by Natasha Wild
Gwen rushed to his side. Standing behind his chair, she replaced his fingers with hers. “Of course I forgive you,” she whispered.
He sighed and leaned his head back, his eyes drifting closed. His lashes were so thick and long that Gwen had to resist the urge to touch them, to feel their silkiness beneath her fingertips. She laid her cheek on top of his head, rubbing it against his hair. God above, she cared for this man too much, and she couldn’t stop. More than ever, she wanted to share his life, wanted to know him and be a part of him.
Her fingers traveled in slow circles. “Did you grow up here?”
“Aye,” he said. “Here and London. The coast sometimes. I have a castle on Mor Iwerddon. We shall travel there in the spring. You will love the beaches and cliffs.”
Gwen smiled. The Irish Sea. She loved the way he used Welsh so naturally. She could almost pretend she’d married a Welshman and settled in Wales.
They usually conversed in French, but whenever they made love, he inevitably slipped into Welsh. She didn’t think he was conscious of it. It was so natural, so intimate, something Anne or Elizabeth could never have shared with him.
“What of your mother and father?” she asked. “What were they like?”
“My father was a warrior, one of the best. He remained loyal to King Henry during the Barons’ Revolt when so many of them followed Simon de Montfort.”
Gwen swallowed. “I-I’m sorry he died. You must miss him terribly.”
He stiffened, then relaxed just as quickly. “Aye,” he said on a sigh.
“And what of your mother? What was she like?”
“I don’t remember her very well. ’Tis terrible, isn’t it? But she died when I was five, and ’twas so long ago that I remember little beyond the fact she was beautiful and sweet. My father never got over her death. He used to call for her sometimes, long after she was gone. Then he’d remember and Owain would have to lead him to his chamber. I’d hear him crying and…”
Gwen’s fingers stilled. She pressed her lips to his forehead. “What, Richard?”
He clasped her hand and laid it against his heart. “Nothing, cariad. I am talking too much. You are terribly full of questions today,” he said, pulling her into his lap.
Gwen brushed a lock of hair off his brow. “’Tis not unreasonable for a wife to want to know her husband.”
“Nay, I suppose not.”
“Sometimes I feel as though I’ve known you forever,” she said, caressing his cheek. “Other times, I feel as if I know you not at all.”
He caught her fingers and kissed them. “Your eyes are the color of the Mediterranean where it kisses the shores of Corfu,” he said, his voice soft and silky. “’Tis all gold and green, hardly blue at all.”
“Where is that?” she asked, breathless.
“’Tis one of the Greek Isles.”
“You’ve been many places, haven’t you?”
“Aye. Wondrous places. Horrible places.”
“Tell me about them.”
“We started in Southampton,” he murmured against her mouth. “We stopped in France…” He nibbled her earlobe. “Then sailed around Spain…”
Gwen’s breath caught. His voice was low, passion-drunk, indelibly male. Little shivers of delight raced along her spine.
He fanned fiery kisses along her throat. “Portugal…”
His fingers had been working her laces and he pulled her gown aside to kiss her shoulder. “Gibraltar…”
“Mmm, Richard,” she gasped, her body tingling with arousal.
“Morocco…” he said, his lips as hot as the Sahara itself whispering along her collarbone. “Sicily…”
He dipped into the valley between her breasts. “Italy… the Greek Isles…”
He opened her gown enough to reveal a soft nipple. Gwen’s hands strayed to entwine in his hair. His tongue traced a lazy circle around the little bud, then he sucked it into his mouth.
Gwen moaned her pleasure.
“And the Holy Land,” he said before attending to the other pouting nipple.
“Mmm, Richard. I don’t want to talk any longer.”
“Why not?” He leaned back and closed her gown.
“Don’t stop now!”
“You must learn to savor your pleasures, sweet. Think how many times more exciting it will be if we wait.”
Gwen pouted. “I don’t want to wait!”
“We must. ’Tis almost time for the evening meal. If we are absent from the hall one more time, people will talk.”
“Stubborn man!” she said, hopping from his lap. “They are already talking. And besides, mayhap I will not wish to make love later.”
An irritating grin spread over his handsome features. “You want me, Gwen. You’ll not deny me.”
“Oh, you are a devil!”
His grin widened. “Aye, mayhap so.”
Gwen eyed the chessboard. Tease her would he! She’d show him she wasn’t so easily rattled. “Let’s play again,” she said. “I’ll beat you this time, I swear it.”
Richard laughed. “All right, cath wyllt. We’ll see who still has their wits about them.”
Gwen leaned forward to gather her pieces. Her gown was still unlaced and her breasts threatened to spill free.
“You are doing that deliberately,” Richard said.
Gwen blinked innocently. “Doing what?”
“Trying to tempt me.”
“Are you tempted?”
“I’d be lying if I said no. But you can’t have your way with me that easily, wench. It’ll take more than that to seduce me.”
Gwen straightened. “And just what will it take?”
He smiled. “Tell you what, if you win this game, I will do whatever you command me.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
“Then prepare to lose.”
Gwen threw herself into the game with relish. She ignored his hot gazes when he was trying to distract her, and managed to distract him once or twice when she opened her dress to reveal a naked breast. He would swallow and try to remember his move, and she would smile demurely and say “Sorry.”
Still, she was surprised when he lost, since his skill was the greater. But she didn’t dare question her good fortune.
He sat back and laced his fingers behind his head, grinning lewdly. “Ask and ye shall receive.”
“Bar the door.”
When he returned, she stood and pressed against him. “Kiss me,” she whispered.
He did, blindingly. Gwen had to remind herself she was the one in control. If she weren’t careful, the seducer would become the seduced. She pulled back and put her hands on his chest while she caught her breath.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” he said, inching her gown up her body.
“Nay!” Gwen cried, pushing away from him. “You must do what I say. Now, undress.”
“Demanding little hussy, aren’t you?” he said, smiling as his hand went to his sword belt.
Gwen licked suddenly dry lips as his clothes peeled away. His bronze body was hard, magnificent, breathtaking. When he stood only in his braies, Gwen couldn’t stop admiring him. She wanted to touch him, wanted to feel the tremors beneath his golden flesh when she explored him with her mouth and her hands. “All of it,” she said.
“What about you?” he asked as his braies dropped to the floor.
Gwen shed her clothes in a heap. When she went to him, she said, “I want to touch you.”
His eyes darkened. “Cariad, you are supposed to make me do things to you, not the other way around.”
“You said anything, remember? And this is what I want,” she finished, standing on tiptoe to press her lips to his neck.
“You seek to torture me,” he murmured.
“Nay, I seek to pleasure you.” She circled his nipple with her tongue, smiling against his skin when he sucked in his breath. Her hands roamed over him, delighting in the solid muscle and the quivers rippling through it. He was like a hot-bl
ooded stallion, well trained to the saddle but dying to break free and run.
Gwen closed her eyes, feathered kisses down his chest, over his abdomen. Her hand closed over his thick shaft and he groaned. “Does it hurt for me to touch you like this?”
His laugh was strangled. “It will hurt if you stop.”
Emboldened, Gwen traced it with her finger. It was a curious weapon, with a life of its own it seemed as it bucked beneath her touch.
Gwen had a sudden thought. When he touched her with his tongue, it nearly drove her mad. Would it be the same for him?
Tentatively, she licked him. His eyes shot open, his entire body stiffening. “Oh God,” he said, swallowing.
Gwen laughed. Oh yes, he liked it. She swirled her tongue around the tip, down the length of him, finally taking as much of him in her mouth as she could. His hand came up to cup the back of her head, guiding her, tightening in her hair until he moved away abruptly.
Then he pulled her to her feet and kissed her. “My turn,” he whispered huskily. Before she could voice a protest, his arm swept across the table, knocking the chessboard to the floor. Then he bent her over, face first, and slammed into her from behind. Gwen gasped, her fingers clutching the edge of the table.
The polished wood was cool on her sensitive breasts, a sharp contrast to the scalding heat of the man bending over her. Shivers raced along her nerve endings, multiplying, finding new erotic points of impact along the way.
“Tell me what you want,” he commanded in a husky whisper.
“Touch me.”
His hands came up beneath her, cupped her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples. “Like this?”
“Yes, oh yes…”
“And this?” he asked, one hand moving down to stroke the swollen bud of her arousal.
“Yes, yes!”
“Jesú, it had best be soon, sweet. I won’t last much longer.”
But he needn’t have said it, because at that moment, all the nerve endings in Gwen’s body built and shattered, leaving her gripping the table and crying his name as the incredible sensations rocked her.
He grabbed her hips and impaled himself to the limit—once, twice, three more times—before her name left his lips in a harsh cry of fulfillment.
He collapsed in a chair and pulled her down on top of him. He nuzzled her neck, his breath heavy in her ear. “Your mouth is magical, Gwen. I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life.”
She put her arms around him and sighed. “Aren’t you glad I won?”
He kissed her throat and laughed. “I think we both won, sweet.”
* * *
It was a week later when Gwen stood on a stool, a length of cream velvet draped around her, as Alys pinned and tucked and mumbled to herself.
They were leaving for London within another week and Alys was frantically trying to finish the new gowns she’d insisted Gwen must have.
“Be still, my lady,” Alys said, straightening and putting her hands on her hips. She tilted her head from side to side, studying the lay of the cloth.
“Sorry,” Gwen replied, fidgeting. It was impossible to get comfortable with all these pins sticking in her!
Richard had acquiesced to the old woman’s whim, and had even accompanied her and Gwen into the village to buy cloth of silk and velvet.
Gwen remembered his hot eyes on her as Alys had held up bolt after bolt of different color fabrics. “Oh yes, definitely that one,” he would say when a color struck him.
Alys had hummed and clucked to herself, preoccupied with her task, but Richard’s gaze had told Gwen far more than mere words.
The devil was letting his prick decide and she’d told him so when they finished. He laughed and said, yes, but it had good taste. Gwen got him back then. She told him, yes, it did taste good.
“Be still, my lady,” Alys mumbled over the pins in her mouth.
“Sorry,” Gwen said. It had been very satisfying to watch Richard’s eyes darken with longing, to know it was her he desired.
He was so much different than she’d once thought. She no longer believed the awful tales about him. Richard was a warrior. He did what his king ordered, the same as any of her father’s warriors would do if Llywelyn commanded it.
And she didn’t really know he would make war on her father if she bore him a son. Still, she prayed every day Elinor would give birth to a boy so she would never have to find out.
Alys removed the cloth. “There.”
“Thank heavens,” Gwen said. Alys frowned. “I’m sorry, Alys, ’tis just that I’ve been standing here for so long. I need to go for a walk.”
Alys waggled a finger. “Nay, ’tis to find that handsome husband of yours. Gracious, it’s a wonder the two of you ever leave the bedchamber.”
“Alys!”
The woman laughed. “’Tis the way of young love. Soon, we’ll have a castle full of children.”
Heat prickled Gwen’s skin. She knew she should keep her mouth shut. “You are wrong, Alys. I do not love him. I cannot.”
“And why is that, pray tell?”
Gwen uttered the words that were like a litany to her. “He is my father’s enemy.”
Alys sighed. “You don’t live with your father, you live here. I’ve been around long enough to recognize love—”
“I don’t want to talk about it!” Gwen realized she was clutching her chemise in her fists. She smoothed the material over her body with shaking hands, then retrieved her gown and slipped into it. “I’ll be in the hall if you need me,” she said calmly.
Alys sank into a chair and bent over her sewing. “Aye, my lady,” she said, her voice clipped.
It was all Gwen could do to keep from running out of the room. She needed to be alone for a while, needed to think.
It wasn’t true, was it? Wouldn’t she know if she loved him?
She loved the way he made her feel, the things he did to her, but that did not mean she loved him any more than he loved her. And he did not love her, of that she was certain. Not once had he ever said it, not even in the throes of passion when he slipped into Welsh.
No, what he felt for her was desire. Passion. And one day it would fade, just like Anne had told her it would.
25
Gwen didn’t know what it was that drew her to the stable. She strolled between the horses until she found Sirocco. He nickered to her, shoving his nose in her stomach. She laughed and began to scratch him behind the ears. “Such a beautiful boy,” she murmured.
“Do you always affect savage beasts so?”
Liquid heat surged in her veins as the velvet voice slid down her spine. She whirled to face him, her breath catching high in her throat.
“Richard,” she said, her voice a husky whisper. “You frightened me.”
“I’m sorry, cariad. I saw you coming in here and I had to follow.”
He would be menacing if she didn’t know him. He was big and covered by a mantle black as night. His silver eyes gleamed in the dim light of the stable, flickering over her so slowly that her stomach fluttered in anticipation. He moved and the hilt of his jeweled sword peaked out from beneath his cloak, adding to the restrained danger of him. Her senses were heightened by his nearness, her breathing more rapid.
“’Tis as if time were reversed, except that you are even more beautiful to me. Mayhap I should do to you now what I wanted to do then.”
Gwen shivered. “And what was that?”
He stepped closer until they were separated only by an arm’s length. He caressed her throat then slid his hand to the soft swell of her breast. Her insides melted. “I wanted to toss you into the hay and make love to you.”
The aroma of hay and horse filled her nostrils. Her breath frosted in the cold air. His hand lay palm open over her breast and she knew he could feel the flutter of her heart. Gwen closed her hand over his, shutting out everything but him.
“Do it now,” she said, wanting to be close to him, wanting to know he needed her in some way.
&
nbsp; His eyes darkened. He pulled her to him and she tilted her head back, expecting his mouth to claim hers.
He stroked her hair, his eyes searching her face. When he spoke, his voice was low, rapid, almost regretful. “Nay, you are too fine and too special to be tumbled in the hay like a commoner. You deserve silk and furs and jewels. You should be closeted in a luxurious palace and waited on hand and foot by adoring servants. Edward should have found you a prince.”
“Nay!” Gwen cried, frightened by his strange turn of mood. She gripped his surcoat. The black hawk crumpled in her fists, mingling with the crimson. “I want to be with you! I-I…”
“What, cariad?”
Gwen swallowed hard. She had been about to say she loved him. Damn Alys for suggesting it! She desired him, certainly; cared for him, probably; but loved him?
“’Tis nothing.” She slipped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest.
“I held you like this that day,” he said softly. “Except I don’t believe you held me as tightly then as you are now.”
Gwen squeezed her eyes shut. She did not love him. Dear God, she could not. Her father was depending on her. Her loyalty was to him.
“You’re shaking,” he said. “Why?”
Gwen resisted his efforts to push her away so he could see her face. He gave up when she wouldn’t budge easily, lowering his cheek to the top of her head. “’Tis my fault. I’m sorry for frightening you. I will never let you go, cariad, never. Don’t you know that?”
“I’m not sure what you would do,” she whispered against his chest.
Richard’s fingers entwined in her hair. She didn’t resist this time, and he tilted her head back and kissed her. Stable-sounds roared in her ears: the munching of hay, swishing of tails, low nickers and snorts.
Something tugged on her mantle and she broke the kiss. Sirocco nibbled on the velvet cloth. Richard didn’t try to stop her when she disentangled herself from his arms to pet the stallion.
“Ridiculous beast,” she cooed, combing his forelock with trembling fingers.
“You treat him like he’s a lovable pet instead of a warhorse,” Richard said. “You should never forget he is dangerous.”
Gwen laughed. If he noticed the near hysterical note in her voice, he didn’t show it. “As if I ever could,” she said softly.
