My Rebellious Heart (46 page)
He rested his chin against her bent head, breathing in the scent that was sweeter to him than any in this world. "No more so than 1, love."
Love ... Her heart squeezed. The vibrancy of his tone, along with the slow, sweet kiss he claimed then and there led her to believe he was not so inclined to be rid of her after al ...
Indeed, the heat in that kiss kept her tingly and warm al the way back to Langley—that and the pressure of his arms around her, for he lifted her before him on his saddle. She lay snuggled against his chest for the duration of the ride.
A violet haze veiled the treetops and jutting towers of Langley when they approached shortly before dawn. A watchman let out a whoop and waved his arms to announce their leader's return.
Despite the early hour, quite a crowd had gathered by the time they rode into the bailey. A cheer went up as Thorne reined his horse to a halt.
Shana stirred against him, for she had fal en into a light sleep. Her eyes widened at the sight of the crowd and their hearty welcome. She touched Thorne's jaw with a smile. "I think they approve of their new lord," she said softly.
Simple as her statement was, she could not know how much it meant to him. "And I," he countered huskily, "think they cheer because they are glad to have their lady safely back where she belongs."
She blinked as if in confusion, but when she turned and gave a tiny wave to the crowd, a resounding roar fil ed the air. She straightened, for she found the prospect pleasing, quite pleasing indeed. Awash with the golden glow of the rising sun, the stark gray stone of Langley's wal s and towers no longer seemed so harsh and forbidding.
Everyone soon clustered around, anxious to hear al that happened. Shana stood quietly, but whenever Thorne's eyes chanced to rest upon her, they spoke only to her. At last the masses began to disperse. Shana touched his arm, her fatigue etched in the shadows beneath her clear gray eyes. "I fear I am quite wearied," she murmured by way of apology.
Thorne nodded, his gaze cutting across to Sir Gryffen before returning to his wife. A current of understanding passed between them. She had told him how Quentin, not Gryffen, had released the Welsh prisoners. Thorne had replied he had only this night suspected as much, but she had felt the sudden tension in his hold.
"I wil join you shortly," he told her. She gave his arm a squeeze and slipped away.
It wasn't long before she heard his approaching footsteps. She said nothing as he crossed to the
hearth. She moved to join him there, standing behind him as he focused on the flames licking up the chimney.
"All is well?" she queried softly.
A spasm tightened his features. His tone was heavy when at last he spoke. "Gryffen was whipped for naught, Shana, and it was done at my behest. He says it does not matter, but I find 1 am not quite so prepared for leniency as is Sir Gryffen."
liny lines of regret remained etched beside his mouth. In that instant, Shana saw her husband more clearly than ever before—mayhap for the first time ever. There were no shadows, no doubts, to cloud her judgment. Oh, he was stern and harsh at times, but he was also strong and masculine enough to show compassion and mercy with no shame.
"Sir Gryffen is a man much like my father," she said at last. "Forceful and strong when the need arises, but capable of gentleness and forgiveness— indeed, my lord, the bravest, most admirable— and honorable—kind of man." She slid her arms around his waist and rubbed her cheek against the powerful lines of his shoulder. "Thorne," she whispered, the sound scarcely audible. "You are such a man, too."
Thorne was stunned at the wetness that seeped through his tunic. He turned to find her eyes swimming with tears.
He caught her hands in his, his gaze scouring hers. "What is this?" he exclaimed. "Shana, now is not the time for tears."
But the tears only flowed faster.
"Thorne," she choked out. 'Just before my father died, he said ... 'Be true to yourself above al others, for your heart wil never forsake you.' But I have been so afraid to trust in my heart —even more afraid to trust in you!" The words tumbled
out in a rush, one after the other, for once started she could not seem to stop.
"He—he also said there was no greater measure ot a man's worth than his honor and loyalty.
Edward said much the same thing today." She seized his hand and pressed it against the swel of her bel y. "Thorne, you are just the man to teach that to our son—or daughter! I pray that this child will be like his father—like you! And ... oh, Thorne ... my father and the king were right .. and I have been so wrong. I have wronged you . And I pray that it is not too late, that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, for I love you so ..."
/ love you. Her confession washed through him, inside and out, with a force that threatened to bring him to his knees. Yet his heart was so ful he thought it might burst. She had cast aside her pride and it was time he cast his aside, for indeed, pride had been their biggest enemy.
He swept her in his arms and carried her to the bed. There he raised up on an elbow, his look hotly possessive yet oddly tender. He dragged her hand to the roughness of his cheek.
"I never thought to love a woman the way T love you," he said unevenly. "But I feel it more with every breath I take, every beat of my heart. Princess, I had nothing when I was a child.
When possessions came to be mine, I thought I was rich. Indeed, it was al that was important to me! But I know now that it all means nothing, the land, the power, the glory for love is all a heart really needs."
The tears flowed anew. He loved her. He loved her'. With immeasurable tenderness, Thorne kissed away her tears until they were replaced with the brilliant radiance of love. And love her he did, until the breath left both their bodies, until they were weak and satisfied and utterly fulfil ed.
He woke a while later to find her standing near the window, wrapped in a sheet. Her expression was wistful yet her lips were curved upward as she stared out at the misty green hil s of Wales. He pulled her close, whispering gently against her temple. "What are you thinking?"
She dropped her head against his shoulder. "Something King Edward toki me just before he left."
A pleasantly rough fingertip traced her smile. "And what might that be, princess?"
"He said ... that England and Wales were far stronger together than apart. Thorne, I hope— pray!—that he is right."
"So do 1, sweet. You and I have wasted far too much tune battling each other, and ourselves, too. I think the same could be said ot England and Wales." He paused. "Wales wil endure/' he said quietly. "As England will endure ... as we wil endure."
He lowered his mouth to hers for a long, leisurely kiss, then rested his forehead against hers.
"I've been thinking," he said softly. "I know how much you loved Merwen, princess. If you'd like, we could rebuild."
Shana could hardly speak for the tightness in her throat—to think that he would do that for her! But she hesitated only an instant, laying her fingers on the tender curve of his lips with a shake of her head.
"We must look to the future, Thorne, not the past." She smiled mistily. "We already have Weston, and Langley. And I—I'd like to go home to Weston for Christmas, if you don't mind."
It had taken her a long time to realize it, but Merwen was no longer her home. She snuggled close against Thorne's chest. Home was ... him unto her and her unto him ... Home was right here in his arms!
For she and Thorne were no longer two hearts divided against each other ... but one. One body and soul.
One heart.