The Dark Knight's Captive Bride

by Natasha Wild

  Richard shuddered with the force of the passion he felt for her. How many times had he pictured her like this in his dreams?

  He licked her full underlip. She raised her head to meet him, seeking his mouth urgently, protesting when he lifted himself away.

  “Nay, love. I want to look at you. I want to know you’re mine.”

  “Aye, yours,” Gwen whispered without thought. She ran her palms down his chest, over the taut peaks and hollows of his muscles. Her gaze trailed from his face to where their bodies joined together, and she marveled each time he disappeared inside her.

  Impulsively, she reached between them to touch him. He groaned. “God, Gwen, you make me feel—”

  His hand found hers and turned it until she was touching herself. Gwen gasped. His fingers guided her until she was panting with the need he strummed into her.

  He pulled her hand away and lowered himself. His tongue plunged into her mouth, matched the heated rhythm of his body.

  She ground her hips against him and he angled to catch her most sensitive spot. Her whole body tensed, then exploded. She clutched him tight with arms and legs as the spasms racked her. He drank her cries into his mouth, then returned them when he could no longer hold back the driving need of his own body.

  He bathed her face in soft kisses, then rolled so she was on top. Gwen laid her head on his chest, caressing his side lazily.

  He stroked the curve of her back, the rounded form of her buttocks. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

  Richard broke the silence. “Making love is much better than fighting, is it not?”

  Gwen raised her head to look at him. Tendrils of her hair clung to his chest and throat. She smiled. “Mayhap fighting is not so bad if it always ends up like this.”

  Richard laughed. “Aye, mayhap not.” Sobering, he smoothed the tangled mass from her face. “I’ve been with no other woman since I first saw you again in Shrewsbury.”

  Gwen lowered her lashes, unable to meet his brilliant stare. He gripped her chin and forced her to look at him.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “Why should I?” she whispered. She’d seen enough of men and their tangled notions of love. If the king could not be faithful to his wife, and Rhys could not be faithful to her, how then could this man, who felt no love, be faithful? But God how she wanted to believe him!

  In the silence that followed, the fire snapped as it burned through a pocket of sap in one of the logs.

  “Yes, why should you?” Richard said. In truth, he could give her a hundred reasons, but he was not about to do so. He wanted her to believe him because she trusted him.

  That surprised him. If her trust was what he wanted, then he’d set himself a hell of a task. What right did he have to even ask her for it?

  Her face fell a little and she laid her head on his chest again. He thought she mumbled something about men.

  “Do you love Rhys ap Gawain?” he asked suddenly. He wanted to know, needed to know. He was aware of a tightness inside his chest, a flame that burned hot, a flame that was ready to consume him.

  She looked at him sullenly. “That can hardly matter now, can it? I am married to you.”

  “Tell me anyway,” he commanded.

  Gwen pushed herself up until she was sitting astride him. His eyes swept over her and she felt him begin to harden inside her. She smoothed her hands over his chest and abdomen, encouraging him. Some instinct made her grind her hips against him. His shaft pulsed in answer.

  “Mmm, my lord, you are wicked.”

  “Tell me,” he growled, gripping her wrists, his eyes flashing fire.

  Gwen tossed her hair over her shoulder, but it spilled back anyway, enveloping her breasts in a silky cloud. “Are you jealous, my lord?” she teased in a husky whisper. His shaft bucked.

  His voice was strained when he answered. “Mayhap I am. Mayhap I just don’t like the idea of making love to a woman who has given her heart to another.”

  A thrill coursed through Gwen. Richard was jealous. Jealous over her. The knowledge made her feel powerful, wicked, wanton. With a boldness she’d never dreamed she possessed, she lowered her head and traced his nipple with her tongue.

  “Christ almighty,” he breathed, his erection filling her to bursting.

  Gwen gasped as a delicious tremor shook her. “Mmm, do not worry yourself, my lord, because my heart is my own. I will give it to no man.”

  Richard released her wrists, the tightening in his chest dulling somewhat. He gripped her hips and drove into her, showing her the rhythm before he eased back and let her take over. She threw her head back as she rode him, abandoning herself to the pleasure.

  Watching her was exciting beyond belief. She suffered no inhibitions over her body or her state of arousal. She used him for her pleasure, unaware or uncaring that he watched. He enjoyed indulging her. He was definitely not one of those men who thought women were supposed to be meek and submissive in bed.

  He held back his release until he thought he would explode. When her movements quickened and her muscles started to contract, he let himself go.

  As the last of the tremors shook him, she collapsed on him, locking his head between her hands and fusing her mouth to his. Her hot tongue plunged between his lips, demanding his cooperation. He was only too happy to give it.

  “Shameless wench,” he said when she lifted her head.

  She smiled. “Did I do it right?”

  Richard gazed up at her. He’d been haunted by those cat’s eyes for years. “Aye, you did everything right, more so than you know,” he said, rubbing his thumb across her kiss-swollen underlip.

  Slowly, she lowered her head, her expression softening. She traced his lips with her tongue, then kissed him, hot, wet, open-mouthed. Richard pulled away when he felt the familiar tightening in his groin. Christ, he hadn’t been hard this much since he was a green lad!

  “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, frowning.

  Richard laughed. “Jesú, no! But I cannot keep doing this, Gwen.”

  “Why not?”

  Richard thought he had died and gone to heaven. Would she always be like this? God’s bones, ’twas every man’s dream come true—a beautiful woman who was also insatiable.

  “Because I just returned yesterday and my body still aches from being in the saddle for so long.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Oh! I am sorry, I did not mean to keep you up. You need your rest. I understand.”

  Richard tried not to smile. Yes, she was keeping him up, and in more ways than one. She started to move away but he clamped his arm over her and held her in place. “Stay with me.” He yawned and pulled the coverlet over them. “I’ll wake you in the morning. Unless you wake me first…”

  22

  Gwen was a traitor. She knew it as soon as she awoke and saw the man lying beside her. She could not resist his lovemaking, even if it endangered her father and her country.

  She started to wake him, but had not the heart to disturb him. She climbed from the bed and slipped on her chemise along with a fur-lined cloak for warmth.

  Richard lay on his side, his dark head a sharp contrast against the white pillow. His eyes were closed and he snored softly. He stretched his arm to where she had lain, groping for a moment before stilling.

  Gwen watched him, confused at the tangle of feelings he caused within her. She would stop him. Somehow, she would stop him.

  Unwilling to dwell on it now, she turned and stole to the window. The Dee was the only thing moving in the entire landscape. The snow had stopped falling and the valley was covered in a white so new, so perfect, that it seemed as if the world were new and perfect also.

  Gwen pressed her hand to the cold glass, half wanting the iciness of it to shock her back to reality. She glanced over her shoulder at Richard and a wave of longing swept through her. Lord, would she never get over it?

  She stared out the window for a while longer. Someone tapped on the door and Gwen went to answer it. Aly
s waited on the other side, her ruddy face creasing in a smile. “I didn’t know if you’d be awake yet.”

  “Aye. What’s that?” Gwen asked, motioning to the tray in Alys’s hands.

  “I thought maybe you and Lord de Claiborne would not wish to go to the hall this morning.”

  Gwen smiled. “You’re a gem, Alys.”

  “Nay, my lady, not at all,” the old woman said, bringing the tray in and setting it on the table. She regarded Gwen with knowing eyes. “All is well between you?”

  Gwen nodded. She wanted to say no, all is not well, all is wrong, I feel things I shouldn’t be feeling, but she couldn’t.

  Alys glanced at the hearth. “The fire has gone down. I’ll get someone to tend to it.”

  As soon as she left, a chambermaid hurried in. When the fire roared with renewed life, the girl curtsied and hastened out the door, closing it behind her quietly.

  Gwen flipped up the cloth covering the tray. Oliver had prepared pastries sweetened with honey and costly sugar. Flagons of water and wine were there also, as well as the usual bread and cheese.

  Gwen returned to the bed and sat next to Richard.

  The covers had slipped down to his hips, revealing his broad chest. The ugly bruise was purple, yellowed around the edges. It made her heart ache.

  He was scarred in places, fine lines marring his perfect golden flesh. Despite his warrior’s marks, he was still beautiful. She touched one of the scars on his side, tracing it along his ribcage. Had a Welsh sword caused it?

  The thought didn’t give her the satisfaction it once would.

  Catching her lip between her teeth, she slipped the covers farther down his body. The part of him that gave her such pleasure was different this morning. Always before it had seemed huge and overwhelming.

  How extraordinary it changed so much when he was aroused!

  Just the mere thought of him ready to sheathe his hard length in her body excited her.

  Gwen swallowed, pulling the covers up, then slid down and propped her head against her pillow. She watched him sleep, reaching out once and a while to touch him or to brush his hair from his forehead.

  She lay next to him for a long time, never tiring of looking at him. When he finally opened his eyes, he was facing her, and she was struck by the incredible clarity of his gaze.

  He gave her a breathtaking smile as his eyes flickered over her chemise. “How long have you been awake?”

  Gwen smiled. “A long time.”

  “What have you been doing?”

  “Watching you,” she said, her traitorous heart singing.

  He pulled her into his arms. His mouth slid over hers, shaping her lips, demanding surrender. Gwen melded to him without the slightest hesitation. “You forgot to wake me,” he murmured against her mouth.

  “Nay,” Gwen said, breathless, “you needed to sleep.”

  “I need something else even more now,” he said. Gwen became aware of his pulsing arousal as his hand slid down her spine and brought her against his loins. Her breath caught. Dear God, he wanted her again. She was more than willing.

  He grasped the end of her chemise and slipped it up her body. Gwen helped. When it was off, he stared down at her, his eyes turning smoky. “Jesú, you are going to be the death of me.”

  “Do not say that!” she blurted, her hands curling into fists against his chest.

  His brows drew together. “I was not serious, Gwen.”

  She touched his face, ran her fingertips over his lips. He kissed them, and her heart lurched. What would it take to stop him from killing her father? What would be the price?

  “I know,” she replied, shivering suddenly.

  She saw that hint of vulnerability flicker through his eyes, and then it was gone, making her wonder if she’d imagined it in the first place.

  Before she could dwell on it any further, he was kissing her, stoking the fires of her passion, loving her until they cried out together with the sweetness of their joining.

  * * *

  Alys tripped into the family solar with the light step of a girl half her age. Owain rose at her entrance. His face was marred by a frown. Alys couldn’t help but think he’d been handsome when he was younger. Sweet Mary, he was still a fine figure of a man.

  “Well, how goes it?” he asked.

  Alys cleared her throat and pushed aside her wanton thoughts. A woman her age for heaven’s sake!

  “My lady said all was well between them. And they’ve not emerged yet, so one can assume they are, er, getting along…”

  She thought Owain’s ears were red when he turned away. “ ‘Tis good then. I was afraid…”

  Alys went to him, laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t fret. Gwenllian is stubborn, but sensible all the same. It came as a shock to her, was all.”

  Owain took her hand in his. “Richard needs a woman who’ll stand up to him for a change. He’s entirely too used to being lord and master of all he surveys.”

  Alys squeezed his hand. “I should be going. I have a million things to do.”

  Owain cleared his throat, then brushed off his tunic self-consciously. “Stay a while, Alys. If all is indeed well with the young ones, they’ll not emerge for some time being newlyweds and all.” He coughed, his ears going red again.

  Alys smiled. There was nothing she would like better than to stay and talk to this handsome Welshman. “Very well, Owain, I imagine I can spare a minute or two.”

  * * *

  Richard sat at the table and pulled Gwen into his lap. Her coppery curls spilled over her shoulder and he brushed them back, kissing her. He thought if he wasn’t careful, he might never stop kissing her. “I love the way you look in the morning with your hair all wild and tangled.”

  She combed her fingers through his hair, smoothing it in place. “And I love the way you look with yours sticking up.”

  “My what sticking up, sweet?”

  She flushed. “You are positively wicked, my lord!”

  “Aye, you bring out the worst in me.” He broke off a piece of pastry. “Open for me.”

  She did, just as trusting as a baby bird. He fed her without any thought for himself, his finger tracing her lower lip after every morsel. So soft, so tempting.

  Finally she pushed his hand away. “I cannot eat another bite. Will you not let me attend you now?”

  “If you wish,” he said.

  She fed him a piece of the pastry, tracing his lips in imitation of what he did to her. He sucked her finger into his mouth. Her breath caught. She pulled her finger away slowly, trailing it over his lower lip and down his chin.

  Richard threaded his fingers in her silken hair and pulled her down to kiss him. Christ almighty, he was getting aroused again! She really was going to be the death of him if he didn’t regain his control.

  “I don’t understand this,” she said quietly, shaking her head.

  “Don’t understand what, sweet?”

  She raised her lashes and he saw it. Desire—naked, unadulterated, consuming.

  Richard took a deep breath. Hell, he was hard pressed to understand it himself. It was too intense, nearly maddening, and impossible to stop. He shifted her on his lap until she felt him. Her eyes widened.

  “Yes, I feel it too.” He raised her hand to his lips, pressed kisses into her palm and across the back of her wrist. “Passion is a beautiful thing. ’Tis not meant to be questioned or understood.” He pushed up her sleeve, his lips following. “It should be enjoyed, appreciated, encouraged.”

  A knock sounded on the door. Richard ignored it. He sought her sweet mouth, fully intending on taking her back to bed and assuaging this maddening passion.

  The knock came again, stronger this time. Gwen pulled away. “Shouldn’t you answer it?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  Her arms were around his neck, pulling him to her rather than pushing him away.

  “No,” she said truthfully. She eased her hold on him with a sigh. “But it might be important.”
/>
  “Enter,” Richard said, never taking his eyes from her face.

  “Milord?”

  It was Owain’s voice.

  “Yes?”

  Owain cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, milord, but your estates steward has been waiting to see you for quite some time.”

  “Tell him I’ll be down soon,” Richard replied.

  “Yes, milord,” Owain said. Something in his voice made Richard turn. Owain was grinning from ear to ear. Richard stared at the closed door for a second, wondering what the hell had gotten into the old man.

  Richard sighed, his gaze sweeping over his wife with longing. “We must wait, it seems.” He brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen in her face. “Promise you will behave no differently when next I see you.”

  “I promise,” she replied softly.

  “A kiss to seal the bargain?”

  “Is it safe?”

  Richard laughed. “I doubt it, but let’s try anyway.”

  Their lips touched. It was like igniting a fire. At the last minute, when he felt his sanity slipping away, Richard managed to set her away from him.

  He stood and smacked her on the bottom. “Get dressed, temptress.”

  She shot him a look of pure indignance. “Temptress? ’Twas you who insisted on a kiss!”

  “Aye, but only because you tempted me.”

  He pulled on his clothes and belted his sword in place before going to her. She stood with her back to him, running a silver brush through her tangle of curls.

  He took the brush and stroked her hair a couple of times, then tossed it on the bed and threaded his fingers in the silken mass.

  “Jesú, you manage to seduce me with a hairbrush, wench. Do you have any idea how desirable you are?” He bent to kiss her neck, pulling her against him so she felt his arousal. “Mmm, would that I could stay. At this rate, you’ll be breeding in no time.”

  He turned and walked out the door. Gwen curled her hand around the bedpost and leaned against it numbly as silent tears slipped down her cheeks.