My Rebellious Heart (24 page)

Nay, it could not be. Surely it was but a dream, for compassion was surely beyond this forbidding, cold-eyed stranger at her side.

He leaned close. "It pleases me that you've resigned yourself to this marriage." He gestured for a young lad to fill his cup with wine, which he then offered her.

"I would remind you, milord, what choice I had was stolen from me."

Her words were rife with feeling, the first trace

of genuine emotion she'd shown today. Thorne was both relieved and irritated. She had been so quiet and subdued, he'd been half afraid he'd robbed her of her spirit. But his jaw hardened when she declined to share his cup, as lord and lady were wont to do.

He wondered what she would say if she knew it only made him all the more determined to possess her. He was but a man, with the same hungry desire for a beautiful woman as any other man. Nor could he deny her beauty and her proud dignity beckoned to al that was male and primeval within him, even as her hauteur and sharp tongue chal enged him to bend her to his will.

The minstrel struck a lively chord. He strummed a catchy melody through once, then lifted his head and began to sing gustily:

There once was a lady fair of eace

May God have pity on the poor sweet maid ...

One day she met a lad who with one embrace

rid her of her clothes with al due haste!

Oh, what a lusty tad was he!

Found pleasure at her leisure ...

If only it was me!

The crowd roared its appreciation. Thorne glanced at his bride. Her hands were clenched in her lap, her profile smooth as marble ... and as cold, he reflected.

The jokes grew ever more bawdy. Shana's face

flamed crimson.

Next to her, Thorne rose, cup in hand. He raised it high. "A toast to my beautiful Welsh bride!" he hailed. "And as you all remind me, 'tis my wedding night and she is my wife in name but not in deed!" His mocking eyes returned to her.

That roused her as nothing else could have. Her

chin came up and she hissed, "I prefer to spend my wedding night alone as with you!"

Low as her tone was, someone heard. There was a loud guffaw from a lout at the next table.

"Looks to me like the man hasn't been born who can claim her and tame her!" he shouted.

Thorne laughed along with the rest but his eyes had gone ice-cold. Claim her he had ... and tame her, he would, by God! He took immense delight in pulling Shana up from her chair. "By morning the truth wil be told, eh?"

Without warning he dragged her in his arms. Shana had one glimpse of fiercely glowing eyes before his head swooped down.

It was a punishment, pure and simple. She had dared to defy him and now she must pay the price. He left no room for struggle; she was swept into his arms so tightly she feared he would crush the very life-breath from her body. His fingers, tangled in her hair, bound her lips captive beneath his.

His kiss was hot and devouring, plundering the softness of her mouth with the shocking sweep of his tongue, tempestuous strokes of heat and fire. His thighs were solid as oak, hard against hers, his chest as inflexible as armor. Shana could scarcely breathe. His scent whirled all around her. She could taste the wine upon his tongue. He demanded—and he took ... nay, not with tender persuasion but with the arrogance of a warrior, leaving her gasping for breath by the time he raised his head.

Then other hands were drawing at her, leading her away. Laughter floated al around. The next she knew she was once again in the earl's tower chamber. It ran through her mind that she had no hope of control ing her fate—the matter had been wrenched from her hands. A voice cried out within her, a cry as lonely as the wind.

She felt herself stripped naked; hands plucked away her garments, like feathers from a hen.

A gown as sheer as mist above the earth floated over her head, drifting softly around her limbs. Someone pushed her gently on the bed and began pul ing a brush through her hair, over and over til it shimmered like sunburst clouds down the length of her back. At another time she might have found the monotonous motion soothing; but this moment found her too heartsick to feel naught but hol ow despair. Even Lady Alice's snapping eyes surveying al was not enough to draw her from her misery. She sat numb and unmoving as her hair was tugged to one side, a thick gleaming rope dangling over one shoulder.

The door burst open. Shana jumped as a swarm of laughing men burst inside. Even King Edward was flushed with drink, as merry and raucous as the rest. Thorne pushed his way through. At once she felt the probe of his eyes, like steel slicing into her skin. Color rose hot and bright, staining her

cheeks.

"Ah, see the maid blush!" came the coarse shout. "And she's not yet seen her man. We hear tel he's endowed like a stal ion!"

"Aye!" another jeered. "The poor lass wil be split like a pigeon on a spit, eh!"

Oh, crude jests all! Shana turned her face aside, her nails digging into her palms. They were cruel to make light of her so! Yet as much as she hated their lewdness, she was scarce relieved when they emptied the chamber. The air grew stifling as she realized too late that she'd been a fool to chal enge Thorne in the hal . No love, nor even affection flourished between them. Barris, she knew, would have introduced her to the marriage bed with care and consideration, but not the earl. He would have but one use for her, she thought sickly.

He would glory in proving his mastery over her!

His shadow fel over her. His hands caught at hers, pulling her to her feet. She swallowed, unable to look any higher than the chiseled hardness of his mouth, a mouth that, while beautiful y hard, was set so sternly. She longed to flee like a doe, as swift and silent as the night.

"Look at me, princess."

She could not. She would not, for if she did, she knew her every fear would be revealed— and God knew he needed no more power over her!

Thorne bit back an impatient exclamation. He was not blind to the mutinous tilt of her delicate chin, but it was the slight quiver of her lips that made frustration roil within him like a churning sea.

He caught the rippling weight of her hair in one fist. His words were not what she expected.

"Your hair is glorious, princess—the color of honey poured through with rays of the sun."

Shana focused on the dark gold strands that lay over his palm; they clung to his fingers almost greedily. She tried to step back but his grip tightened. If she persisted, her scalp would be wrenched painfully.

His gaze captured hers. "We cannot escape this night, Shana." His tone was soft, almost whimsical.

She did not pretend to misunderstand his meaning. "This marriage is not of your wil or mine," she said through lips that scarcely moved. "Why pretend otherwise?"

His lips, thinned to a stern line. "Nonetheless, we are wed. And our marriage must be consummated for it to be binding."

"Aye," she said bitterly. "And you, obedient lord that you are, must ever do your duty."

His eyes narrowed. "What is this?" he said curtly "Do you deliberately seek to stir my

wrath—that I would take you in anger, that you might cal me beast?"

"You are a beast! You showed me that last eve, for who but an animal would seek to mate as one?"

He scowled, releasing his grip on her hair. "The fault was yours as wel as mine, princess.

Had you not sought to escape this marriage, I'd not have reacted bke a barbarian. And I would remind you— 'twas you who led me to believe you and your Barns were lovers."

"God, but I wish it were Barris here with me

now!"

While Thorne was not proud of his weakness for her, he was far from immune to the sweetness of her feminine form. "Be that as it may, princess." Soft though he spoke, his voice had taken on a note of danger. "But I, not Barris, am your lord and husband. And I warn you now—I wil not bve like a monk."

"And I warn you, milord. Never will I lie with you willingly. Never! You wil have to—to force me!" The challenge tumbled forth in a burst of reckless anguish.

Tension constricted his body as he fought the urge to prove to her then and there the vast untruth she would have him believe. Oh, she could deny him—spurn him with the vilest of oaths— but he knew better. He had tasted for himself the sweetly unguarded yielding of her lips beneath his. Indeed, if he hadn't glimpsed the panic in her tear-bright eyes, he would have made no attempt to restrain his desire.

And there was no question that the flame had already been lit, simmering like glowing coals.

Her nearness, the womanly scent of her, the outline of her body beneath the enticing beguiletnent of her gown that revealed far more than it hid ...

al combined to spawn a throbbing ache that settled hot and fuIJ in his loins.

A lazy smile rimmed his lips. "Wil I, princess? I think not."

His gaze was utterly irreverent—the bold invader again, exploring her shadowy curves through their flimsy covering and wringing a silent moan from her, for she had forgotten the sheerness of her gown. She felt more naked and vulnerable than ever. Crossing her arms defensively over her breasts, she wished she had the option of retreating; unfortunately, she did not, for the mattress stil nudged the back of her thighs.

"You are," she stated sweetly, "without a doubt the most arrogant man 1 have ever had the misfortune to meet!"

"Then I humbly beg your forgiveness. Indeed, 'tis I who fall on bended knee to you, mistress."

He proceeded to do exactly that. Shana gaped at the dark head poised before her, as if in homage. But the tale was told only too soon—no humble knave was this! Cal oused fingertips skimmed a feathery trail along the outcurve of her knees and thighs. Not until it was too late did she realize his ploy. A handful of sheer lace was bunched in each palm as he rose slowly to his feet; the gown was whisked cleanly up and over her head almost before she had time to draw breath. Oh, the scoundrel! It was naught but a trick!

Again she sought to shield herself. He thwarted her with unyielding intent, wrapping steely fingers around her wrists so she could not raise them. She bit back a sound of frustrated outrage. Oh, she knew why he did this. He meant to humiliate and humble her, to bedevil her for daring to oppose him. But when her eyes locked helplessly on his features, she saw naught of condemnation—nor mockery nor triumph—only a

barely leashed hungpr that again sent terror winging through her.

Then he was on his knees once more, his words a heated whisper that rushed across the satin hol ow of her bel y.

"I am yours, princess, yours to command. Aye, I submit—I am your most faithful servant. But I know not what pleases you, so you must tel me ... this, mayhap?"

The pads of his fingers barely grazed the tips of her breasts. Flame seemed to leap from that dusky peak he brushed so fleetingly. That evocative touch came again ... and stil again; the place where he touched grew tight and tingly. She gasped aloud. Sweet Mother Mary! She ought to have been shocked; stunned beyond measure at such an outrageous intimacy, for now his play was unceasing ... and, God help her, not unpleasant. Nay, not unpleasant at al ...

He toyed and teased, circled and brushed those budding crests till they thrust hard and erect and quivering against his palm. His palms fil ed themselves with her swelling roundness. She stared in dazed fascination at his hands, so dark and bronzed against her burgeoning ful ness. To her shock her breasts seemed to jut forward through no will of her own, overflowing his hands, her nipples tilted up as if in tempting sacrifice.

Her breath grew shallow and quick. She did not realize his gaze was riveted to her face, his expression avidly intent, gauging every fleeting emotion that chased across her features.

She scarcely heard his low, triumphant laugh. "Ah, you like that, milady. Shal we see if you like this, too?"

Protest was beyond her. Her hands came to his shoulders, as if to push him away. But she stood frozen, afraid to move further, afraid to speak for fear he would take stil greater liberties.

God help her, he did.

He moved so that his head was level with her breasts. She inhaled raggedly as his warm breath trickled across the peak. She could only stare in shock as the tip of his tongue came out to delicately touch the swol en tip ... again and then again. Curling. Lapping. Stroking ...

His mouth closed around the dark, straining center. He began to gently suck, tugging harder and stronger, first one and then the other.

It was as if he drained from her every last vestige of strength. Her legs would have buckled were it not for the iron-banded arm around her waist. Her breath tumbled out in a rush. She caught at his shoulders, awash in a dark, forbidden pleasure.

"Stop," she said faintly. "Oh, dear Lord, stop ..."

He raised his head, his eyes glittering and bright. "Nay, princess ... not yet. Why, I seek only to give you pleasure. Indeed we've only begun ..."

His rhumbs framed the apex of her femininity, hovering yet not quite touching the golden thatch that guarded her sweetest treasure. It flashed through his mind to show her the ultimate of pleasure, to extend the gliding exploration of his tongue stil lower ... He discarded the notion, not certain he could hold out that long. In al his life he didn't know when he'd been so rigid and straining.

He'd been a fool, he realized dimly. He'd thought her virgin state would render this night more chore than enjoyment. But seeing the response she was helpless to withhold—feeling her tremble in his arms—stirred him almost past bearing.

He rose slowly, fil ing his hands with the lush-ness of her buttocks. She caught at him instinctively as he laid her on the bed. He straightened, only to divest himself of his tunic, leaving him naked to the waist, clad only in his hose.