The Dark Knight's Captive Bride

by Natasha Wild

  She held her breath when he lifted off her chemise.

  “Oh God,” he said, closing his eyes.

  Gwen snatched the garment from his hands, hurt and anger like a dagger to her heart. “I am sorry if I do not please you anymore, my lord.”

  “What?” he said distractedly.

  She clutched the chemise to her, hiding her flawed body from his hot stare. When he tried to tug it away, she held tight. “Nay, I would not have you suffer to look at me again.”

  “I am fine now,” he said. “The sight just caught me by surprise.”

  “You are such a beast!” Gwen cried. God, were all men so insensitive? The most infuriating part was that he had to be so brutally honest. And he wanted her to flatter him! She wanted to box his ears.

  “Huh?”

  “Turn around so I can dress.”

  “But I just undressed you.” He grabbed the chemise and yanked it away.

  Gwen tilted her chin up. “Can you stand it this time, my lord?”

  He swallowed. “Aye.” He met her gaze and smiled. “’Tis been many, many years since the sight of a woman threatened to make me spill myself. Not since I was an untried boy…”

  “You do not find me repulsive?”

  “Repulsive? Have you gone daft, woman?” he demanded.

  Gwen laughed with sudden relief. “I thought you could not look at me because my scars repelled you.”

  “What scars?”

  “These,” she said, splaying her fingers across her middle.

  He bent closer. “You call those scars?” He shook his head. “Leave it to a woman to exaggerate the tiniest thing.”

  Gwen kissed him. “You are impossible.”

  “And you are beautiful.” He picked up the end of her braid and removed the thong. When he’d unbraided her hair, he ran his fingers through it, separating the silken strands until they fell to her hips. “Lie down.”

  Gwen lay back on the blanket and planted her feet against his mailclad chest. She felt deliciously wicked with the summer breeze wafting over her skin and the man she loved staring at her so hotly.

  He lifted one of her legs, pressing his lips to the soft flesh of her inner calf. Gwen closed her eyes and moaned. He worked his way down, spreading her legs and lowering himself until her knees rested on his shoulders.

  “Richard,” she breathed, lifting her hips.

  “Is this what you want, love?” He kissed her fiery thatch of curls.

  “Yes, yes…”

  “Then look at me. Watch me while I love you this way.”

  Gwen did as he commanded. It was exciting, erotic, to see his dark head between her legs.

  “I have missed you,” he said. “The scent of you, the taste of you…”

  Gwen shuddered. The things he did to her, the way he made her quiver inside! Lord God, she would do anything for this man, anything at all.

  He pleasured her with his mouth, slowly, exquisitely. She watched him, crying out “I love you!” at the height of her climax.

  He straightened. “Help me out of this armor before I explode.”

  Gwen fumbled with the buckles and straps, frantic to release him. His fingers were no surer than hers, and it took an interminable amount of time to get him out of the hauberk and leggings.

  Gwen pulled his gambeson and tunic off while he tugged at the laces to his braies. He didn’t take the time to pull them off, just shoved them down and pushed her back on the blanket.

  “I cannot wait any longer,” he said, his gaze locking with hers as he positioned himself between her legs. Despite the urgency of his tone, he entered her slowly.

  Gwen held her breath, reveling in the feel of him. He was so huge and so hard, filling her in a way she’d craved for all the months they’d been apart.

  “I am afraid,” he said, gritting his teeth. “’Tis been so long and I am afraid of hurting you. I want you too much to be gentle.”

  “I do not want gentleness,” Gwen said. “I want you. Do not hold back, Richard.”

  Her words freed him. Richard thrust into her, hard, deep. He couldn’t stop himself now if he wanted. “I have dreamed of you, of this moment,” he said in her ear. “You did not have to make me vow to be faithful, cariad. I want no one but you.”

  “I love you,” she cried.

  The last of his control shredded, and he found himself driving into her so hard they sprawled off the blanket and into the grass.

  When release finally came, he collapsed on her, shuddering.

  She smoothed his sweat-dampened hair from his forehead, sighing contentedly. When he found the energy, he rolled onto his back and threw his arm across his brow. “You have killed me,” he said.

  Her warm lips nuzzled his chest, trailed down his abdomen. His manhood stirred. “Nay, you are not dead yet,” she said against his skin, cupping the growing length of him. “You are very much alive, I would say.”

  Richard groaned. “The rest of my body disagrees.”

  But he had to admit being within her again was worth the effort it would take. He pulled her on top of him. “I cannot stop you from taking advantage of me,” he said.

  Strangely enough, his energy surged anew. When her inner muscles spasmed, he tumbled over the edge with her, shooting his seed into her with such force he knew he would not be able to move for quite some time.

  But as she lay on top of him, kissing his neck, her sheath quivering around him, he hardened. She lifted her head, her eyes widening. “Again?”

  Richard grinned. “Oh yes, again. I cannot get enough of you. I will never get enough of you.”

  Her legs wrapped around him and he pressed his lips to her throat, professing his undying love over and over.

  When he had made love to her for a fourth time, he lay on top of her, catching his breath and glorying in the feel of her. He had to leave again in a fortnight, this time to Shrewsbury for Dafydd’s trial. But he would not tell her just yet.

  “I believe I will have some of that wine now, cariad. Do you want some?”

  She mumbled something unintelligible and he lifted up to look at her. Her lashes fanned across her pale skin. Her mouth, ripe and swollen from his kisses, was soft in sleep. She turned her face to the side and he kissed her temple and cheek, then gently nibbled her earlobe.

  She swatted at him. He laughed softly, then left her and went to get the wine. When he returned, he gathered her against him, his hands roaming over her body of their own accord before sleep claimed him as well.

  * * *

  William’s laughter reached the solar before his father’s footsteps. Gwen was helping Alys to embroider her wedding gown when she heard it. She looked up as Richard ducked through the doorway, a giggling child clinging to him.

  “Richard! ’Tis too high up!” she cried. “You will make him sick.”

  William perched on Richard’s shoulders, hands firmly entwined in his father’s hair. Both of her men looked at her like she had lost her wits.

  “’Tis not, Gwen. Besides, he loves it.” Richard smiled. Gwen heaved a sigh. It didn’t matter which of them it was—all either of them had to do was smile and she was as malleable as dough.

  They were a handsome pair. Looking at them together, it was hard to believe Richard had been so wary of his son at first. William had taken to his father immediately, but Richard had been afraid to even hold him.

  It was over a sennight since Richard had come home. After he’d made love to her in the garden that day, they’d retired to their chamber and spent time with their son. He wouldn’t hold the baby when Gwen urged him and she’d finally gotten him to admit his fear.

  It still brought a smile to her lips. Her big, powerful, warrior husband had been frightened of a tiny babe. No longer, though.

  He walked to the windowseat and bent over, depositing William on the cushions. Alys and Gwen exchanged a look as Richard fussed over his son.

  Alys covered a smile. “Sometimes ’tis harder to decide which of them is more adorable,” sh
e whispered.

  Gwen nodded, biting her lip to hide her own smile.

  Alys cleared her throat. “I believe I forgot to do something, my lady. If you will excuse me.”

  “Of course, Alys.”

  The old woman winked as she gathered her dress and left the room.

  Gwen crossed to the windowseat. Richard sat on the floor while William crawled over the cushions. She stood beside Richard, entwining her fingers in his hair. He looked up and smiled. “Sometimes I look at him and I cannot believe we made him.”

  “Aye, ’tis the same for me,” she said softly.

  He pulled her into his lap and kissed her. William screamed. Richard broke away. “What is wrong with him?”

  Gwen frowned. “He likes to be the center of attention.”

  “You have spoiled him.”

  It was true, but Gwen was indignant anyway. “And you have not?”

  “I have not been home long enough!”

  “Yes, well who is it who carries him on their shoulders? Or took him for a ride on Sirocco? Which I might add I did not approve of!”

  “And who let him sleep with us when he awoke crying?” Richard demanded.

  “It was only once!”

  As if on cue, William started crying. Gwen stood and picked him up. He cried harder. “Now see what you have done?”

  “I have not done anything!”

  William stretched his arms toward his father. Gwen walked away, rocking him, soothing him with soft words. His chubby face was red, his screams growing louder.

  “Give him to me,” Richard said softly.

  She turned and William reached for his father. She let him go. The baby quieted almost instantly, his screams turning to hiccoughs. He sniffled and buried his face against Richard’s surcoat.

  Gwen viewed the whole exchange with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she felt as if her son didn’t need her. On the other, she was more than pleased he needed his father.

  Richard sank into the windowseat and lay back, settling William on his chest. Within minutes, the baby fell asleep, his thumb in his mouth while Richard rubbed his back.

  “You are right,” Gwen said. “I have spoiled him. I do not know how to say him nay.”

  Richard took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “I am no better. I have no right to judge you when I’ve not been here very long.”

  Gwen dropped to her knees and cupped his cheek. “Nay! You have every right. He is your son, too. ’Tis not your fault you were not here.”

  He looked at the baby on his chest, then back to her. “I have to go to Shrewsbury, Gwen. Dafydd’s trial begins soon.”

  Gwen’s breath caught. They’d not spoken of Dafydd’s capture, the Welsh defeat, her father’s death, the future of Wales—nothing. She had not wanted to let it intrude on their lives yet and she sensed he did not either, so she’d not asked any questions.

  “When?”

  “The end of the week.”

  She stared at William’s face, so much like his father’s. “How long this time?”

  “Not very long. A fortnight mayhap. No more than a month, surely.”

  “Oh.”

  He stood very carefully. William shifted, but didn’t wake. “Come. Let us put him in his cradle.”

  Gwen followed him to their adjoining chamber. He put William down and covered him. Gwen stood beside him and they watched the child they had made together sleep.

  At last, Richard pulled her into his arms. She didn’t hesitate when he kissed her, and she was used to his urgency by now as he started to undress her. It was an urgency she still felt as well.

  There was no room for words as they fell to the bed. To keep from waking the baby, he covered her mouth with his. Gwen couldn’t get enough of him. She bucked against him, her own pleasure strangely elusive for once.

  He stilled. As he began to understand, a slow smile curved his lips. “I know what you need, cariad,” he whispered. He pulled her legs up and rested her calves against his shoulders. When he thrust into her again, he was so deep, so hard, stretching her almost to breaking.

  It was exactly what she wanted. He joined his mouth to hers again, his tongue imitating his body, until she was completely mindless.

  Later, when she was so sated she could hardly move, she heard him get up to check on William. He crawled back in bed beside her, and she pushed herself off her stomach to lie against his side.

  “What will they do to Dafydd?”

  “He will hang, more than likely.”

  She bit her lip, not wanting to ask the next question, but needing to all the same. “What of William?”

  He stiffened. “Gwen, do not begin this nonsense about him being the Prince of Wales. ’Tis impossible.”

  Gwen fumed. How dare he dismiss everything Welsh as unimportant! “He will be prince. My father wanted it!”

  Richard gripped her arms and pushed her up until they were both sitting. “Nay! He will not, Gwen! He is my son, he will be earl in my place.”

  “You are hurting me.”

  His grip eased, his expression softening. “You have to understand, sweet. Edward is the king of England and Wales. There will be no more princes. I am sorry, but ’tis true.”

  Gwen shrugged away from him. “You are Welsh. How can you allow your son’s birthright to be taken from him? You and the king are friends. He would do it if you asked him. It was one of the conditions of our marriage.”

  “That was before your father rebelled,” he said evenly. “And I am not Welsh. I am an Englishman, and so is our son. That is the end of this discussion.”

  Gwen gritted her teeth. She wanted to rail at him, but she knew he meant it when he said it was over. Stubborn swine!

  She left the bed and yanked her clothes on. When she went to the cradle, William’s eyes were open. He smiled when he saw her, and her heart swelled with love. She picked him up, cooing as he hugged her. She only wanted to protect him, wanted him to have all that was his.

  Her anger dissipated the longer she held him. It was ironic really. She had once thought Richard coveted Wales for their unborn son, but now she was the one who was letting it come between them. And what had being prince ever brought her father?

  Grief, strife, and death.

  She thought of London, of the grand city with its amazing sights, of London Bridge and the heads rotting over its gates, of the Tower where her father’s head now reigned supreme over the walls.

  She squeezed William tighter. Nay, she did not want him to have it, not any of it. England had won and life for Wales would never be the same again. King Edward’s new castles would ensure domination and his laws would ensure assimilation. It was over.

  A sob escaped her, and she pressed her face to William’s neck.

  “Cariad,” Richard whispered, his hands soft on her shoulders as he turned her to face him. She hadn’t even heard him get up.

  “You are right,” she said, looking from him to William through a misty veil. “He will not be the prince of Wales, he will not follow in my father’s footsteps. ’Tis over, ’tis lost . . .”

  “I am sorry, Gwen. In time, you will see ’tis best this way,” he said, hugging both her and William.

  She smoothed her free hand over Richard’s bare chest. He rested his chin on top of her head. “Shrewsbury is but a day’s ride. Would you like to come with me?”

  Gwen tilted her head back. “And William too?”

  Richard smiled then. “Aye, William too. I do not wish to be parted from either of you.”

  42

  Shrewsbury was thronged with visitors from all over England and Wales, and some from as far off as Scotland. Traveling merchants crowded the town square, competing with the permanent tradesmen whose shops lined the streets.

  Vendors sold meat pies and ale, wine from Gascony and Normandy, Welsh sweet mead, and baked confections sweetened with honey.

  Minstrels and jongleurs performed on street corners while musicians set up wherever they pleased, entertaining th
e crowds with their lively tunes.

  Wedding or treason trial, Shrewsbury came alive much the same.

  When the crier ascended the steps to the platform, the crowd jostled in to hear the verdict. Dressed in a surcoat displaying the king’s coat of arms, he unrolled a parchment and read to the mesmerized gathering, his voice booming despite his small stature.

  “For treachery to His Majesty King Edward, Dafydd ap Gruffydd is sentenced to be dragged by his heels to the gallows.”

  The crowd murmured their approval. Heads nodded and hands cupped the ears of the persons standing next to them.

  The crier drew in his breath. “For the willful murder of English citizens, he is to be hanged. For shedding blood during Passion Week, he is to be cut down before he is dead and disembowelled.”

  Cheers burst forth in riotous harmony.

  “For plotting the king’s death by war, his body will be quartered, with the parts being distributed to the cities of Winchester, Northampton, Chester, and York. Lastly, his head will join that of his brother over the Tower of London.”

  The resulting tumult was deafening.

  * * *

  Gwen sat in the window seat, gazing out at the town. She couldn’t hear Richard behind her, but she knew he was still there.

  “’Tis ridiculous,” she said softly. “I hate him, and yet I cannot like what will be done to him.”

  Dafydd did deserve everything he got. She hated him for betraying her father those many times, especially hated him for nearly taking Richard from her.

  But if Dafydd hadn’t told her the truth about her mother, she might never have reconciled with her father. She couldn’t help but wonder if, somewhere inside her uncle, there was something left that was good. Certes, his wife thought so.

  Gwen toyed with a golden girdle chain. “Did you see Lisbeth when ’twas announced?”

  “I did not see her until they carried her away.”

  Richard was watching her intently, his expression soft and full of concern. It was one of the things she loved most about this fierce warlord. Inside him was a softness only visible to her, a softness solely for her and their son.