My Rebellious Heart (3 page)

Inside the bailey, she slid from the saddle. Soldiers and horses and servants milled about.

Across the way, servants hurried to and from the kitchens, great platters of food on their shoulders in preparation for the evening meal.

A young groom darted over. "I'll stable your horse, milady."

Shana pressed the reins into his hands with a murmur of thanks, then set about her business. Ignoring the curious glances thrown her way, her gaze restlessly scanned her surroundings. High above the main watchtower, the Langley flag fluttered in the breeze— white with ornate lettering emblazoned in the center. Her eyes flitted to a building across from the wel , soldiers' quarters judging from the look of it. It was there she spied a triangular pennon, bright purple with a crouch-

ing lion, and behind it another . . . Saints be praised, there it was, the one her father had described—blood red with a fiercesome, two-headed creature of the deep!

In her eagerness she took an involuntary step forward; a slight weight stumbled against her.

Shana glanced down just in time to see she'd tripped a smal boy. He sprawled flat on his bel y even as she watched.

"Oh, pray forgive me!" she gasped. "I did not mean to trip you." Without a second thought she reached down and grasped the boy's elbow, pul ing him to his feet.

He didn't bother to dust himself off. Warm brown eyes flashed up at her. "No harm done," the boy said with a shrug. "I wasn't watchin' where I was goin'."

She smiled. "Nor was I."

The boy was young, no more than eleven or twelve. Dirt smeared his cheeks and his tunic was torn and ragged, ripped at both shoulders. Strips of linen bound his feet. With a faint tug on her heart, she realized he was probably a poor youngster from the vil age.

It gave her a start to realize his own appraisal of her was no less curious, but far more frank.

"I haven't seen you here before, have I?" he asked.

Shana shook her head.

"You're a lady, aren't you? I mean, a ... a real lady."

She laughed. "I suppose you might say that." She bobbed in a tiny curtsy. "You may cal me Lady Shana, if you like."

"And you may cal me Wil —Wil Tyler." He swept her an exaggerated bow. When he straightened, the grin had reappeared, quite audacious this time. Urchin or no, there was something quite endearing about this boy.

"I wonder if you might help me, Wil ."

'If I can," he stated promptly.

She gestured toward the blood-red pennon. "That pennon, Wil , the one with the two-headed creature. Whose pennon is it, do you know?"

" 'Course I do. "Tis the Earl of Weston's." He eyed her as if she were the strange creature from beneath the sea, then half turned. "That's him yonder, there near the entrance to the stable, with Sir Geoffrey. The earl's the one with the black mantle."

Shana's gaze cleaved sharply toward the stable. Sure enough, there were two men, one with hair as gold as a field of ripened wheat, the other with hair as dark as the midnight hour.

A simmering fury stoked her ire. So this was Edward's mighty earl, the sword of England. Ah, but he would be the one brought low, she vowed. She'd bring the Earl of Weston to his knees if it were the last thing she did.

"You haven't heard of the earl, have ye?" demanded the boy.

She shook her head. "I've been ... away in Ireland for a number of years and am only just now returning to my home." The excuse was a lame one but al she could think to say.

"The earl first caught the king's eye when Edward went on crusade in the Holy Land—he was a groom for one of the lords who fought with Edward there," Wil went on. " 'Course, Edward was only a prince then, and the earl only a boy, why, not much older than me. And when his lord was struck down, the earl took up his sword and fought as well as any of Edward's royal troops! 'Twas then that Edward decided to take the earl as his own squire.

And not a year later, 'twas the earl who slaved the assassin who sought to put an end to the king ... Why, if it weren't for Thorne de Wilde, King Edward wouldn't even be here. It's no wonder he's such a hero!"

The earl was stil deep in conversation with his companion. From the corner of her eye, Shana watched as he pivoted, one arm sweeping high aloft in some grand gesture. Ah, these swaggering English and their egos! she thought scathingly. He postured himself as one whose opinion of himself far exceeded his true worth.

It was al she could do to keep the bite from her tone. "I trust the king rewarded him amply."

Wil chuckled. "That he did, milady. He granted him an earldom! And now the king has chosen the earl to lead his forces here!"

Shana silently scoffed. Hero, was he? Why, Thorne de Wilde, Earl of Weston, was naught but the king's puppet!

But to hear the boy tel it, the Earl of Weston was the stuff of which tales were made.

According to him, children gaped when he rode by. Men and women alike strained to catch the merest glimpse of him.

"... fond of the ladies, if you know what I mean. But not half as much as the ladies like him, so they say."

So he had an eye for a lusty maid, did he? Shana's opinion of the earl sank ever lower.

"They al swoon for the chance to be his chosen one. Why, it don't matter none at all that he's ..." His words were lost in the clatter of hooves. Shana stepped quickly aside, pul ing the boy back with a hand on his shoulder. A frown marred the smoothness of her brow, for beneath her hand, he was naught but skin and bones.

She glanced at the deep violet fringe of twilight that had begun to gather to the west. "The vil age isn't far, Wil , but you should be on your way before it begins to grow dark. Your mother is probably waiting your supper."

To her surprise, he hesitated. "I don't live in the

vil age, milady," he said at last. "And my mother passed on when I was but a lad."

And what did he think he was now? The comment nearly slipped out before she could stop it.

Shana heeded her tongue just in the nick of time, for Wil 's thin shoulders had gone rigid with what could only be called pride. She dared not ask after his father, for she suspected she already knew the answer.

"Have you no guardian, Wil ?"

Her tone was sharper than she intended. She knew it when flashing eyes rose to appraise her. "Got no one but me," he stated clearly, "and that's al I need, milady."

"Where do you sleep—and eat?"

"I get scraps from the kitchen sometimes. And there's a lady in the vil age gives me meat pies whenever her husband butchers. And I sleep wherever I can find a place to lay my head." He gestured toward the stable. "Most times the stablemaster lets me sleep in an empty stal ."

A helpless indignation rose inside her, she who had known only coddling and indulgence every day of her life. Why had fate blessed her with so much, yet chosen to be so cruel—to one so young yet? This was no life for a child, no life at al !

"You needn't look at me like that, milady. I get along better 'n most."

Shana did not argue, for it was clear Wil neither wanted nor expected pity. Instead she untied the pouch at her waist and held it toward him. "Here, Wil . Here's bread and cheese, enough for your supper and to break the morning fast. And when that's finished you'll be able to buy more with the coin inside."

His pointed little chin went up a notch. "I only beg when I've need to, milady," he said stiffly.

"You did not beg," she stated crisply. "And now there wil be no need to."

The pouch dangled between them. He stared at it, brushing the shaggy hair from his eyes, but he made no effort to take it.

Shana's lips pressed together. "Take it, Wil . Cal it a gift, or a payment if you would. You've enlightened me greatly, and for that I thank you." Her tone was just as stubborn as his. She seized his hand and dropped the pouch into it, curling his fingers around the leather tie with her own.

For the longest moment she feared he would refuse yet again. She sensed he wanted to say something, for his unsmiling regard meshed with hers endlessly, oddly piercing for one so young. Then, ever so slowly, he began to inch back, retaining his hold on the pouch. At last he wheeled and darted away.

Shana's hand slipped back to her side. She watched him lunge across the bailey ... straight toward the Earl of Weston. With no more ado the boy grabbed a fistful of his mantle and tugged insistently. With a horrified inevitability, Shana realized Wil had snared the earl's attention. The boy said something and gestured.

Then he pointed directly to her.

Geoffrey had no regrets about turning his affection to matters other than war, especial y one as lovely as this. He let a broad smile snare his lips. "Sweet Jesus, but she looks to be a beauty, eh, Thorne? I don't recal seeing her when we arrived. How about you?"

Thorne had turned as wel . Nay, he thought, for he'd have remembered a woman such as this one. She was elegant of stature, tall and slender, clad from head to toe in folds of deep green velvet. She was too far away for her features to be presented in detail, but the lovely profile she portrayed promised beauty untold.

"The boy was right,' said Geoffrey. "She must be passing through for the night."

Thorne raised a brow. "She could be wife to one of the men here."

"Saints forbid!" Geoffrey's laugh was low and suggestive. "But I'm about to find out. If it's a bed for the night she's after, I'll gladly share mine."

Thorne shook his head as Geoffrey crossed the bailey. The woman was no camp fol ower, that was for certain. Even from here, he had no trouble discerning the richness of her clothing. And she carried herself like a woman accustomed to having others do her bidding.

But Geoffrey was a man of the times. He loved fighting, hunting, drinking, and wenching ...

but at least when his pursuits ran to the latter, he never forgot he was a gentleman.

"Milady, it seems someone has neglected their duty." Geoffrey blessed her with his most dashing smile. "I am Sir Geoffrey of Fairhaven, and I apologize that none has greeted you before this."

He bowed low over the hand she extended, bringing her fingers to his lips. "Sir Geoffrey,"

she murmured. "I am—Lady Shana." Shana held her breath, afraid he might ask from whence she came.

Praise the saints, he did not.' "Milady, your young friend mentioned you are on your way home from Ireland. I hope your journey has not tired you overmuch."

"Not at al , milord."

"Do you need lodging for the night, mayhap?"

For all that he was English, his eyes were warm and kind, his manner gracious and genteel.

She decided to throw caution to the wind. "In truth, Sir Geoffrey, I am here to seek audience with the Earl of Weston."

Bloody hel ! Geoffrey uttered a silent curse of good-natured vigor. What was it about Thorne that so drew the female of the species? He eyed

her curiously. "Milady," he murmured. "Do I dare ask why?"

She lowered her gaze. "It concerns a private matter, my lord."

Geoffrey sighed. Whether the matter be business or pleasure, it seemed he would have to concede this beauty to Thorne. "In that case, milady, I've no choice but to aid you in your cause." He offered her his arm.

Thorne had watched the pair from the corner of his eye. He could only guess at their conversation, but he'd seen Geoffrey's charm thaw the iciest of maidens more than once, thus he was mildly surprised when he saw the pair approach.

"Thorne," Geoffrey greeted. 'The lady here has expressed a desire to make your acquaintance. Lady Shana, may I present Thorne de Wilde, Earl of Weston." With a flourish he transferred her hand from his elbow to the earl's. "Milady, I deliver you into Thorne's hands, with the utmost regret, I might add. But I wish you wel on your journey home from Ireland."

With that Geoffrey was gone. Shana found herself perversely wishing he had stayed. Her heart was drumming so that her chest hurt. Such forwardness was hardly like her, but only now did she consider what interpretation the earl might apply to her conduct. Would he think her loose or wanton? God forbid!

He was broader than he looked from afar, yet stil lean. His skin was weathered bronze from wind and sun. Shana had not thought to find him handsome, yet he was, and wickedly so.

His jaw was square, ruggedly configured. His eyes shone bril iant and hard, as black as his heart, she decided with no little amount of rancor.

He did not kiss her hand, as Geoffrey had done, but he held her fingers far longer than she liked—

and she had the feeling he knew it. It was all she could do not to jerk away from his hated touch.

"Lady Shana, 'tis a pleasure indeed to be sought out by one so fair as yourself. In truth, 'tis usual y only my enemies who single me out."

His words gave her a weighty pause, for he hit dangerously close to the truth. The merest of smiles lurked about his mouth, but there was a cruel slant to it that made her want to flinch.

She quel ed it swiftly, for already he'd proved he'd not be an easy one to fool; she must be ever wary and watch her step.

"Your enemies, my lord? Are there so very

many then?"

Stil he smiled—a devil's smile, she decided, yet his voice was chil ingly soft. "A wise man once told me one should discover al one can about one's enemies. However, I can scarce believe one as lovely as you could harbor il toward anyone. And yet, I wonder why you should so honor me."

She wasted little time in her reply. "There is little to wonder about, my lord. 'Tis said you are King Edward's arm, come to conquer the Welsh. Why, your name is on everyone's lips—I daresay, in every household."

There was naught but silk and honey in her tone, but her words, so pleasant to the extreme, grated on him like iron scraping rock. A curious tension sprang up between them, for he sensed her words were almost a chal enge, a challenge he did not ful y comprehend. He leveled on her a gaze of probing intensity, yet her own never faltered. After a moment, he decided he was mistaken.