The sun on her face felt glorious. The bailey was humming with activity. Young groomsmen swept out the stables, while the blacksmith pounded nails at the forge. The laundress supervised two young servants as they pounded sheets in a huge wooden trough. But Shana soon discovered that one turn about the bailey was quite enough. The brittle stares she col ected along the way began to make her feel uneasy.
It was then she spotted a familiar face. The boy Wil was loitering near the kitchen, kicking at a
pebble in the dust. He was a loner, an outcast, as she was, she thought with a twist in her breast.
"Wil !" She waved at him as her feet carried her across to him. He stood his ground as she approached, but she received no answering smile in return. Shana had but one thought— this was not the curious-eyed urchin who so appealed to her that first day here. Nonetheless, she greeted him pleasantly.
"I was hoping I would see you, Wil ! You've been well, I hope."
He stared up at her with sullen eyes. "I cannot think why you should care," he retorted.
Her smile wavered, for his tone was laden with such venom she felt she'd been struck.
"You were not so hostile the day we met," she said slowly.
"I didn't know who you were then! Indeed, it seems no one did!"
A pang of hurt shot through her. She had the gnawing sensation Wil 's sudden dislike of her was not only because he had discovered she was Welsh, but also because she had attempted to capture his hero, the earl.
"I have no quarrel with you, Wil ." She attempted to reason with him. "How could I? You are just a boy. I certainly do not think of you as my enemy."
"And what about the Earl of Weston, milady? Do you think of him as your enemy?"
"Aye!" The admission slipped out before Shana could stop it.
The boy's features grew hard as coal. "Then that makes you mine, milady." He marched off.
It was that conversation that drove Shana back to the tower chamber. Whatever Cedric thought of the incident, she knew not. She fled the bailey without a backward glance. Cedric fol owed, but she paid scant heed to him, for right now she
could bear no further condemnation, whether spoken or unspoken.
In the tower, her steps carried her without volition to the window. Feeling both trapped and beaten, helpless and hopeless, she stared sightlessly out toward the soldiers' tents that blotted the endless stretch of countryside. A flurry of birds swept high into the bril iance of a cloudless blue sky, soaring and swooping toward the western horizon ... toward the misty hil s of Wales.
A melancholy longing welled up inside her. How long before she was back at Merwen? Barris said he would be away only a few days, but what if his business kept him away longer? What if he did not receive the earl's ransom note for days— even weeks? What if the messenger lost his way— worse, what if he were beset by raiders? Barris might never know she was here, for he would think her dead, as the earl had planned!
Her mind raced on. Though it pained her sorely to acknowledge it, the earl had been merciful thus far. Her circumstances could have been far worse, for he could have imprisoned her while awaiting Barris's response to his demands. But how long would his generosity last?
Any time the earl was so inclined, he could see her entombed below this sprawling keep, in complete and utter isolation, to rot away in some dank, cramped cel with foul, fetid creatures of the night her only companion.
She shivered. The very thought of rats had always made her skin crawl. Yet Shana could not imagine feeling more forsaken than she did at this moment.
At length she col apsed on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with dry, burning eyes. She prayed that Barris had already returned home and would soon ransom her; she prayed for deliverance from this English beast. In the end, it was not exhaustion,
but sheer boredom that eventually lulled her into a light sleep.
The chamber was awash with the pink blush of twilight when she awoke. Smothering a yawn, she pushed herself up in time to see the earl step through the entrance.
Arms crossed over his chest, he took in her rumpled appearance with a jeer. "Your status betrays you, princess. If you think you are going to laze in bed al the day and night, I shal have to see to it that you have something to occupy your time."
He was but two steps within the chamber, and already it was fil ed with the power of his presence—fiercely vital, dynamic, and bold. The very air around them seemed charged and alive, like a sizzling bolt of energy. Al this and more she felt ... and bitterly hated him for it.
Shana swung her feet from the mattress but remained where she was, venting on him her anger. "What do you want?" she demanded.
He smiled politely. "After your solitary day, I thought you might be in need of some company."
"Not yours, milord!"
Thorne checked the urge to snatch her to him and shake her senseless. He'd thought by now she might be more resigned to her situation—clearly she was not.
"I presume you are hungry, princess. Actual y, I thought I'd invite you below to share dinner with the others."
Her smile was as false as his. "An invitation, milord? Surely I need not remind you I am hardily a guest here."
His tongue was ever glib, ever smooth. "Oh, but you are, milady. An unwil ing guest, mayhap, but a guest nonetheless."
"Guest or not," she said sweetly, "I fear I must decline. I have no fitting gown to wear, you see. Your choice of wardrobe, milord, was meager indeed." She flicked a hand toward her gowns, which stil lay on the end of the bed. "Those wil not do."
Thorne's smile turned icy. Her behavior was wearily predictable. The lady, it seemed, was never agreeable. She would argue about night and day, light and dark. She was, he decided, naught but a disdainful, spoiled child turned vain and selfish woman.
"I regret that our hasty departure precluded seeing to your trunks, princess. I will see that the matter is remedied. In the meantime, I suggest you make do with what you have—that which you consider meager would be a veritable blessing to another less fortunate." He straightened. "I will return in ten minutes. Were I you, I would be ready."
He was angry, and furiously so. She saw it in the way his expression rained fire on her, and heard it in the way the portal slammed shut with a bang. Al at once, feeling chastened and suddenly very smal because she had behaved so pettily, she decided it best to do as he said. She changed into a gown of dark velvet trimmed with gold about the sleeves and with a rounded neckline. She had just finished replaiting her hair when the door swung open once again.
The earl stood there. His eyes, distantly assessing, swept the length of her. But al he said was, "The others await, princess. I suggest we delay no longer."
Shana bit her lip and stepped gingerly forward. "Oh, I doubt they are eager to see me.
Methinks I'll likely be stoned," she muttered, not entirely in jest.
She had not meant him to hear, but he did. "Why, show them your charm, princess, the sweet side of your nature."
Though she said nothing, the delicate line of her
lips tightened ever so slightly. "What!" Thorne exclaimed. "You have none?"
Somehow she bit back the retort that sprang to her lips, while he merely laughed.
"Milady, never let it be said that I spoke ill of you."
Shana clamped her mouth shut and preceded him down the narrow stone stairwell. He clearly delighted in baiting her, but she resolved not to let him goad her.
He was right, though, when he said the others awaited them. She quickly spied the high table, where Sir Geoffrey and half a dozen others sat. They were engaged in lively conversation, but no sooner did she and the earl set foot in the hall than their voices dwindled, until an odd hush prevailed. One by one their attention swung to the couple in the doorway. Color rose high and bright to Shana's cheeks; with no covering for her hair, she felt curiously exposed. But what was far worse was the knowledge that each and every one of those present knew in whose bed she'd spent the night.
A hand splayed wide at her back, the earl gently nudged her forward. Though it was total y illogical, she was glad of his presence at her side; it lent both courage and a curious protectiveness, a protectiveness she did not shun. But she was left feeling whol y bereft when he seated her next to Sir Quentin, then strode to the head of the table. At a signal from him, a procession of servants began to stream in from the kitchens. The talk renewed little by little. Also little by little she ascertained that the glances sent her way were not hostile and sul en as she'd expected, but guardedly watchful.
The meal progressed. She partook lightly of the dishes she accepted, keeping to herself and paying scant heed to the hum of voices in the air. It gave her a start when she chanced to look down the ta-
ble and discovered Lord Newbury's attention full upon her. He was regarding her with a leering expectancy.
She was soon to discover why. "Lady Shana, 'twould seem to me that you might make our plight far less trying were you to name our foe the Dragon."
Up until now, the earl had ignored her. Now, she realized, he surveyed her keenly. A tingling awareness swept through her, knowing he watched her.
She raised her head and glanced back at Newbury. " Tis my understanding," she stated calmly, "that no one knows his identity—save the Dragon himself."
"But you're Welsh, milady, just as the Dragon is!"
Shana laid down her fork and faced him ful y. "You ciearly think otherwise, Lord Newbury, but I assure you my knowledge of the Dragon does not exceed yours."
"But you are Llywelyn's niece no less! Surely you're privv to information the common people are not!"
She bristled, unable to hide her scorn. "My father and I lived a rather sheltered existence at Mervven. ! have not seen my uncle Llywelyn for years. But even if I did possess some knowledge of the Dragon—and were I to tel you—would you truly be so foolish as to believe me?"
Newbury did not answer, at least not directly. He whispered something to his companion; they both laughed bawdily.
Sir Quentin, who was seated on her right, leaned close. "Pay him no heed, milady. Newbury's opinion of himself swel s loftier than Langley's outer wal s, but he is naught but a bag of wind most times-—and a disagreeable one at that."
His interruption was a welcome one, his attention not so unwelcome, for his expression was sympathetic but not pitying. "You are most kind. Sir Quentin," she murmured.
'Twas solely because of him that the remainder of the meal proved less an ordeal. His manner was genteel and pleasant, with none of the harsh coldness present in both the earl and Newbury. He was quick-witted and quietly engaging, so that by the time the page removed their trenchers, she was disposed to smile at something he had said. The earl had moved to a place further down the table to speak with a man there. A chance glance at him and her smile was swiftly quel ed. It was unsettling to find she claimed his unwavering regard, and if the cool chill in his eyes were aught to go by, he was clearly less than pleased.
Though she was annoyed that she allowed him to discomfit her so, she could not help it. Her gaze cut sharply away. Uneasiness compel ed her to reach for her wine goblet, only to find it gone.
Sir Quentin jumped to his feet. "The page must have taken your wine along with your trencher. Here, 1 wil fetch another."
She shook her head. "There is no need, truly—
He was not to be dissuaded; indeed, he was already on his way across the hal . She tracked his progress until he disappeared behind several knights, willing herself not to look again at the earl, that he might yet watch her. Yet in the end, she could not help but succumb ... he was not there.
"Sir Quentin appears most entranced with you. milady."
The sound of his voice at her ear nearly sent her bolting from her chair. To her shock his hands slid beneath her elbows; she was bodily lifted from her chair. Sanity returned once she was on her feet. She tried to wrench away but his grip tightened to
a point just short of pain. Shana fumed when he began to lead her from the table.
They halted in the shadows, beneath a towering buttressed arch. He turned to her, a dark brow arched in that imperious, arrogant manner she so thoroughly detested. "What would your betrothed say, princess, were he to see you dal ying with another man?" The question was easy, almost whimsical, as his glance traveled meaningfully from her to Sir Quentin and back again.
Shana bristled. "Dally is your choice of words, my lord, not mine."
White teeth flashed in that dark face. "What would you call it then, princess?"
"I was but being civil, my lord earl—a trait of which I am sure you know little! And Barris is well aware ot my feelings for him- -nay, my love for him!"
"Ah. So 'tis a love match then."
"Aye!" she affirmed coolly.
"I will not argue your alliance with your betrothed," he said smoothly. "But you are under my protection, milady. 1 might remind you of that."
He had yet to release his grip on her arm. Shackled though she was, her tongue was not so impeded. ''Your protection, milord?" Her voice was sweet as honey, but her eyes were snapping. "I was under the impression I was your prisoner. Who, I wonder, will protect me from you?"
Who. indeed? Thorne echoed caustically. In truth, he'd have taken the greatest of pleasure in renouncing her as the ugliest hag alive. She wore no adornments, not even a veil. Her gown fel in smothering folds about her body—it was neither elegant nor rich, the forest green color unremarkable. Her profile was cold as marble, the soft line of her lips pinched tight in disapproval. She was fetching, indeed, he realized, but not the most