The Dark Knight's Captive Bride

by Natasha Wild

  If losing its lifeforce weakened a boar, what would it do to a man?

  “I said no! You may leave. I will send for you if I have need of you.”

  “Milady,” he said curtly, giving her a short bow.

  Alys brought a basin of water and knelt beside the bed. She dipped a cloth in it and wrung it out.

  Gwen took it. “Nay, I will do it.”

  She washed the wound, then accepted the needle and thread Alys handed her.

  “Are you sure, Gwen?”

  “Aye,” she replied, not looking up. She had to take care of him. It might be unreasonable, but she had this fear that if anyone else tended him, he would die.

  Gwen drew in a shaky breath and inserted the needle. She knew how to do this. She’d sewn men up before, but she’d never known doing it to Richard would make her feel each stitch as though it was her own body she pierced.

  When it was done, she wiped away any remaining blood and started to remove the rest of his clothes. She never noticed that Owain helped.

  Gwen refused to leave his side, though Owain and Alys both offered to stay with him while she slept. But sleep was impossible.

  The fever raged. She covered him and he tossed the blankets off again and again. Sweat trickled down his brow, and she mopped his forehead with a cool cloth. She swept his damp hair aside with trembling fingers, weeping at the heat he gave off.

  He remained still for so long that when he began to mutter and thrash, she grew frightened. “Owain, Alys! Help me hold him down before he breaks the stitches!”

  She held his shoulders while Owain straddled his midsection and Alys his legs. Richard was strong, much stronger than she’d ever imagined, and it took everything they had to keep him still. She looked up at Owain, hoping to seek some sort of solace in his usually unflappable presence.

  Tears slid down the old Welshman’s weathered cheeks. His lips moved, his voice barely a whisper. If she’d not been looking at him, she’d have never known he was speaking, never heard the things he said.

  “How many times have I told you, boy? You’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days! ’Twas a long time ago. Your king knows your worth. You don’t have to keep trying to prove it! I promised Catrin I would look after you…”

  Gwen’s heart skipped a beat. Who was Catrin?

  They held him for a long time, only easing their grip when his struggles weakened. His mutterings were largely unintelligible. Occasionally he said her name, or Elizabeth’s. But he never mentioned Catrin, whoever she was.

  Finally, he grew quiet, and Gwen pressed her cheek to his brow. He was still fevered and her heart sank. Mayhap she should let the surgeon bleed him after all.

  Alys retired to her pallet. Owain insisted on making his own resting place near the bed. Gwen slipped beneath the blankets, fully clothed, and curled up next to Richard. She stroked her fingers rhythmically up and down his chest.

  In a very little while, she would send for the surgeon.

  Gwen knew despair stronger than any she’d ever imagined in her life. What if he never opened those striking eyes of his? What if she never got to touch him and taste him and feel him ever, ever again?

  What if she never got to tell him she was sorry?

  “Do not leave me, Richard. I have been lonely all my life until you. Do not make me go back,” she whispered fiercely.

  How would she survive without him? How would the world look without the magnificence and power and vibrancy of the man called Black Hawk?

  Empty.

  Bleak.

  Monotonous.

  Gwen buried her face against his throat and cried.

  29

  Gwen dreamed. She dreamed of a cave and a man who eased her back on the cool ground and worshipped her body with his. It was summer and the scent of wild roses drifted in on a soft breeze, penetrating the depths of the glittering cave.

  Her gown slipped away and her flesh burned beneath his seeking mouth. Ah God, she wanted to touch him too! Her hands roamed over him, her mouth savoring every inch of delicious skin. She kissed the scar on his side and he shuddered.

  “I love you,” he whispered, and her heart swelled to bursting. Life had never been so perfect.

  Next, she was standing in the middle of a long room. Her father stood at one end, Richard at the other. King Edward sat on a throne in front of her. He lifted his hand.

  “Choose,” he said.

  Horror gripped her with icy tentacles. “I-I cannot!”

  “One of them will die.”

  She fell to her knees. “Please, Majesty…”

  “If you do not choose, they will both die.”

  She looked at Richard, then at her father. But her father was not alone. Einion and Rhys stood with him.

  Edward merely shrugged. “Choose,” he commanded. “Him, or them.”

  The Welshmen kept multiplying. Richard remained alone. Gwen ran toward Richard, then stopped. She turned and ran toward her father and Wales, then stopped. She started to shake, and tears streamed down her face.

  She could not choose.

  She screamed.

  And sat bolt upright in bed. Owain hovered over her, his face pale. “Is he…?”

  Gwen touched Richard’s brow. Owain frowned when she started to laugh. “Nay, he is cooler now. Oh Owain, he is cooler!”

  A smile spread over Owain’s haggard face. “He is too stubborn to die over something so minor. ’Twould have to be a sword thrust to the heart, not a dagger wound to the side.”

  Gwen ran her hands over Richard’s body, reassuring herself the fever had indeed broken. If anything, he was sweating more than before, but it was a different kind of sweat. Cooler, as though the fever was pouring itself out of his body now that its course was run.

  Owain returned to his pallet.

  Gwen stroked Richard’s jaw. The images of the dream still haunted her, and she shivered.

  Choose.

  She pressed closer to him. It was only a dream. They didn’t always have meaning.

  * * *

  When Richard opened his eyes, he was surprised to realize it was daylight and he was still in bed. He started to get up, but the dull ache in his side forced him back down.

  He stared up at the canopy, and remembered.

  Gwen didn’t trust him, thought him capable of horrible things. He eased up and looked around. She wasn’t even here.

  Despite the ache, he swung his legs off the bed and sat up. Someone had stitched him. It wasn’t Sir Henry’s handiwork. The stitches were too small and neat.

  He stood and went searching for his tunic. A gasp in the doorway brought his head around.

  His heart quickened a little, and it angered him. He’d sworn his fidelity on bended knee, shared things with her that he’d never shared with anyone. Despite all that, she believed the tales she’d been raised on in her father’s hall. “What are you doing here?” he demanded more harshly than he intended.

  “You must get back in bed, my lord. You’ll rip the stitches,” she said, coming to him, her hands twisting the edges of her gown.

  Richard closed his eyes. Roses, goddamn roses! He wanted to pull her against him and bury his face in her hair. “Don’t you have some sewing to do? Or some menus to plan?”

  “Nay,” Gwen said quietly.

  Her hand settled on his arm, and he thought he might come undone. He stiffened, and she snatched her hand back.

  Tears shimmered in her golden-green eyes. “Please get back in bed, Richard. I will bring you something to eat.”

  “I have things to do, Gwen.” His inner demon refused to be silenced. “After all, there are prisoners to torture.”

  Just for an instant, her eyes widened. She quickly recovered, but he didn’t miss the fact she’d actually believed it, if only for a second.

  Overwhelmed by bitterness, Richard turned his back. He knew it was a stupid thing to say. He found his tunic and struggled to get into it. When he felt her hands on him, he stopped.

  �
��Let me help you,” she said.

  He stood very still while she dressed him. Every second was more unbearable than the last. All he wanted was to hold her. Just when he thought he would crack, she stepped away.

  “Please be careful, Richard. I don’t want you ripping those stitches. I don’t think I could do as good a job the second time around.”

  His hand strayed to his side. “You did this?”

  “Aye.”

  “Thank you for tending me,” he said softly.

  “’Tis a wife’s duty, my lord,” she replied, equally as soft.

  Richard stiffened. “Duty. Of course. No other reason needed.” Had he only imagined what happened in the bailey on the night he’d ridden out? Certes, it was possible, considering what had occurred since.

  He was almost to the door when she called to him. “I feared for you,” she said tearfully.

  “Why?” he demanded. “Why, when you think me so terrible? Wouldn’t it be easier if I had never come back?”

  “Nay! How can you say that?” she cried, running to him and cupping his face between her hands. She pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his. He didn’t want to, but he responded, kissing her with a desperation that frightened him.

  “God, I’m sorry, Richard. I did not mean to doubt you. I know you are not capable of the things said of you. ’Twas stupid of me.”

  Something within him twisted and snapped. He grasped her wrists and pulled her hands away. He couldn’t bear to have her say such things, then look at him like he was the devil himself when she found out his true nature. He wouldn’t wait for her to learn just exactly what he was capable of.

  “Nay, Gwen, I am capable of great cruelty.”

  Her eyes widened. He pulled her tighter against him, wanting to feel her soft curves molded to his body. Her lips parted. All his muscles locked in an effort to keep from kissing her again.

  “Do you want to know how much?” he demanded. “Do you want to know what kind of man I am?”

  “I—”

  “I’ve never told you about Elizabeth, though I daresay you’ve heard of her.” Her mouth closed and she nodded mutely. “I abandoned her, Gwen. I left her to have our babe alone, though she begged me not to go. I knew she was frightened and I left anyway.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I am sorry. You must have loved her very much.”

  Richard threw his head back. “Don’t you understand? I loved her not at all! ’Tis my fault she died. ’Tis my punishment for not caring enough.”

  “Nay,” she whispered, shaking her head.

  “Yes, Gwen, yes! I am everything you thought I was, and worse, much worse.”

  She searched his face, then swallowed. “You did what your king commanded. You cannot be blamed for going when he called you.”

  He let her go and walked away. He sank onto the edge of the bed and pushed his hands through his hair. His bitter laughter broke the silence. “Is that what you think? Edward cannot be kept from Eleanor’s side when she gives birth. He would not have prevented me from doing the same, especially since Kenilworth is only a few days ride from Claiborne. Nay, wife, ’twas my own cold-heartedness that kept me away.”

  Gwen couldn’t speak. He watched her expectantly. She whirled around and went to the window. Her heart was throbbing madly in denial. It wasn’t supposed to be like this!

  There were so many things she wanted to say, but a lifetime of guarding her emotions was a hard habit to break. No one had ever had the kind of power to hurt her that Richard had. She didn’t think she could bear telling him she loved him again and not have him say it in return.

  She heard him get up. Every instinct she had told her to go to him, to tell him what she felt. But her body remained motionless, frozen in place, while her mind raced, searching for ways to avoid exposing herself to the pain of rejection.

  She prayed he would come to her, wrap his arms around her, tell her everything would be all right again. But his footsteps didn’t advance. They retreated.

  * * *

  Richard leaned against the wall of the passage. He put his hand to his side and winced. It was nothing compared to the pain he felt inside.

  What had he done? Why had he told her about Elizabeth?

  After a moment, he shoved away and strode to the hall. If Gwen had ever thought she loved him, he’d certainly killed it now.

  And it was best that way. He cared too much for her. It had to stop before she abandoned him to face it alone.

  “Jesú, Richard, you should not be up yet,” Owain scolded, bringing him up short. The Welshman’s expression grew wary. “What has happened?”

  “Nothing, Ewythr. Nothing at all,” Richard said smoothly, though his throat ached.

  Owain’s eyes darted around the room. “What is the matter with you?” he hissed.

  Richard was not in a cautious mood. The only person within earshot was one of the knights in Anne’s household and it was highly improbable he understood Welsh. “Leave me be, old man.”

  Owain’s face reddened. “I don’t know what is going on between you and your wife, but there is one thing I do know.”

  “And what is that, pray tell?” Richard asked, more out of obligation than interest.

  “You are a bloody, arrogant fool.”

  Richard walked away. He didn’t need this right now. But Owain followed. “Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

  Richard stopped and turned around. “How would you know what I feel?”

  Owain stuck a finger in Richard’s chest. “Because I’ve been with you since you were a babe! Just tell her you love her and get it over with.”

  “I do not love her. I cannot,” he growled.

  Owain snorted. “Stupid whelp! How many chances do you think you get, boy? Take it while you got it.”

  “You overstep your bounds, Ewythr.”

  Owain’s grey eyes glittered. “Not nearly enough, Nai, not nearly enough.”

  Richard started to walk away.

  “And one other thing,” Owain called. “I’m going with you to London.”

  Richard stopped, incredulous. “You vowed you would never go there! Why now?”

  Owain flushed. “Because I want to, that’s why! And don’t think to try and stop me either.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Richard said dryly.

  Owain gave him a curt nod. “I must see to my duties, my lord.”

  “Of course.”

  Richard’s hand strayed to his sword and he suddenly remembered he had forgotten to put it on. Jesú, what was his life coming to?

  * * *

  In just a few days the household was packed and on the way to London. The earl of Dunsmore took servants enough for a large house. Wagons of supplies rolled along half full, though they would be overflowing on the return journey with items only obtainable in a great port city like London.

  Gwen patted her mare’s neck absently. Her eyes sought Richard. He rode ahead with his knights, laughing and talking about whatever it was men discussed at times like this. She worried over him, but he seemed fine. If his wound pained him, he didn’t show it.

  She’d not been alone with him in a fortnight. The inns were too crowded to obtain a private room. Richard could have commandeered an entire inn, being a high-ranking nobleman, but he had not done so. Gwen was thankful he didn’t kick people from their lodgings even if it did mean she’d had to share with Anne.

  Gwen cast a glance at Alys. She’d begun to notice the woman seemed preoccupied, especially when Owain was around. It was hard to miss the way the two stared at each other.

  Gwen hid a smile behind her hand. At least Alys’s love life seemed in order. Hopefully hers would be too, once she and Richard were finally alone and could talk.

  She hoped he would talk. She’d wanted to approach him more than once, but the timing was never right. There were always servants or knights or someone else hanging about. It didn’t seem appropriate to try to discuss their lives while riding horses. />
  A short time later, they emerged from the forest road. Gwen’s jaw dropped. “Jesú,” she breathed. In the distance, London stretched across the landscape like a huge spider, tentacles gripping the hills with the firm tenacity of a creature that would not be moved.

  “Is it what you expected?” Richard asked.

  Gwen started. She’d not realized he’d dropped back beside her. “It’s huge!”

  He smiled, and her heart lurched. It was far too long since he’d smiled at her. “Aye, and full of every privilege and decadence you can imagine. Thirty thousand people live in London year-round. ”Tis crowded and dirty in many places. There are whole streets named after the tradesmen who line them: Chandler, Tailor, Wine, Cloth, Milk, Honey—it goes on forever.”

  “Elinor told me that people actually live on London Bridge. Is it true?”

  Richard nodded. “Aye, ’tis true. London Bridge is packed with houses and shops. ’Tis easier to solve the problems of water supply and sewage when one lives over a river.”

  Gwen was much too excited by the sprawling city to catch the humor in his reply. She’d heard her father talk of London and she’d been unable to believe the things he’d said. It was impossible to imagine thousands of people living in a place, and yet it was true.

  She turned to say something to Richard, but the words died on her lips. His expression was so intense, so hot, that a thrill coursed down her spine. There was no mistaking he wanted her.

  “I want to make love to you,” he said softly. “For hours—nay, days. Days, Gwen…”

  “Weeks,” she whispered, her heart soaring.

  “Years,” he countered, his eyes traveling over her face, down the thick folds of her velvet cloak, then back up again. “I have missed you.”

  “I ache for you,” she said.

  His eyes darkened. “Soon, wench. Very soon…”

  She shivered. Talking could wait.

  They did not enter the city of London, crossing instead over the Tyburn Brook to Thorney Isle and the burough of Westminster.