My Rebellious Heart (35 page)

could heal the empty ache gouged deep in his breast.

But he also wanted her to come to him wil ingly, and so he knew he must bide his time.

"I must confess, princess, never did I think I'd see you engaged in so domestic a task as preparing your husband's meal with your own hands." She whirled, eyes aflash, but she softened as she saw he neither mocked nor jeered. "Do not tel me. You think me selfish, shallow, and vain, eh?"

Princess, if you only knew . He chuckled, both unwil ing and unable to part with the truth and spoil the rare camaraderie that had marked these past few days.

"Wel ," he chuckled, "I did wonder how you persuaded Maeve and Avery to part with the fruits of their labor." He had been napping yesterday morn when the pair delivered a sack ful of fresh fruit, so he had yet to meet them "Mayhap," he mused, "you relied on your sweet nature."

"According to you, milord," she said lightly, "I have none." That she could banter about that long-ago day when he had so adjudged her was a precious measure of just how far they had come. He leaned back against the blankets she had stuffed behind him. His gaze never strayed as she ladled soup into a bowl and brought it to him. His expression was aggrieved when she straightened. "Wil you not feed me, wife? I find myself feeling poorly of a sudden."

Oh, the rogue! Such innocence as he feigned was entirely misplaced in such a wolfish countenance. Shana hadn't missed his keen inspection of her gaping bodice as she bent low to place the bowl in his hands. Shana planted her hands on her hips and sought to summon a righteous indignation. "Milord, you seem to me remarkably improved.

Indeed, methinks you are not as helpless as you would have me believe."

Thorne shook his head. "You've a hard heart," he sighed. "Methinks I'd not have to look far to find a softer maid who is not so wont to sharpen her tongue against me."

"Indeed, T suspect you need look no further than the girl at Langley who danced for you alone."

His smile was brazen. "Or," he mused, "mayhap

the Lady Alice."

She swept on him a gaze of cool disdain. "Ah, yes, the Lady Alice. Now there is a lady who is selfish, shallow, and vain. Wel , you are welcome to her, milord—and she to you." Her temper high, she marched back to the fire and slammed the lid back unto the kettle.

Thorne stifled a laugh. His wife was not so indifferent to him as she would pretend. And these past days had found him hoarding in his heart a hundred different things that might have been insignificant to another ... but not to him.

The gentle sweep of a hand on his brow, the furtive little glances at him that she thought he did not see, the way her hand lay curled against his chest as she helped him shave and bathe ... those things did not lie. He hadn't forgotten the wild fear in her eyes when she bent over him, thinking he was dead. Then there was that smile, watery but blindingly sweet, and al for him ... only for him. Thorne's heart soared, like a falcon amongst the clouds.

She took her meal before the fire, her spine so stiff Thorne was sorely tempted to laugh aloud.

Their hunger now sated, it was time to change his bandages. Shana did not bother to pul up the stool but instead perched on the edge of the bed. She was glad to note the wound was

healing nicely. There was no sign of poisons and the jagged edges had begun to knit together, though the spot where she had placed the tip of the knife was stil a brighter pink than the rest of his skin. She traced it gently, murmuring an apology.

"Oh, you need not apologize princess. I've no doubt you took great pleasure in wielding your blade while I lay helpless and unaware."

Her lovely mouth turned down. "I could certainly make use of one now," she muttered.

"Methinks I'd like to cut out your tongue."

"Indeed, princess, 'tis a longing I'm familiar with!"

Oh, but he was impossible to make light of her so! There was simply no arguing with the man, so why bother? She began to wind clean linen around his thigh, doing her best to concentrate on the task. Unfortunately, she couldn't avoid the sight of his naked chest no matter how she tried. Recalling how she had bathed the sleek muscles of his chest and shoulders kindled a feeling that was part pain, part pleasure.

Dismayed by her reaction to his nearness, she tried to rise. He caught at her hand and rugged her down beside him again. "Do not leave yet, sweet. I have a question for you."

Sweet. How easily the word slipped from his lips. An odd little pain gripped her heart—if only he meant it!

The pressure around her fingers tightened ever so slightly. There was naught in his manner to threaten her, yet threatened was suddenly how Shana felt. The knowledge that he was in no shape to chase after her did little to ease her mind. She stared at his hand, so strong and dark against her own, and all at once despaired the ripeness of her ' memory. Her body remembered, too, recal ing the intimate play of those lean fingers upon her breasts. Lifting.

Cupping Brushing the roseate tips

until they thrust hard and tingling and aching against his palm, as they did even now ...

"What question?" Her voice was faint. Just look-ng at htm made it difficult to swallow. She wanted to run her fingers through the dark mat of hair on his chest and belly. She longed to test for herself the binding tightness of his arms ...

"Am I wrong in thinking Shana is not a Welsh

name?"

She nodded. " Tis, not Welsh but Irish. My mother named me, you see. She was an Irish princess " She sighed wistful y. "My father always told me 'twas her fondest wish to take me to her homeland, to show me the land she loved so dearly. But she died when I was very young, so young I scarce remember her."

Thorne listened quietly, slowly weaving his fingers through hers. Their hands thus joined, he Drought her knuckles up slowly to press upon each one a feathery kiss. Emboldened by his curious tenderness, her eyes met his.

"Thorne—" the pitch of her voice had gone very low, "Geoffrey told me how you came by your name." She hesitated but an instant. "I'm sorry your childhood was. so empty. I know what it must have been like for you—"

His grip on her hand tightened so that she nearly cried out. "Do you?" A strange, cold note had entered his voice. "Do you know what it's like to eat the scraps meant for the dogs and think them a veritable feast? Nay, princess, I think not."

Shana gasped, stunned at the lightning change in him. His hard expression was uncomfortably familiar. She could almost see him closing m on himself, shutting her out, as Wil had.

He dropped her hand and thrust her from him, scowling blackly "Geoffrey had no right to tel you," he said harshly. "I need no one's pity, especial y not yours!"

"Thorne, I—I do not understand why you are so angry! What does it matter that you had no name when you were a boy? You are a knight of the king—indeed, one of the king's most trusted knights! Of a certainty there is no shame in such accomplishment!"

His smile was cruel. "Ah, so now we speak of shame! Wel , let me ask you this, sweet. Do you deny the contempt you had for me the day we wed? Do you deny that you, sprung from a prince and a princess no less, felt no shame that the king forced you to wed a bastard—a bastard who spent his childhood without a name yet!"

Each word was like the thrust of a dagger, piercing deeper and deeper. She remembered those many times she had struck out blindly, wanting nothing more than to wound Thorne as she had been wounded—to strip him of all pride and dignity, as hers had been stripped from her.

There could be no doubt that she had succeeded.

But there was no triumph, no elation in discovering this long-delayed victory. There was only the shame he spoke of, a deep, scalding shame that she had been so cruel with her reckless taunts.

She rose to her feet, her only thought to withdraw to safer territory. She saw the world through a misty blur. The only thing clearly visible was. the iron clench of his jaw.

"How can I forget when you must always remind me?" The threat of tears bled through to her voice. "Aye, I said many things, things I now regret, for I spoke in anger, not in truth. You believe I think so little of you that I look down on you as if you were the lowliest of creatures.

And if you choose not to believe me, though I heartily proclaim otherwise, then—then 'tis not I who wrong you, milord, but you who wrong me"

Thorne's mouth twisted. Even as she humbled

herself before him, she was as proud, as regal ... as untouchable as ever.

"I would not mistake you, sweet. Do you now mean to say you suddenly find me worthy of you,

a princess?"

With trembling voice and quavering heart, she spoke the only truth she knew. " 'Twas you who deemed yourself unworthy, Thorne/' she shook her head, "not I"

He cursed beneath his breath. "This is no game we play, princess. Would you have me believe you find this marriage not such a hardship after all?"

"Aye," she whispered.

Gritting his teeth, he struggled to his feet, paying no mind to his nudity. A dark, piercing ache spawned deep in his loins heated his blood, pounding with a need too long denied, a need for which there was only one release. He yearned for a woman to yield to him all that he sought... and more. He lunged for a woman to banish the blackness from his soul, the darkness in his heart, an ache so deep and intense it bordered on pain. But nay, not just any woman; only one would do. Only one, with eyes like silver fire, with hair like living flame ...

only one,

Shana.

Desire honed his voice harsher than he intended. "And if I bid you come to me willingly—my wife in every way—would you oblige me

in this?"

The fiery hold of his eyes trapped upon hers nearly robbed her of her courage. Yet she knew she could allow herself no time to think, or even reason ...

"I—1 would." She heard her voice as if from a very great distance. "Then show me, wife."

how me, wife. It sounded so simple, yet simple it was not. His features might have been carved in iron; she sensed something in him that frightened her, yet excited her, too. In her inexperience, at first she did not recognize it for what is was ...

Hunger. Starkly male, rawly possessive, hotly primitive. And al at once the blaze in his eyes made her pulse begin to race. She trembled to think that this man, this warrior among warriors, might want her so.

A single step brought her dose within the taut confines of his legs, braced slightly apart to keep his balance. Within her breast beat the resounding clamor of her heart. Scarcely daring to breathe, she splayed her palm across his chest, thrilling to the way the crisp, dark hairs tickled her palm. The other crept up to join its mate. Gathering al her resolve, sne squeezed her eyes shut, levered herself up on tiptoe, and pressed her mouth to his.

For the space of a heartbeat—nay, two—his mouth lay hard and dosed beneath hers.

Guided by instinct, she parted hers, slowly acquainting herself with the shape and texture of his lower lip. Then al at once he crushed her to him, his arms almost frighteningly strong, and the kiss was no longer hers to control, but his, hot and searing,

tinged with a savage desperation borne of passion and hunger and need. She sensed his pain, his anger, his hurt, as he explored as he would, tasting and devouring her mouth, seeking out the honeyed sweetness within. And al the while her mouth craved his with an eagerness that wrung a groan from deep in his chest.

He released her mouth only to raise his head and stare at her through eyes that flamed like tire. His fingertips trailed a rousing path down her neck to rest with precise awareness on the trembling swel of her breasts, a touch that robbed her of breath.

"I made you my bride," he said quietly. "Then I made you my wife." His eyes darkened.

"Mayhap it's time I made you a woman."

Both his expression and his tone were darkly intent, his message unmistakable. Shana felt a quiver tingle along warm, forbidden places. The memory of the filling pressure of his shaft buried deep and hard within her kindled a dark, sweet yearning.

Her hands were splayed on his chest, al dense, dark fur. "Thorne,"—there was a breathless catch in her voice—"you are hardly recovered ..."

"Then you must help me, sweet." The words were both provocative and teasing. She caught her breath at the rare, laughing gleam that flared in his gaze. His hands were already at the laces of her gown. An instant later he cast her garments aside, leaving her as naked as he.

She gasped as he dragged her against him only to find his leg at last protested his intent. A laugh rumbled deep in his chest They tumbled to the bed. Shana, ever conscious of his injury, twisted her body quickly so that she landed not on top of him, but on her side.

Thorne rose quickly on an elbow. Greedily he charted the tender feminine flesh and supple curves that lay open to him. His mouth grew dry,

as and as the deserts of the Holy Land. He seized her hand and carried it to his jaw.

His laughter was gone. "I did not he with Lady Alice," he said almost roughly. His gaze trapped hers. "Nor with the girl at Langley."

Her heart lurched. Her fingertips moved slightly against the raspy hardness of his cheek, a fleeting caress Her eyes clung to his as her lips formed a tremulous smile 'Truly?"

He lowered his head. Their lips almost touched but not quite. His voice stole softly through the silence, his heated breath mingling with hers. 'Truly/' he vowed, the pitch of his voice low and rough, thready with need. "Mother of Christ, how could I? I've thought of no woman save you since long before we wed. 'Tis you and no other who is ever on my mind, Shana, ever and always."

His declaration washed through her like warm, sweet wine. Thorne was not a man to utter pretty speeches that he might gain what he sought more easily. He was a man who would take what was his as if it were his due ... So it was that a well-spring of emotion unfurled within her, like the cascading rays of the sun.