wil 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 al 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 al 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 hal ." The boy ran off.
She and Barris fol owed more slowly. They had been waiting in the great hal 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 hal . Once seated, the earl tilted his head to stare at them. In so doing, the light fel ful 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 al the others kil ed— the Earl of Weston!"
"Aye," Barris said grimly. "The Bastard Earl."
Chapter 4
T
he world seemed to pitch and rol . It could not be, Shana thought numbly. The Earl of Weston ... the Bastard Earl ... were they truly one and the same? Her heart rebel ed; her mind recoiled. She turned to Barris, crying out in fervent denial.
"Barris, how can you be sure? Mayhap you are mistaken. Mayhap there is but a fleeting resemblance ..."
Barris shook his head. "I make no mistake, Shana. I saw him at the king's court a few years past, and his is not a face one soon forgets. Aye," he vowed again. "He's the Bastard Earl, al right. You've only to look at him to know it's true."
She did look; there was no help for it. He drew her gaze with a force more powerful than she.
His presence fil ed the hall like a chilling wind from the sea—the man known as the Bastard Earl. Even Shana, who knew little of England, had heard of him. Bastard or no, he'd inched his way into the king's pocket. Over the years he'd been raised to a position of considerable consequence and independence. He was known far and wide for his prowess on the battlefield; his exploits with women, so it was said, were legendary ... and legion Three steps brought her before him. "The boy at
Langley—Wil , he was called. Why, he sang your praises to the heavens and beyond," she stated clearly. "Children gape, he said, when you chance to pass by. And women strain to catch a glimpse of you. Ah, and now I know why. Because one so ignoble—a bastard yet!— pretends to be their better!" Had she been herself, she never would have been so thoughtlessly cruel. But she was so angry she was shaking with it, for now that she was back at Merwen, the horrors brought to bear here flooded her like a tide from the sea.
A mocking smile curled that harshly carved mouth. There was black venom in the eyes that so boldly challenged hers. Had she known him better, she'd have been wary of the glint in his eye. "Unlike you, milady, I made no attempt to conceal my identity. I am who I am and wil ever be so."
Her reply was heated and instantaneous. "Aye, on that we are agreed! Bastard Earl, Earl of Weston, I care not what name you cal yourself. Either way you are still the man who laid siege to Merwen without cause. You massacred my people, my father among them! And yet you vow no knowledge of your battle here. Mayhap you'd like us to dig up the dead and show you the proof!"
So it was her father, not her husband ... Thorne was beginning to understand. Another time, mayhap, and he might have had some glimmer of compassion for her. But not now—not with his own life in jeopardy.
His stare
Barris had gone as pale as a mountain snow. "I pray you are right, for al 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 al 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 hal ." The boy ran off.
She and Barris fol owed more slowly. They had been waiting in the great hal 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 hal . Once seated, the earl tilted his head to stare at them. In so doing, the light fel ful 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 al the others kil ed— the Earl of Weston!"
"Aye," Barris said grimly. "The Bastard Earl."
Chapter 4
T
he world seemed to pitch and rol . It could not be, Shana thought numbly. The Earl of Weston ... the Bastard Earl ... were they truly one and the same? Her heart rebel ed; her mind recoiled. She turned to Barris, crying out in fervent denial.
"Barris, how can you be sure? Mayhap you are mistaken. Mayhap there is but a fleeting resemblance ..."
Barris shook his head. "I make no mistake, Shana. I saw him at the king's court a few years past, and his is not a face one soon forgets. Aye," he vowed again. "He's the Bastard Earl, al right. You've only to look at him to know it's true."
She did look; there was no help for it. He drew her gaze with a force more powerful than she.
His presence fil ed the hall like a chilling wind from the sea—the man known as the Bastard Earl. Even Shana, who knew little of England, had heard of him. Bastard or no, he'd inched his way into the king's pocket. Over the years he'd been raised to a position of considerable consequence and independence. He was known far and wide for his prowess on the battlefield; his exploits with women, so it was said, were legendary ... and legion Three steps brought her before him. "The boy at
Langley—Wil , he was called. Why, he sang your praises to the heavens and beyond," she stated clearly. "Children gape, he said, when you chance to pass by. And women strain to catch a glimpse of you. Ah, and now I know why. Because one so ignoble—a bastard yet!— pretends to be their better!" Had she been herself, she never would have been so thoughtlessly cruel. But she was so angry she was shaking with it, for now that she was back at Merwen, the horrors brought to bear here flooded her like a tide from the sea.
A mocking smile curled that harshly carved mouth. There was black venom in the eyes that so boldly challenged hers. Had she known him better, she'd have been wary of the glint in his eye. "Unlike you, milady, I made no attempt to conceal my identity. I am who I am and wil ever be so."
Her reply was heated and instantaneous. "Aye, on that we are agreed! Bastard Earl, Earl of Weston, I care not what name you cal yourself. Either way you are still the man who laid siege to Merwen without cause. You massacred my people, my father among them! And yet you vow no knowledge of your battle here. Mayhap you'd like us to dig up the dead and show you the proof!"
So it was her father, not her husband ... Thorne was beginning to understand. Another time, mayhap, and he might have had some glimmer of compassion for her. But not now—not with his own life in jeopardy.
His stare
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