My Rebellious Heart (32 page)

It was much the same for Thorne. When he decided they should take shelter for the night in a secluded glade, he glimpsed the pinched tightness about her lovely mouth when she saw they were to share a blanket, but the explosion he expected was not forthcoming. It rankled a bit for he'd have welcomed it; his mood was hardly tame. But Shana had promptly curled up, pul ed the coverlet over her shoulder, and proceeded to fal immediately asleep. Disgruntled, Thorne heaved onto his side and presented her with his back

But it was not long before the chill dampness of the night seeped through her body. Thorne froze when she shifted, turning over and burrowing against him as if she sought to slip into his very skin. He was at once caught in a maze of conflicting emotions; the entire sweet length of her lay pliant and yielding against his backside. It mattered little that they were both ful y clothed. With each rise and fal of her breath, the tender press of her breasts nuzzled against his back like a hot brand.

The taunt he had flung at her so scathingly resounded in his brain. I vow I'll not touch you again lest you ask for it—nay, beg for it!

He had not touched her since that night long ago when the Welsh prisoners had escaped. If the truth be told, he'd not have laid a hand on her then had he not swil ed far too much ale.

But now his body betrayed anew a thoroughly predictable reaction to her nearness. Though heart and mind staunchly rebelled against such yearning, his body was afire with longing for her, his manhood in a painful state of near-constant arousal.

His mouth twisted. Mayhap he was a fool to deny what he wanted most. Mayhap he should yield to the powerful throb of desire that surged within him, and the lady's wishes be damned! But he was stil affronted that his haughty little wife shunned him with such flagrant disregard. Was he unpleasant to look upon? Nay, surely not, for other women deemed him handsome enough. They declared it mattered not that he was ignobly born. Indeed, most women thought a dal iance with him wondrously exciting.

But no other woman had ever so lingered in his mind. He had only to glance at his wife and recall that her lips, tasted like succulent summer berries, her hair felt like the finest of silk.

Slowly, so as not to wake her, Thorne eased around so he could see

her. Hazy spears of moonlight cast her in a shroud, lighting her hair, tangled about her like a waterfal of bright silk, to silvery-gold. Her skin was pale and unblemished, almost translucent.

His breath caught, albeit unwil ingly, for in sleep she appeared captivating and innocent, in the full bloom of her youth and beauty He made a disgusted sound low in his throat. He'd thought himself immured from such foolishness, for he'd bedded many a woman in his day.

She was fair of face and form, aye, yet no more so than others he had known. And he'd lain with women far more lushly endowed than she, women who knew al there was to know of the art of pleasing a man.

But he'd lain with no other since the day they wed. He wanted no other . . save the one woman in the world who wanted naught to do with him!

With his fingers he grazed the velvety curve of her lips, lips that had deigned not once to smile enchantingly at him. He pondered long and hard in fury and in envy what spel she cast that Wil and Sir Gryffen were so besotted with her, one so young and one so old.

Only with him was she cold. Only with him did she hold herself proud and aloof, elusive and distant

With a scowl Thorne heaved onto his side again, resolving that he'd not fal prey again to such foolishness. It mattered little that she was a princess— even less that she was his wife, for by God, he'd not bow down before any woman—most especial y not this one! Aye, he vowed She was of no more importance than any other woman in his life!

His mood was little improved by morning, nor it appeared, was hers. Thorne was wel acquainted with his wife's regal profile The blazing sun did little to warm it once they were on their way

They progressed in silence, intent upon their

journey. Behind them, golden shafts of wheat bowed fow to the shifting current of the wind.

The flat of the land soon gave way to a steep, conifer-clad hil side. Far below, a meandering stream sneaked through the valley. Just after noonday, Thorne reined in his mount atop the crest of a knobby hil . Shana did likewise, fol owing the sweep of his gaze to the val ey below.

All at once she had no eye to spare for the beauty of the hil -rimmed val ey. Splotches of soot and debris sul ied the basin floor, like a blight upon the land. In the center of the village, blackened huts thrust up like blisters. Despite me showering rays of the sun, she felt suddenly chil ed to the bone.

"Llandyrr?" She posed the question without glancing at him.

"Aye." His voice was flat and hol ow.

He nudged his horse toward a weed-choked track that weaved down the hil side. With each step that took them closer to Llandyrr, the tension between them increased.

Silence hovered over the village like a smothering fog as they approached. The only sound was of slow, clopping hooves. The first hut they passed was naught but a pile of scorched tinder, the smel of smoke still pungent and acrid. A small child tottered in the lane as they wound toward the vil age center, then darted into a nearby hut whose roof was only half thatched. It was not long before a straggly line of men and women had formed, their races hostile and wary.

Thorne dismounted before the tal walls of a church, the only building fully intact. He was careful to make no moves that might be construed as threatening. He swung Shana from her mount, then turned to behold the half circle around them. A white-haired old man who could barely walk had hoisted a homemade spear to his shoulder.

Thorne raised his hands slowly. "There is no need to raise your weapons/' he called out. "We mean you no harm."

The old man's fingers tightened around his spear. "Who are you?" he sneered. "And what do you do here in Llandyrr?"

Shana had stepped forward ere she knew it. "I am Shana, daughter of Kendal, brother of Llywelyn." Her voice rang out clear and calm. She raised her chin and took her place beside Thorne. "This man is my husband. We have come to find out about the soldiers who ravaged your vil age."

"What's to tell?" snorted the old man. "English soldiers, they were, the blasted lot of them.

My wife and I heard 'em laugh and crow that the Dragon would know where they had laid their blade. Indeed, he boasted he'd have quite a tale to tell when they returned to Castle Langley."

"Aye," cried a young woman who balanced a babe on her hip. "They trampled our fields and ruined our crops, then set our homes aflame. They slaughtered our hogs and sheep, and then they slaughtered our men!"

Thorne glanced from one face to another, lrag-edy was etched in their faces, tragedy, hatred, and a world of despair. "You say these soldiers were from Castle Langley," he said slowly.

"Did they carry no banner?"

"They attacked in the name of the Bastard Earl." A black-robed priest had stepped within their midst. " 'Twas night when it started, but I saw the pennon they flew very clearly—'twas blood-red, with a two-headed creature from beneath the seas."

Thorne felt he'd been dealt a stunning blow to the head. Beside him Shana went rigid as stone. He braced himself, for in truth he half expected her to point an accusing finger at him and stand with them against him. He thanked them and left

a sack full of food he'd brought along from Langley.

The story was no different at the other vil age.

A crimson mist of rage shrouded his vision as he directed their horses south once again.

Who would dare to attack these Welsh vil ages in his name? He was furious that the unknown assailant would dare revile him so. It was only then that he made the connection ...

The attack on these two vil ages was very, very similar to what had happened at Merwen. A pang of something strangely akin to guilt shot through him. He had been so convinced Shana's father Kendal had not seen his pennon—that he had been mistaken about what he had seen—or perhaps Kendal had blamed him without just cause.

Now he was not convinced at al .

His expression set and tense, he mounted up and headed south again, trying to ignore the way Shana's gaze stabbed him in the back like a hundred daggers. Several hours later the first blush of twilight spread its purple veil across the land. They rode high atop a craggy bluff; only a short distance away a steep drop-off fell away to where granite boulders thrust up like jagged teeth.

Shana had yet to utter a single word of condemnation. Indeed, she had yet to speak since they'd left the second vil age. Al at once Thorne wished almost savagely that she would indeed loose her tongue upon him in al its fire and fury—even that was better than this cursed silence!

Lured by a force more powerful than he, his gaze was settled inevitably upon her. Her countenance was stony, all her attention focused before her. In no way did she acknowledge the touch of his eyes upon her, though he knew by the slight tightening of soft pink lips that she was wel aware of his perusal. Her refusal to speak sent his resentment spiraling.

Something snapped in him. He reined in his horse so abruptly her mount nearly crashed into his. Shana was nearly unseated by the sudden maneuver she was forced to take Her head whipped around as she prepared to heap upon him a mosl unladylike insult But Thorne was already off his horse and rounding hers. Hands at her waist, he swung her from the saddle with a suddenness that made her head reel.

He released her the instant her feet touched the ground. "You've maintained that damning silence long enough," he observed coolly. "If you have something to say, princess, I'd much prefer you simply come out with it "

Her chin angled high. "And what would you have me say?" She met his chal enge with one of her own. "That 1 marvel you do not cringe in tear for the day the Lord wil judge the stam on your soul? 'Tis one thing to battle sword to sword, man to man. 'Tis another to slay a man who raises neither hand nor weapon against you."

Something flitted across his features, something that might have been pain. It was so fleeting she did not know He did not disguise his bitterness. "If that's what you believe, then why didn't you reveal my identity to the vil agers? I've no doubt they'd have gladly made you a widow."

The question hung between them. A sharp pain tore at her heart, for she had yet to answer that very question herself. She winced inwardly but managed to match his stare boldly. "And 1 ask you what reply you would make were I to accuse you. Would you plead innocence of the heinous deed laid at your feet? Would you deny what the vil agers saw there, the destruction wrought: there?"

"I do not deny what happened there," he said hercely. "Wars are fought not only on the battlefield. What happened at Llandyrr and the other village is a disgrace to any soldier—but it was not

of my doing. And if you brand me guilty, Shana, then know this. You judge without knowing the truth. You weigh your side only and refuse to consider mine."

"You did not believe me when I told you I did not free the Welsh prisoners." Her eyes darkened. She was suddenly as bitter as he. "You and your troops were gone a sennight past. You might easily have been here! Yet you expect me to accept your word without question when you refused to accept mine?"

A blistering curse rent the air. 'Is it not enough that England and Wales forever battle each other? Must we clash as wel ? Never have I professed to be free of sin/' he said earnestly.

"But if I were guilty of such an atrocity as Llandyrr, would I have brought you along to witness it?"

She blanched, turning away lest he see the heartache that tore at her insides like a knife.

Doubt crowded her heart, doubt and a fear unlike any other. For al that Thorne could be ruthless and hard, she had found him to be neither cal ous nor cruel. Yet she could not forget that first and foremost, Thorne was a warrior, bound by duty and honor to the king's wil .

And Edward was determined to crush Wales beneath the mighty fist of England once and for al .

She raised shaking hands to her face. "I don't know what to believe—" her voice came thick with the threat of tears, "Thorne, I ..."

From out of nowhere came a blood-chilling cry—in Welsh. "Kil the Englishman!"

Forever after Shana would remember that moment like a hauntingly bad dream. A trio of men charged from the tangled woodland just beyond the path, the first brandishing a broadsword.

Barelegged, wild and unkempt, the other carried a bow and arrow, the last a vicious looking spear. His muscles atuned to the scent of danger, Thorne

reacted instinctively, thrusting Shana behind him and leaping forward, ripping his sword from its scabbard

The man with the sword charged first, a murderous lust in his eyes. The scraping clang of steel against steel went through her like a dagger. Clearly they enjoyed the prospect of Thorne forfeiting his life. The man's companions looked on, as if they had al the time in the world And indeed it was true, for they were three and Thorne was but one. They laughed and jeered as the pair engaged in a grisly dance that soon took them both to the edge of the rocky bluff. Thorne parried an arcing downward slice of his opponent's sword with a mighty blow of his own. The assailant watched stunned as his weapon was ripped from his grasp, skidding over the bluff. In the next instant a booted foot caught him ful in the chest.

He plunged over the edge with a shattering scream.

Shana was scarcely aware of Thorne's shout: "Run, Shana. Run'"

The second man reached behind to snatch an arrow from his quiver. Thorne had already charged. One deft flick of the wrist and the man began to stagger backward, his chest pierced by a clean, swift stroke; he now lay sprawled face-down at her feet. By then the third man's spear was streaking through the air like lightning from the heavens.