pinning her beneath him. Her face aflame, she trembled at the sight of his swollen staff. He was huge, hot, hard, and hungry. Sensing the raw, implacable purpose in him, Shana knew a desperation beyond anything that had gone before.
Her thoughts ran wild. Last night he had been gentle. Oh, she knew the difference now, and he had been right, she realized in dread. He had taken every care with her. He had been determined—not ruthless. But now oh, this was neither desire nor lust—this was indeed a punishment!
Fear lent her a feeble courage. She sought to twist away, to free herself from the prison of iron-hard thighs, pounding wildly at his chest. "Let me go, you bastard! I did not want this marriage ... Do you hear? I do not want this—I do not want you!"
He captured her flailing wrists and bore them to the mattress. His features were set in a cold, hard mask. Only his eyes betrayed the depth of his fury. They burned like the fiery pits of hell itself.
And indeed Thorne was angry. There was a primitive pounding in his head lie was furious with her for tempting him, for making him want her, then denying him as if he were the lowliest of creatures. He wanted to strike out at her, to hurt her as she had hurt him.
His laughter was a terrible sound. "It's too late, princess. I made you my bride yesterday, and you will be my wife ... in this and every other way."
She couldn't look away as he reared between her thighs. His gaze stabbed hotly into hers ... and so did his thrusting manhood. Shana cried out with the force of his penetration, more in shock than pain. Tears stung her eyes, tor she was so very aware of how deeply imbedded was his turgid length within her.
Time spun out endlessly, and still he did not move. Her body soon yielded—he was no longer an alien spear that rent her asunder—but her spirit did not. And as the seconds mounted, so did her resentment. She haled his intimacy, hated knowing he was a part of her. She hated that he possessed her body in a way no other ever had, not even Barris. Ah, but he would find no warmth in her tonight. He would find her brittle as bone.
Thorne was incensed at her ploy—and just as determined to overcome it, He filled his hands with the bounty of her breasts. His tongue blazed a fiery path to each throbbing peak. With his tongue he gauged the frenzied pulse at the base of her throat. But she vehemently denied him the sweetness of her mouth, deliberately wrenching her head aside.
His anger kindled anew. Oh, he longed to leave her unfulfilled and unsatisfied, but the storm of desire inside him was unbridled now. Driven by raging passion, he drove into her hard and deep, faster and faster. She did not fight him, but neither did she yield. He had no choice but to ride out the tempest within him while she lay passive beneath him, her face turned away, her eyes squeezed shut as if she could not bear the sight of him.
He swore viciously. Damn her soul to hell and back! She was ever haughty and aloof—cold to the very marrow of her bones! And then even that thought was lost as he gritted his teeth. The world exploded all around him. With a groan that spoke more of defeat than satisfaction, his seed spewed violently within her.
His chest was still heaving as he fell beside her. Her eyes opened then, brimming with tears, even as they cursed and accused. Her wounded look stabbed like a blade, even as he cursed her for driving him to this, and himself for his lack of control.
Their eyes collided again as she rescued the sheet from where it lay twisted about her ankles. He propped himself up on an elbow as she quickly pulled it around her nakedness.
"Do you think me so ensnared by your beauty that you must hide yourself from me? I've seen all there is to see and judged you no fairer than any other. Aye," he went on, his gaze scraping over her. "Princess or no, Shana, you are as any other woman—and any other woman will do."
"I will pray daily that I shall be so spared." Her tone was as frigid as his.
A dark, brooding shadow slipped over him. "Oh', you need not worry on that score. By God, I vow I'll not touch you again lest you ask for it— nay, beg for it!" His tone was as cutting as his eyes. "Indeed, you are of little use to me as a wife—aye, even less as a woman! 'Tis clear you will offer no comfort in the night, no pleasure in bed. A man wants a woman who is not afraid to show some warmth, aye, even passion! You, princess—" his lip curled, "you rouse naught in me save my temper! But I've done my duty as a
husband, so while you are at your prayers, pray that you have already conceived that you may do yours as a wife. For I shud
der to think of laying again with a cold-hearted witch with no feelings save her own!"
Conceived! ... A shock tore through her. She relived the shudder that had racked his form. Only now did she grasp the significance of the wet spurting heat that accompanied it. She quickly relinquished the thought, for she could not bear to think of creating a child with this callous, hurtful man. Oh, but he was cruel to taunt her so—and after what he had just done!
"I will make you sorry," she announced in a low, throbbing voice. He did not bother to veil his contempt. Why should she? "Mark my words, milord. You will rue the day you married me!"
"Princess," he said coolly. "I do already." He snuffed out the candle and climbed back into the bed. Shana lay huddled on her side, her back as inflexible as a wall of stone. Who, he wondered with a trace of bitterness, had won this battle? Not she. And certainly not he.
Chapter 14
You are of little use to me as a wife—aye, even less as a woman! 'Tis clear you will offer no comfort in the night, no pleasure in bed. A man wants a woman who is not afraid to show her man some warmth, aye, even passion! ... I shudder to think J must couple again with a cold-hearied witch with no feelings save her own!
It was odd how those words, flung at her in anger, still had the power to prick her sorely. Oh, she told herself that spite was behind Thorne's verbal attack. His sole intent was to get back at her for failing to respond to his lovemaking, to hurt her ...
And he had.
Was she truly as cold, as unfeeling, as he had charged? It was true he brought out a side to her no other had ever seen, for never had her temper been stirred so often—or so readily—as it had been these past weeks. But it was only what he deserved! Nor, she decided indignantly, was she without mercy or compassion, or greedy as Thorne seemeed to think!
But he'd also made her feel like the ugliest hag alive. Shana had never considered herself a great beauty, but the next morning she searched out a looking glass to see if she'd sprouted some hideous deformity. She could find none, though she decided her skin stretched more tightly across her cheeks than before. Later she'd anxiously asked Will and Sir Gryffen if they found her distasteful to look upon. Gryffen had eyed her rather sharply, while Will was unfailingly blunt—she looked no different than before.
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