Shana clung to Barris long after he released her lips. She was very much afraid she was making a brazen spectacle of herself, but she couldn't bring herself to care right now. It felt so good to be held again, to cling to someone near and dear and comfortably familiar.
Even as a child, Shana had loved and admired Barris. He was keen of wit, clever, and passionate, yet Shana was certain no man was ever more sensitive and tender. But it was only when she'd grown to womanhood that Barris had truly begun to notice her. Kendal had been reluctant to wed his daughter out of expedience and not for love, for he and her mother had loved each other deeply. He could not bear to see her marry a man she did not love, and so he had held off. Shana, too, had been determined to settle for no less than the happiness her parents had shared. Springtime had seen the culmination of all her secret yearnings.
Barris had asked for her hand in marriage. They were to wed after the fall harvest.
Now her beloved caught her in his arms, availing himself of a long, sweet kiss that sent her heart spinning. "I've only just returned from Gwynedd and learned Merwen was stormed a few days past." He searched her features anxiously. "You are all right, love? You were not harmed?"
Pain burned like fire in her chest. "I am unharmed," she said unevenly. "But my father ..." A hot ache closed her throat.
Barris was stunned. Nay, he thought, it cannot be! "Your father is dead?"
Her eyes filled with tears. It was all the answer Barris needed.
He wrapped her close once more. "You need not worry, love. I will care for you, this I swear. And I will find the fiend responsible for your father's death," he vowed. "I will search him out and see that he pays."
Shana pulled back, shaking her head. "There is no need," she said quietly. "I have already seen to it."
His hands tightened on her shoulders. He stared at her, convinced his hearing had failed him.
A ghost of a smile grazed her lips. " 'It's true, Barris. My father yet lived when I reached him. He did not recognize our attackers, but he, and others, saw the pennon they carried."
Barris's face was like a thundercloud. "Englishmen?"
She nodded. "They gather at Castle Langley," she said bitterly. "It appears Merwen was one of their targets." She told him how they had gone to Langley to seek out and identify their quarry.
Barris was both furious and aghast. "Are you mad?" he cried. "You marched straight into the hornet's nest with no fear of being stung? Why didn't you wait until I returned?"
"The duty was mine and mine alone." She withdrew from the binding of his arms, her eyes flashing silver fire. "My plan was simple but effective. I was able to find the man behind the attack on Merwen. I merely told him I knew someone who might lead him to the Dragon, then lured him outside the castle where we were able to capture him."
"Sweet Mother Mary," he muttered. "I pray you didn't tell him who you are!"
Shana bristled. "I was careful to speak to as few as possible. I had no wish to attract attention to myself."
"But you must have been seen leaving with him!"
She bit her lip. This was one detail she had overlooked. It seemed she hadn't been so clever, after all. "We've kept to ourselves here at Merwen, Barris." She sought to assure both him and herself. "I know not a soul in England, so how could anyone at Langley possibly suspect who I am? They may search the area around Langley, but they will never search this far into Wales. The earl told no one of his plans, and I sent a man back to release his horse in the border lands. If perchance they find his horse wandering, they will think he's been thrown—or has met with some other foul play."
Barris had gone as pale as a mountain snow. "I pray you are right, for all our sakes."
Shana felt a hand at her sleeve. One of the kitchen boys stood at her elbow. "Begging your pardon, milady, but the prisoner demands to speak with you."
She glanced inquiringly at Barris. "By all means," he muttered. "I've an urge to meet this butcher."
Shana nodded to the boy. "Please ask Sir Gryffen to bring him into the hall." The boy ran off. She and Barris followed more slowly. They had been waiting in the great hall for several minutes when they heard footsteps on the stairs. Gryffen descended the last steps, slightly behind the earl, whose hands were still tied behind his back. The grizzled knight guided him to a low- backed chair in the center of the room.
Shana and Barris had been standing in the shadows at the edge of the hall. Once seated, the earl tilted his head to stare at them. In so doing, the light fell full upon his face.
An unearthly quiet prevailed.
Beside her, Barris drew a harsh breath. She felt him go rigid as stone and glanced at him in surprise.
His gaze was riveted to the earl. "Jesu," he whispered. "Shana, do you know who this man is?"
Her reply was a bit indignant. "This is the man who saw my father and all the others killed—the Earl of Weston!"
"Aye," Barris said grimly. "The Bastard Earl."
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Outlaw Heart
Prologue
Wyoming Territory, 1878
Stringer Sam.
There wasn't a man, woman or child west of Deadwood who hadn't heard of him. Some said he was spawn of the devil. Some predicted that— good or bad—he'd end up a legend. But for those unlucky enough to cross his path, Stringer Sam was more like a nightmare come to life.
His nickname was apt. Stories about his trademark display of deadliness soon spread from barroom to barroom, from parlor to parlor, from cow town to cow town. Little boys listened in terrified awe as their fathers recounted grisly tales of Stringer Sam's savagery. Women shivered in fear at the mention of his name, while little girls hid their faces in their mothers' skirts.
But it wasn't Stringer Sam sitting in the Laramie jail that warm May night. Instead it was Rowdy Roy, reported to be one of Stringer Sam's gang. There were two deputies guarding him, Andy Horner and Nate Gilmore. Andy was a rangy youth of twenty who had decided six months ago to put an end to his cowboy days. To Nate, who was nearly ten years his senior, Andy had a tendency to run off at the mouth. But he could draw and hit a target with a six-shooter faster than a man could spit, and that was why Marshal Dillon MacKenzie had hired him.
"Don't know why the marshal insisted both of us be here tonight," grumbled the younger man. He thumped his boot heels against the wide-planked floor, his lips twisting in a grimace as he glanced at their prisoner.
Nate puffed on his cheroot, then blew a lazy ring of smoke into the air. "The territorial marshal should be here tomorrow night at the latest to take him off our hands," he said with an idle shrug. "Besides, one thing about Dillon. He usually has a good reason for doin' whatever he does."
Like Andy, Nate had drifted into town several years ago. He'd promptly been accused of cattle rustling. Buck Russell, who owned the Triple R Ranch just east of Laramie, had been quick to accuse him. It was Dillon who'd rescued him from a vengeful lynch mob and ferreted out the real rustlers, several of Russell's own men.
Nate had been quick to gather that there was no love lost between Dillon MacKenzie and Buck Russell. He'd later learned that Dillon's daddy owned the Diamondback Ranch, which shared its northern boundary with Russell's. On that boundary was a section of rich grassland that Russell coveted for himself, and it had provoked many a harsh word between the two men.