Samantha James (52 page)

His parry was swift and unrepentant. "And why should I think thusly? After all, milady, might I remind you, 'twas you who sought me out. Though I must say, I do wonder that you dared to come to Langley unescorted."

Shana flushed. She could find no words to refute his, for he was right. Usually only a woman of questionable virtue dared to travel alone.

"Indeed, milady, it occurs to me that mayhap you are in need of a protector."

Her chin came up and she fixed him with a glare both challenging and defiant. "I fear no one," she stated clearly, "least of all any man. And I have no need of a protector."

No, Thorne thought slowly. She did not. Her annoyance did not escape him. She was, he realized, not used to being questioned.

He was both piqued and irritated, though he knew not why. The color of her hair was unusual, a dark gold, shot through with copper, rich and gleaming. Her beauty struck him like a blow to the gut. But the Lady Shana also projected a surety of herself that was rare in a woman. Her posture was coldly dignified, her demeanor one of haughty pride. Why, she acted as though she were the queen herself!

Thorne found himself possessed of a sudden, ruthless desire to see her tumbled from her throne.

"If I wanted you, mistress, I'd not hesitate to say so. But lovely as you are, at this moment I fear your charms escape me. I am too tired and hungry to partake of..." he smiled benignly, "such sport, as you call it."

Ah, but he was bold! Fury wrapped its stranglehold around her. The man was a beast, with no manners whatsoever. She opened her mouth to deliver a scorching retort, but as if on cue, there was a knock on the door. He bade a young maid enter. The girl carried a tray laden with food which she deposited on a small table before the hearth. She curtsied, then left.

The earl crossed to the table, then turned to her, as if she were no more than a troublesome afterthought. "Will you join me, milady?"

Shana took a deep, calming breath, secretly glad she'd curbed her wayward tongue. She dared not antagonize him, not yet. She let him seat her, then serve her, all the while faultlessly polite. And all the while Shana thought secretly that he need not bother. He disliked her. He disliked her intensely. She could feel it with all that she possessed.

She accepted only wine and a small portion of herring. The earl attacked his meal with relish. Clearly her presence did not hinder his appetite. Shana chafed restlessly, wishing he would hurry. She was anxious for this encounter to be over and done with.

He sliced a tender morsel of roast lamb and offered it to her. The tempting aroma teased her nostrils, yet she hesitated. She wanted the tidbit, she realized, but was loath to take it from his hand. She chided herself impatiently, wondering what madness seized her. It was usual for a man to carve for a woman. She'd often eaten thusly from Barris's fingers, so why was she so reticent?

She shook her head. There was a subtle tightening of that harshly carved mouth. Had she given herself away?

At length he pushed aside his trencher. "For a woman who professed the need to speak to me on a matter most urgent, you are remarkably silent, milady."

His voice held all the warmth of a winter wind blowing from the mountaintops. It seemed, Shana concluded grimly, that he played at pretense no more.

"I merely wished to let you eat in peace," she said coolly. "But if you are ready to tend to business, I shall gladly oblige."

"By all means, please do so." His expression was distantly aloof.

Shana took a deep breath. "You have come to Castle Langley in order to bring the Welsh to heel, have you not?"

"I've made no secret of that, milady."

Her heart began to beat with thick, uneven strokes. "I believe you've also come to roust out the rebel known as the Dragon."

He went as still as a statue, yet she sensed a rapier-sharp alertness which had not been there before.

"And you, Lady Shana—" his lip curled, "you profess to know the Dragon's whereabouts, is that it?"

His scorn stirred her anger. "I did not say that I know, milord. I am, however, acquainted with a man who does know." She gathered every scrap of her courage and went on boldly, "A pity you would refuse my help, milord. Because no man's sword is all-powerful. I daresay, even yours."

"So you are wise as well as beautiful. Milady, I begin to wonder what treasure I've stumbled upon."

His sarcasm cut deep. She bit back an impotent cry of fury and despair. She could never hope to lure him from the castle—never! She had thought herself so clever, but alas! she was not clever at all, for she had just gambled greatly and lost.

She rose to her feet and blindly turned, her every intent to flee this chamber, this devil's lair! But she hadn't progressed more than three steps than he was there before her, tall and commanding, as formidable as a fortress of iron.

Only now no mockery dwelled in his countenance. There was only a silent probe of eyes that cut sharp as a blade.

"This man, milady. Who is he?"

"His name is Davies," she lied. "He is kin to one of my housemaids, a freeman who has proved his loyalty to my family countless times over the years." A stab of guilt sheared through her, even as she spoke. A part of her was appalled at how easily the lie came to pass. But she had only to remember how she had held her father's body, bloodied and dirty, limp and prone and lifeless. Once again, bitterness sealed her heart.

"And how does he know the Dragon?"

"The Dragon sought him out for his skill in bow-making. He is to meet Davies several days hence."

"Where?"

She shook her head. "I do not know. Davies thought it best not to tell me."

Thorne's eyes narrowed. "Why didn't he come to me with this information?"

"He is Welsh, milord, though he married an Englishwoman. He does not wish to have his identity known for fear of being branded a traitor by his people. And he dare not come to Langley for fear of being branded a liar. He will meet with you at a clearing in the woods. But he bade me tell you it must be this very night, otherwise it may be too late."

She held her breath and waited. Her story was well thought out. Indeed, her mind was filled with little else on the long ride here.

Thorne stared at her in silent speculation. Did he dare believe her, considering the outrageous stories he'd heard these past few days? He found himself admitting he could find no fault with her explanation, and yet—

"Your motives, Lady Shana, elude me. Indeed, I must ask myself why you should so trouble yourself."

Lord, but he was a crafty one! She assumed an outrage that was not entirely feigned. "You forget it is I who oblige you, milord!"

"And I say again, there must be some reward for you."

Shana tried not to panic, for he stared at her with scorching intensity. Those devil's eyes never once strayed from her face. He unnerved her, she realized, as no one had ever done. And for all that he was but a man, it was as if he were a wall of stone. She sensed no softness in him, none at all.

"You are right," she said, her voice very low.

"My reasons for coming to you are not without selfishness."

Ah, so now the tale would finally be told. Thorne arched a brow and waited.

Her lashes lowered, shielding her expression. "I ... I recently lost someone very dear to me, milord... "

"Who?"

"My husband." She wet her lips nervously and uttered a silent prayer that the Lord would not strike her dead for such blasphemy. "The Dragon himself was responsible for his death."

The earl's silence was never ending. Shana's nerves were scraped raw. She dared not look at him, for fear she would give herself away and he would discover her deceit. At length he spoke, and there was neither pity nor condemnation in his tone, only a curious whimsy.

"Somehow you do not strike me as a grieving widow."

Shana thought wrenchingly of her father. "I spend my grief in vengeance"—she spoke with quiet fervor, for God above knew it was the truth—"a vengeance only you can satisfy, milord." At last she looked at him, and it was all there in her eyes, the bitter ache of her loss.

Something ... a tingle of warning ... prickled up his spine. It whispered that all was not as it should be. For all that she chanced to meet his gaze with earnest regard, she was cloaked in mystery... veiled in secret allure.

But her distress was genuine. The pain that shadowed her face was real And so Thorne dismissed the flicker of disquiet within him, for she was but a woman. Of a certainty she could do him no harm.

He turned and swept her cloak from the chair, then held it out for her with an arrogant arch of jet-black brows.

Shana could hardly believe her good fortune. "You'll come with me to meet Davies?" Even now, her steps carried her blindly forward. She turned so that he could set the cloak upon her shoulders.

Rich green velvet caught her snug in its enveloping folds. "Aye, milady, I'll go with you—" — husky laughter reverberated at her back—"and mayhap we'll catch ourselves a dragon."

Chapter 3

Shana did not like the sound of that laughter. It hinted at an arrogance that revealed Thorne de Wilde as a man who knew little of defeat—and much of triumph. Try as she might, she couldn't quite banish the feeling that she, not he, was the one about to ride straight into a trap.

It didn't take long for several grooms to saddle their horses. They left the gates behind within minutes. Several times Shana cast a discreet but distinctly wary glance over her shoulder, anxious to make certain Thorne had not given orders that they be followed.

The purple haze of twilight spread its veil across the land. Birds and insects ceased their strident call. There was naught but an almost unearthly stillness. She shivered in spite of herself. Behind them, Castle Langley jutted into the sky, looming like a silent sentinel.

At last they breached the sanctuary of the forest. The earl's mount, a massive gray with a coat like polished armor, kept pace alongside her own. They forged ever deeper through a luxuriant undergrowth of trees, shrubs, and wildflowers. Her pulse began a clamoring rhythm, all through her body. Soon they would be there. Soon—

"Wait." A gloved hand intruded into her line of vision, seizing her mount's bridle and thus calling a halt to her progress. "How much further?"

Shana was quick to note his air of watchful awareness, yet there was naught in his tone to alarm her, neither suspicion nor worry. But her heart was thudding so she feared he might see as well as hear it. "Not far," she said quickly. "There is a clearing nearby, just beyond those bushes."

He released her bridle, yet his eyes continued to hold her in thrall. His pose was almost lazy. One lean hand rested casually on the pommel of his saddle. A faint smile lurked about his lips. She stilled her apprehension and glanced toward the clearing.

"We should hurry, milord."

"In time, milady. In time."

He dropped to the ground in one fluid move. Before she knew what he was about, those steel- gloved hands swept aside her cloak and settled on her waist. He lifted her effortlessly from the saddle. There was scarce time to draw a startled breath than her feet touched the ground.

Shana stepped back as if she'd been scalded, her movement purely instinctive. She did not want him to touch her. Yet it came as a shock to realize it had nothing to do with the fact that this man was responsible for her father's death.

Her reaction did not go unnoticed. There was a subtle hardening of the plane of his jaw.

"I fear I've been remiss, milady. Indeed, it occurs to me it might be wise to demand some form of good will on your part—a forfeit, if you will."

Shana stiffened, for though he smiled as he spoke, his smile was wolfish, his regard almost leering. She gathered her cloak about her like a shield. "I am not averse to that," she said coolly. "My family is wealthy."

"I've no need of your coin, Lady Shana. Nay, milady, I should prefer something else entirely."

He indulged himself with a thorough inspection of her form, lingering with blatant interest on the sleek coil of her hair, the slender arch of her throat, the merest hint of breast beneath her cloak. Another time, another place, and she might have dared to slap the arrogant expression from his features. She was not entirely ignorant of a man's base desires—not all men were kind and gentle like her father and Barris! Many took their pleasure where they pleased, and if that pleasure included having their way with a woman, so be it.