My Rebellious Heart (34 page)

"Then I convey my deepest thanks that you choose to share it with us." Despite her smile, Shana could not hide her anxiety. She bit her lip and nodded toward Thorne. "You say he wil be unable to travel for a time," she said, her voice very low. "The wound is not so bad as you first thought then?"

"With the proper care, I think his recovery wil be a speedy one—and methinks your care of him wil be most devoted." The old woman smiled, her gaze lingering on Shana's tear-streaked cheeks. She spoke softly. "You love him very much, don't you?"

Love? Shana was stunned. Her lips parted. Speech was beyond her.

Maeve gave a hearty chuckle. "Do not ask how I know, child. There are many times love speaks for itself—it shows in the way you touch him, the way you look at him." She touched the dampness on Shana's cheek. "Why else these tears?"

Why, indeed ... Al at once an aching tightness she did not understand fil ed her breast.

Mayhap she had come to care for Thorne some little bit. But this strange emotion that swirled in her chest was not love. Nay, surely not ...

She walked outside with Maeve and Avery. There she kissed first one, and then the other.

"You truly are a saint," she whispered to the woman, drawing back with a tremulous smile.

"My husband and I wil see you are amply paid for your kindness."

Maeve shook her head adamantly. "Nay, child. God's work needs no reward."

Avery returned a short while later with a kettle of hot lamb stew and bread, as wel as a sack ful of dried beans, fresh vegetables, and salted meat. With the tantalizing aroma of the stew, Shana's appetite returned ful blown. She ate quickly then returned to Thorne's side, hoping he would waken so he could eat as well.

His eyes were closed. He thrashed restlessly on the pal et. His hands plucked impatiently at the laces of his tunic. "Hot," he muttered. "So hot."

Her knuckles skimmed the beard-roughened hol ow of his cheek. She inhaled sharply. Why, he was burning up! She snatched up the dagger and

made quick work of slicing the seam of his tunic and pul ing it from beneath him. Once again she ran for water, cool water this time to draw the raging fever from his skin.

Darkness laid its murky veil over the earth once more. Thorne continued to thrash restlessly.

Shana pulled up the three-legged stool and thrust back the rough linen sheet, giving nary a thought or care for modesty as she began to pull the wet cloth over his face and naked body.

His limbs quested so fiercely she feared he would reopen his wound. She splayed her hands against his chest and soothed him with meaningless phrases. If he heard, he gave no sign of it. Indeed, he seemed oblivious to her presence.

His eyes flew open once. An eerie tingle slithered up her spine. She had the sensation he saw not her, but someone else. "Help me." He be-seeched her silently. "You're kind, not like the others ... Please! Can't you spare a crust of bread? I'll work it off, I promise ... Nay, please!" His hands came up to shield his head and chest from some unseen assailant. "I'll do anything you say, anything! Just don't ... don't leave me!' A tremendous shudder racked his body. "Please, I'm cold ... so hungry ..."

He pleaded, he screamed, he wept, the tortured memories of his childhood unwittingly revealed to her. His voice was so pitiful y raw she felt her heart pierced as fiercely as his leg had been pierced. Oh, the violence, the cruelty he must have known! She raged inwardly that fate had treated him so unfairly, cringing as she recal ed al the horrible taunts she had hurled at him. She shuddered to think how easily he might have grown to be a thief or a beggar, or a treacherous, evil who possessed not a shred of goodness.

For the first time she began to understand al that made him the man he was—strong and

determined—aye, even ruthless! Yet beneath the shield of armor he wore about his heart lurked a mar who bled as easily as she—she was certain of it! And with that subtle softening within her, the fury and resentment she had nurtured so long and so wel began to melt.

All through the night she stayed at his side, hovering over him like a bird guarding its nest, Near dawn he seemed to fal into a more normal sleep, but he was stil so very hot. Seeing him so weak and defenseless, this man who was so tail, so commanding, and always in control, wrenched at her heart.

Her shoulders sagged with a weariness borne less of body than of spirit. Al at once she couldn't erase the choking fear inside. What if Maeve was wrong? What if Thorne died? As much in frustration as exhaustion, near dawn she laid her head on his chest and cried herself to sleep.

It seemed a long time later that she felt the faintest of tugs on her hair, the merest touch of fingertips combing slowly through the tangled -.trands. She lifted her head to discover Thorne regarding her with such intense confusion furrowing his brow that she did not know if he recognized her. The deep lines scored beside his mouth emphasized the harshness of his features, as did the dark shadow of several days' growth of beard on his cheeks and jaw. He was stil pale, but color had seeped back into his skin.

She reached instinctively for his brow, then ;ghed deeply in relief. "The fever is gone." She straightened, pushing aside the thick curtain of her hair. "How do you feel?"

Thorne discovered his voice was hoarse and raspy. "Like I've swallowed every drop of brew in a vil age alehouse." He shifted his torso with a marked grimace. "And like my wife has taken her

fists and pummeled the whole of my body that she might take me to task for it."

She favored him with an uninhibited smile. "When you are better, mayhap." She combed her fingers through the mass of snarls tumbling down her back then twisted it into a long rope and pulled it over her shoulder. She was anxious to see how his wound fared.

Thorne looked on as she unwrapped the bindings. Despite his malaise, he was mildly amused when she carefully averted her gaze as she bunched the sheet over the joinder of his legs, a becoming flush on her cheeks. He realized his memory of the night was rather vague and he queried her. He was stunned when she told him last night was the second they had spent here. He frowned when she sprinkled a white powder over the jagged edges of his injury; the flesh seemed to pucker and tighten.

"What is that?"

She did not look up as she spoke. "Maeve said 'twil draw the poisons from the wound and aid the healing—"

"Maeve?"

"Aye. Remember you told me about a farm not far from here?" He nodded. Her fingertips slid under his knee, guiding it higher so she could begin winding a clean strip of linen around his thigh. "Maeve and her husband Avery live there. You were in a rather poor way when we arrived. Your injury far surpassed my meager knowledge of the art of healing. We should be thankful Maeve knew what to do and was wil ing to show me." She raised her eyes to his, her expression betraying little of her thoughts.

So she had gone for help . . out of concern for his wel -being? The possibility both puzzled and intrigued him.

It pleased him far more.

Indeed, he'd have liked to question her further, but she had crossed to the hearth to set about preparing something to eat. He balked at the broth she soon carried to his bedside, muttering he preferred something more substantial-She insisted he needed to recover some of his strength first. Thorne was appal ed to discover she was right. He was ashamed to admit he was weak as a babe in arms, She helped nun sit up, but he had no more than half finished the broth when his hands began to shake. Without a word Shana took the bowl from him and spooned the rest into his mouth.

He slept off and on most of the day. By evening Shana relented and dished up some of Maeve's lamb stew for their supper She was feeling rather proud of her efforts as nurse, for he greedily devoured more of the bread and stew than she. Afterwards she changed his binding. With him awake and surveying her every move, she was heart-stoppingly conscious of the hardness of his limbs and bronzed, hair-roughened chest in a way that she had not been when he was unconscious. She was almost relieved when he drifted off to sleep once more

Shana had settled for a hasty grooming this morning. She had found several cakes of soap in a cupboard. She hoped Maeve's son would not mind that she used it. While water warmed above the fire, she loosened her hair and al owed herself the luxury of combing it through for the first time in two days. By the time she'd finished working through the tangles and snarls, the water had warmed to a comfortable temperature.

Standing before the fire, she stripped to her shift and scrubbed her bare arms. It felt so heavenly she impulsively lowered the shift to her waist to soap the dust and grime from her chest and shoulders.

Little did she realize the feast she offered up to avid, hungry eyes yearning for just such a glimpse

of her. For the space of a heartbeat, she was framed in the flickering glow of the fire, a perfect silhouette. Slender arms lifted her hair from her back, outlining in pale gold splendor the supple, trembling thrust of pink-tipped breasts. His heart skipped nigh unto his throat, for those sweet curves proved a temptation no man save a eunuch could ignore. Though it cost him no little amount of pain, he half turned that he might avail himself of such bounteous charms more ful y.

Quite by accident her gaze slid back over her shoulder. It gave her a start to behold his eyes open and ful upon her, dark and unreadable. Though he had seen her naked before, she felt inexplicably shy and flustered. Hurriedly she slid her arms into the sleeves and smoothed her shift in place. Though she knew she dallied overlong she doused the fire and spread the embers thin with the iron poker. At length she straightened, turned and started forward, only to come to an uncertain halt when she realized she had nowhere to sleep.

Nor was she the only one to come to that conclusion. Thorne frowned over at her. "Where did you sleep last night?"

She bit her lip. "On the stool beside the bed," she said at last.

"And the night before?" His frown grew sterner. He suspected he'd not like the answer.

He was right. She pointed to the wall alongside the door. "There," she admitted in a small voice.

Thorne scowled. Wincing a little, he eased his body sideways. An arrogant brow arched high was a silent command that she join him.

Shana's eyes widened as she took his meaning. "Nay!" she said quickly. "Thorne, I cannot.

What if I should jar your leg and do you harm?"

But Thorne had long since noticed the deep purple shadows beneath her eyes. "You harm me

more by your stubbornness," he growled. "Mayhap it's time you learned I can be just as stubborn." He threw back the sheet and made as if to rise.

His ploy worked. She was at his side immediately, small hands pressing him back. "Aye, but you are a fool," she accused crossly. "And indeed a most stubborn one at that!" Already she was sliding in beside him. Thorne relished the sweetness of an easy victory. If only all were won so easily!—and with such great reward.

His muscular frame dominated most of the narrow pal et. Shana had no choice but to turn on her side and press against his uninjured side. His arms came around her almost tentatively.

She did not stiffen or retreat as he expected, but nuzzled against him with a breathy little sigh. With his free hand he lifted a ribbon of honey-gold hair tangled amidst the dark pelt on his chest. Wrapping it around his fist, he closed his eyes and let weariness overcome him.

Neither had moved when Thorne awoke early the next morning.

Two mornings later she pronounced him wel enough to rise. With her assistance Thorne arose and limped around the cottage. His muscles protested mightily, for they were stiff and sore. He was sweating and weak as a day-old kitten by the time he col apsed onto the pal et.

Immediately a cool, feminine hand wiped his brow, drawing the sheet to his waist and urging him to drink the soothing tea she brewed.

It struck him then ... certainly Shana did not appear overeager to return to Langley, as he thought she might be. The cottage provided shelter from the elements, but even Thorne found their lodgings meager indeed and their comforts less than meager. She had but two gowns, no maid to see to her personal needs, no servants to cook and

serve her food. He'd been so convinced she was a woman used to having her way, while he was a man used to making his way ...

It disturbed him mightily to think he had so misjudged her. For all that she possessed a wil of iron, there was an underlying gentleness about her that had escaped him ... until now.

It was little wonder that he was not chafing with the enforced confinement, he reflected one evening. His derisive smile was directed solely at himself. He was not a man to spend his days lying idly abed, wasting the hours in foolish extravagance.

But he could scarce tear his gaze from his wife, for she was truly a vision of loveliness beyond price. She moved about the cottage, slender and enticing and graceful, throwing a chunk of wood to the fire that blazed beneath a black iron pot His warm gaze thoroughly approved the span of her hips as she bent to the soup now simmering. Her lovely mouth pursed in concentration, she selected first one herb and then another before lifting the lid and adding a handful of each. Yet Thorne could hardly deny the fierce swel of satisfaction that surged like a tide within him now. This was, he reflected thoughtful y, a side to his wife he had not expected ... but it pleased him nonetheless. Aye, it pleased him sorely, for he liked watching her tend to the fire and their meal... and to him.

Lord, but she stirred him unbearably. His eyes lingered on her nape, where the fragile slope of her neck met soft wisps of honeyed hair. He longed to press his lips against that vulnerable spot and inhale the fresh, womanly scent of hair and skin; take down the silken tresses swept up on her crown so that long silken hair flowed over his hands and body. Her tender care and concern for him only fueled the fire in his loins; only she