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.