"You needn't look at me like that, milady. I get along better 'n most."
Shana did not argue, for it was clear Will neither wanted or expected pity. Instead she untied the pouch at her waist and held it toward him. "Here, Will. Here's bread and cheese, enough for your supper and to break the morning fast. And when that' s finished you'll be able to buy more with the coin inside."
His pointed little chin went up a notch. "I only beg when I've need to, milady," he said stiffly.
"You did not beg," she stated crisply. "And now there will be no need to."
The pouch dangled between them. He stared at it, brushing the shaggy hair from his eyes, but he made no effort to take it.
Shana's lips pressed together. 'Take it, Will. Call it a gift, or a payment if you would. You've enlightened me greatly, and for that I thank you." Her tone was just as stubborn as his. She seized his hand and dropped the pouch into it, curling his fingers around the leather tie with her own.
For the longest moment she feared he would refuse yet again. She sensed he wanted to say something, for his unsmiling regard meshed with hers endlessly, oddly piercing for one so young. Then, ever so slowly, he began to inch back, retaining his hold on the pouch. At last he wheeled and darted away.
Shana's hand slipped back to her side. She watched him lunge across the bailey ... ah, straight toward the Earl of Weston. With no more ado the boy grabbed a fistful of his mantle and tugged insistently. With a horrified inevitability, Shana realized Will had snared the earl's attention. The boy said something and gestured.
Then he pointed directly to her.
Geoffrey had no regrets about turning his affection to matters other than war, especially one as lovely as this. He let a broad smile snare his lips. "Jesu, but she looks to be a beauty, eh, Thorne? I don't recall seeing her when we arrived. How about you?"
Thorne had turned as well. Nay, he thought, for he'd have remembered a woman such as this one. She was elegant of stature, tall and slender, clad from head to toe in folds of deep green velvet. She was too far away for her features to be presented in detail, but the lovely profile she portrayed promised beauty untold.
"The boy was right," said Geoffrey. "She must be passing through for the night."
Thorne raised a brow. "She could be wife to one of the men here."
"Saints forbid!" Geoffrey's laugh was low and suggestive. "But I'm about to find out. If it's a bed for the night she's after, I'll gladly share mine."
Thorne shook his head as Geoffrey crossed the bailey. The woman was no camp follower, that was for certain. Even from here, he had no trouble discerning the richness of her clothing. And she carried herself like a woman accustomed to having others do her bidding. But Geoffrey was a man of the times. He loved fighting, hunting, drinking and wenching ... but at least when his pursuits ran to the latter, he never forgot he was a gentleman.
"Milady, it seems someone has neglected their duty." Geoffrey blessed her with his most dashing smile. "I am Sir Geoffrey of Fairhaven, and I apologize that none has greeted you before this."
He bowed low over the hand she extended, bringing her fingers to his lips. "Sir,," she murmured. "I am—Lady Shana." Shana held her breath, afraid he might ask from whence she came.
Praise the saints, he did not. "Milady, your young friend mentioned you are on your way home from Ireland. I hope your journey has not tired you overmuch."
"Not at all, milord."
"Do you need lodging for the night, mayhap?"
For all that he was English, his eyes were warm and kind, his manner gracious and genteel. She decided to throw caution to the wind. "In truth, sir, I am here to seek audience with the Earl of Weston."
Bloody hell! Geoffrey uttered a silent curse of good-natured vigor. What was it about Thorne that so drew the female of the species? He eyed her curiously. "Milady," he murmured. "Do I dare ask why?"
She lowered her gaze. "It concerns a private matter, my lord."
Geoffrey sighed. Whether the matter be business or pleasure, it seemed he would have to concede this beauty to Thorne. "In that case, milady, I've no choice but to aid you in your cause." He offered her his arm.
Thorne had watched the pair from the corner of his eye. He could only guess at their conversation, but he'd seen Geoffrey's charm thaw the iciest of maidens more than once. Thus he was mildly surprised when he saw the pair approach.
"Thorne," Geoffrey greeted. "The lady here has expressed a desire to make your acquaintance. Lady Shana, may I present Thorne de Wilde, Earl of Weston." With a flourish he transferred her hand from his elbow to the earl's. "Milady, I deliver you into Thorne's hands, with the utmost regret, I might add. But I wish you well on your journey home from Ireland."
With that Geoffrey was gone. Shana found herself perversely wishing he had stayed. Her heart was drumming so that her chest hurt. Such forwardness was hardly like her, but only now did she consider what interpretation the earl might apply to her conduct. Would he think her loose or wanton? God forbid!
He was broader than he looked from afar, yet still lean. His skin was weathered bronze from wind and sun. Shana had not thought to find him handsome, yet he was, and wickedly so. His jaw was square, ruggedly configured. His eyes shone brilliant and hard, as black as his heart, she decided with no little amount of rancor.
He did not kiss her hand, as Geoffrey had done, but he held her fingers far longer than she liked—
And she had the feeling he knew it. It was all she could do not to jerk away from the blasted rogue's touch.
"Lady Shana, 'tis a pleasure indeed to be sought out by one so fair as yourself. In truth, 'tis usually only my enemies who single me out."
His words gave her a weighty pause, for he hit dangerously close to the truth. The merest of smiles lurked about his mouth, but there was a slant to it that made her want to flinch. She quelled it swiftly, for already he'd proved he'd not be an easy one to fool. She knew she must be ever wary and watch her step.
"Your enemies, my lord? Are there so very many then?"
Still he smiled, a devil's smile, she decided, yet his voice was chillingly soft. "A wise man once told me one should discover all one can about one's enemies. However, I can scarce believe one as lovely as you could harbor ill toward anyone. And yet, I wonder why you should so honor me."
She wasted little time in her reply. "There is little to wonder about, my lord. 'Tis said you are King Edward's arm, come to conquer the Welsh. Why, your name is on everyone's lips—I daresay, in every household."
There was naught but silk and honey in her tone, but her words, so pleasant to the extreme, grated on him like iron scraping rock. A curious tension sprang up between them, for he sensed her words were almost a challenge, a challenge he did not fully comprehend. He leveled on her a gaze of probing intensity, yet her own never faltered. After a moment, he decided he was mistaken.
"You know these Welsh," he said with a lazy shrug. "Their fondest wish is to stir up trouble."
Aye, thought Shana with a fervid prayer. The more, the better.
His gaze, dark and depthless, rested upon her. "Where did you say your home is, milady?"
"As I recall, milord, I did not."
Once again Thorne's eyes narrowed. If this was a game she was about, she'd find that two could play as well as one—and she'd find herself well matched.
"But you've journeyed all the way from Ireland?"
"Aye, milord." A flicker of disquiet ran through her. Had she aroused his suspicion? He asked so many questions; that was something she'd not counted on. "My home," she hastened to add, "is nearly a day's ride from here. But before I venture on my way," a strange jolt went through her as she laid her hand beseechingly on the sleeve of his tunic, "I must speak with you in private, on a matter most urgent."
The touch of her hand went through Thorne like a brand. He remembered well the feel of her hand lying in his. It was dainty and soft, small and supremely feminine. It proclaimed to the heavens— and to him—that she was a woman who had never known a hard day's work in all her days. Was she the pampered paramour of some nobleman, mayhap? One who had been cast aside in favor of another?