The Dark Knight's Captive Bride

by Natasha Wild

He felt strangely delirious at that moment. He grabbed a mug of ale off a serving wench’s tray and downed it. “Jesú, she has left me without even saying goodbye. I might have known…”

  He stared into the empty mug, not seeing anything through a misty haze.

  Edward pulled him into an alcove. “I am sorry, Richard. I had to do it. You would have fought me.”

  Richard shook his head. “Nay, I would not. If ’twere only my life involved, aye, I would have. But I would not endanger them.”

  “You saved me once. I am saving you now. You will understand it one day. ’Twill take time, but you will forget her.”

  Richard met Edward’s gaze then. The blue eyes were sad, sympathetic. “Could you forget Eleanor?”

  Edward inhaled sharply, then smiled. “Point taken.” He clasped Richard’s shoulder. “Come, let us get roaring drunk.”

  Richard dropped the empty mug. “Aye… aye, ‘tis nothing left to do.”

  But he found he couldn’t get drunk after all. The ale was bitter, the wine cloying, the mead thicker than honey. He merely sat, brooding into cup after cup of alcohol before he poured it onto the rushes.

  Red Gilbert stalked over, his face livid. “So, Dunsmore, you think to get out of it by shutting your Welsh whore of a wife away? Had enough of the pretty little piece, eh? Well, it will not work!”

  Richard stood, very, very slowly. He didn’t even bother drawing his sword, just leaped on Gilbert and wrapped his hands around the man’s neck. They fell to the floor. The crowd scattered, ladies shrieking and men shouting encouragement as they made room for the two earls.

  Richard overpowered Gloucester easily enough. Gloucester had grown fat and lazy over the years, and he was no match for the man who was only a few years younger than he.

  Richard straddled him, his hands still on Gilbert’s neck. “Do you have any idea how easy ’twould be for me to snap your neck, Gloucester?”

  Gilbert’s eyes widened.

  At this point, Richard fully intended on doing it. But first he wanted his victim to beg for mercy.

  Gilbert’s hands covered Richard’s, his voice barely audible as he mouthed the word, “Please.”

  “Please what? Please end it and put you out of your misery? Aye, Gilbert, ’twill be a pleasure,” Richard growled.

  “Let him up,” Edward said. Richard was prepared to ignore his king until he felt the cold steel against his ribs. His eyes traveled the length of the blade. Edward held the sword firmly and Richard knew he would not hesitate to use it.

  Richard let go and stood up. Gilbert climbed to his feet, choking and rubbing his throat.

  “You are a savage, Black Hawk! Your Welsh ancestry shows itself!” Gilbert spat.

  “Get the hell out of here!” Edward commanded him. “Get you back to Caerphilly castle before I decide to allow Dunsmore to kill you.”

  The earl of Gloucester stiffened his spine and walked proudly from the hall.

  “And you,” Edward said, turning his wrath on Richard. “Get back to Claiborne immediately. Do not leave again until I send for you.”

  Richard gave his king a curt half-bow, then spun on his heel and went the opposite direction as Gloucester.

  * * *

  Gwen’s heart quickened when she saw the crimson and black standard of the earl of Dunsmore in the bailey below. She pressed against the glass, trying to see through the rain-streaked pane.

  One glimpse. Please God, just one more glimpse of him.

  A groom led Sirocco toward the gathered knights. In answer to her prayer, a tall dark man strode over and mounted the stallion.

  Her stomach churned. She wanted to touch him, wanted to tell him she loved him one more time. She banged on the glass, though she knew he would never hear it in the noise of the courtyard.

  She gave up and pressed her palms flat against the window. He turned Sirocco, then stopped and let his gaze wander over the castle. Gwen pounded the glass again, hoping, praying he would see her.

  He turned away and signaled his men. They cantered through the bailey and out the gates.

  “God go with you,” she whispered against the cool pane.

  * * *

  Richard felt the ache all the way down to his soul. It was a bone-deep weariness that would never go away. He rode through the town without seeing the masses of people, without hearing the voices of hawkers and whores, without smelling the scents of unwashed bodies, baking bread, and roasting meat.

  He would never be the same again. He understood well the loss his father had suffered, the reason he had doted on his son so much. Jesú, Richard did not even have his son left to love.

  He caught sight of a girl with red hair and his pulse leaped. He spurred Sirocco forward. “Gwen!”

  The stallion navigated the mass of bodies deftly while Richard kept his eyes on the girl in front of him. Vaguely, he heard Andrew giving orders to the men to wait.

  “Gwen!”

  He caught up and reached for her. She whirled around, stumbling backward. People scattered.

  “M-m-milord?” she stammered, her brown eyes wide and fearful.

  Disappointment stabbed through Richard. He was imagining he saw her everywhere. The castle, here in town.

  “I-I didn’t do anything, milord. Please do not hurt us.”

  It was then he saw she clutched a babe to her breast.

  He reached into his belt and pulled out a gold coin, his mind no longer on the girl in front of him. “Here. Buy yourself something pretty.”

  She eyed the coin, hesitating. “I-I am not a whore, milord. You be a fine looking man, but I-I have a husband, and—”

  “Take it, woman. I do not wish to bed you.”

  She snatched the coin, clamped it between her teeth, then tucked it into the baby’s tunic. “Th-thank you, m-milord.”

  She still watched him like she expected him to grab her at any second.

  Richard waved his hand. “Off with you.”

  She scurried away, disappearing into the crowd. Richard sat there, staring after her for a long time. How could he have thought she was Gwen? Her hair wasn’t golden-red and silky; it was brassy and dull. Her figure wasn’t slender and curvy; it was plump and saggy.

  He raised his head and looked at the castle on top of the hill. He had married her here and lost her here. Was it any wonder he thought he saw her everywhere he looked?

  He turned Sirocco and rode back to his men. But he didn’t stop when he reached them. He kept going, toward Shrewsbury castle.

  “Milord?” Andrew called. “Where are ye going, milord?”

  “Back to the castle, Andrew.”

  His men fell in quietly behind him. Richard didn’t care what they thought. He could not leave this place just yet.

  * * *

  Gwen knew the king would come. Since Richard had ridden away, there was no further need for delay. Edward swept into the room, a formidable presence in his deep blue surcoat and gold-embroidered mantle.

  He was a king to inspire awe and admiration in the hearts of men. He was lean and tall, hard despite the temptations of fine food and drink. Gwen had oft heard him praised, even while he was being cursed, by her father’s warriors. ’Twas no wonder Richard valued his loyalty to this man so highly.

  William took one look at the king and started to cry. Gwen tried to soothe him, but he buried his face in her gown, sniffling and gulping.

  Edward grinned and put a hand over his heart. “Jesú, I’d say the little lad does not like me. Must be his Welsh blood coming out,” he teased.

  Gwen smiled in spite of herself. What she wanted to do was weep, but she’d already cried so much that she had nothing left to give.

  “Are you ready?” the king asked.

  “Aye,” Gwen replied, though in truth she would never be ready.

  A commotion in the passage brought Edward’s head around. Men shouted, followed by the unmistakable clashing of steel.

  “God’s teeth,” Edward swore, yanking the door open.

&
nbsp; Gwen heard him shouting, heard the answering voice.

  Richard.

  The battle sounds stopped. Fear closed her throat until she couldn’t utter a word. Had they killed him?

  The door opened again and Edward entered, followed by Richard. Her husband’s face was dark with anger, his eyes gleaming wildly.

  “You try my patience, Richard!” the king raged. “I should’ve let them carve you up.”

  Richard’s gaze locked with hers. “You should not have lied to me, Ned. I have a right to see them again.”

  “I will give you a few minutes, no more.” He motioned to Alys and the nurse, and the three of them slipped into the antechamber.

  William held out his arms for his father. Gwen let him go. Richard held him tight and kissed him, then buried his face against the baby’s neck.

  She stood there, waiting, wanting him to hold her as well. But then she realized he would not. She had betrayed him, agreed to the king’s plan, left him though she had promised never to do so again.

  “You are angry with me,” she said.

  “Yes… no.” He lifted his head. “I wanted to be, but I know you did it to protect me. I would have done the same to protect you and William.”

  Gwen went to him and laid her hand on his sleeve. “I did not want to do it, Richard. I only want to be with you. But if something happened to you, I—”

  He wrapped one strong arm around her and crushed her to him. She tilted her face up and he kissed her. Gwen savored it, knowing it was the last time she would ever taste his kiss.

  “I will miss you,” she said. “I will think of you and I will remember all we have shared. I can bear it, knowing I had your love for a little while.”

  “Gwen…”

  She stared at his chest, at the sight of her hands splayed across his surcoat. She would never touch him again. “Nay, let me finish. You must remarry, Richard.” Her voice broke, and she stopped until she could continue. “You must have children and raise them to be good Englishmen, to serve their king as loyally as you do.”

  “I will always love you, Gwen. I will never love another,” Richard said, his own voice near breaking.

  The door opened. Edward came in, followed by Queen Eleanor. Richard felt raw panic welling up inside him.

  “I am sorry, but your time is up,” Edward said.

  Eleanor rushed over to Gwen. “Oh, Gwenllian, I am so sorry. I did not know until just now.”

  “Thank you for your concern, Majesty,” Gwen replied. “You have always been kind to me, even when I was a hostage. I am grateful to you.”

  Eleanor squeezed her hand. Gwen reached for William. Richard held him tight, unwilling to let go. “Richard, please,” she said, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening. “Do not make it harder.”

  Richard caught her against him and kissed her. “I love you,” he said one last time, his throat tight.

  He kissed William’s brow, then let her take him.

  Tears slipped down her cheeks as their gazes held. Then she turned and walked to the door.

  Richard spun around, unable to watch her walk out of his life forever. And it would be forever. He was certain if she left now he would never see her again.

  He burned inside, burned in a way he’d never known was possible. Nothing held any importance to him anymore. Without her, he was nothing.

  “Wait,” he said.

  She stopped in the door. Edward turned.

  Richard crossed the room until he stood before his king. “I give it all up. All of it. The title, the castles, the fiefs I hold for you. Give me my wife and child and I will leave England and never return.”

  Edward’s jaw dropped. “I need you, Richard. Wales is unstable. And there is still Scotland and France to consider.”

  “Ned, if ever you valued me, if ever I have served you faithfully and loyally, you will grant me this one last thing.”

  “I cannot, Richard. You are valuable to me. I need you.”

  “Edward,” the Queen said, coming over to them. “You have dozens of warlords. You must grant Richard what he asks. If not for him, you might have been taken from me. I would not have wanted to live without you any more than he wants to live without his wife. ’Tis in your power to grant it, and you must.”

  Edward’s temper drained from him in stages. His jaw softened, his features relaxed, his stance became less threatening. “Very well, my love. I cannot deny you.” He sighed heavily. “If this is what you want, Richard, then ’tis yours.”

  Richard closed his eyes as relief flooded him. When he opened them again, Gwen watched him, her lip trembling, her eyes wide and brimming with tears.

  Eleanor grabbed her husband’s hand and pulled him out the door.

  “Are you certain, Richard?” Gwen asked. “Without your lands and title, you will have lost all you ever fought for, all your father left you.”

  William held out his arms. Richard took him and pressed his lips to his son’s cheek. William clutched Richard’s surcoat in his fists. “Da,” he said, smiling.

  Richard touched Gwen’s cheek, traced it with his finger. “You are all I need. We will go to Normandy first, I think. Then I will take you to Spain and mayhap Morocco. Italy too. And the Greek Isles. I have a fancy to see if your eyes really are the color of the water around Corfu.”

  Her expression remained wary. “You will not mind leaving England? You will not hate me for causing you this?”

  “For causing me what? For giving me love and teaching me there is more to life than honor and duty? For taking away all the blackness in my soul? For freeing me from the guilt and pain of my failures? Nay, Gwen—my life, my love—with you I have finally found what is right, finally succeeded. The rest means less than nothing to me.”

  “Oh, Richard.” She threw her arms around him then and he kissed her fiercely, kissed her until she was clinging to him, kissed her until she pulled away to catch her breath.

  “I am your husband and that is all I want to be.”

  He entwined his fingers with hers, kissed their son, then led her from Shrewsbury castle and into the world beyond.

  Epilogue

  May 1285

  Brindisi, Italy

  Gwen looked up as Richard walked down the beach. She stood in the surf with her skirts hiked to her knees, watching William as he kicked at the miniature waves.

  “Papa,” he said, running to his father. Richard scooped him up in a powerful arm and spun around while his son screamed with delight.

  Gwen smiled, her heart filling to bursting with the love she felt for her two men. Richard came to her, William still in his arms, and bent down to kiss her.

  “I’ve had a letter from Edward, cariad.”

  “What does he say?”

  “Eleanor has given him a son. He was born in Caernarvon castle a few months ago. Edward has made him prince of Wales.”

  Gwen bit her lip. “Oh,” she said, the old heartache resurfacing briefly. Her son should have been prince of Wales.

  But it was better this way. William would never have to struggle with England as her father had.

  “He wants me to come back, Gwen.”

  She stared up at him. “What do you want, Richard?”

  He cupped her cheek. “I want you. I don’t care where we are, I only want you.”

  He put William down and the little boy ran to where Alys and Owain sat on a blanket beneath a twisted olive tree. He handed the seashell he’d been clutching to his nine-month old sister, Katherine, and she giggled with delight.

  Richard clasped Gwen’s hand and pulled her down the beach with him. “Do not wait for us,” he called to Owain and Alys.

  Gwen knew where he was taking her. They had found a little cove, sheltered by outcroppings of volcanic rock, and shaded by gnarled olive trees and scrubby bushes.

  When they reached it, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her until she was breathless. “Richard, do you think ’tis fair to leave William and Katherine with Alys and Owain?”

>   His hand dipped beneath the hem of her gown. “Why not?”

  Gwen giggled. “You are so wicked.” She gasped as he found her. Closing her eyes, she said, “Mmm, they are newlyweds compared to us. We should watch the children while they play around.”

  He pressed her hand to the bulge beneath his tunic. “Think you we should go back now?” he asked, his lips nuzzling the hollow of her throat.

  “Mayhap in a little while,” she said.

  “Aye, I thought you might say that.” He unlaced her gown and pulled it over her head. “You really should not hold your skirts so high the next time.”

  “What?” she asked, distracted by his palms on her breasts.

  “When you were standing in the surf. You roused my lust with those pretty legs of yours. All I could imagine was having them wrapped around me.”

  He lowered her onto the pile of clothes he’d made, his hands and mouth working their magic on her quivering flesh.

  “You are turning brown, my love,” he said huskily.

  “’Tis because you are always undressing me outside. If I am not covered, my skin will darken like yours.”

  “Jesú, I thought you would never ask,” he said, covering her with his body.

  He brought her to ecstasy again and again, then they lay entwined while the hot Mediterranean sun filtered through the trees and caressed their bodies.

  “Do you want to go back to England? Back to Claiborne?” she asked finally. At the last, Edward had allowed Richard to keep all that was his. The king figured the furor would die down in a couple of years, and Richard and Gwen could return to England if they so chose.

  “Nay, I have not taken you to Corfu yet,” he said indignantly. “Claiborne can wait. Andrew is doing a good job as castellan.”

  Gwen laughed and pushed herself up. “Whatever happened to Black Hawk de Claiborne, the man who insisted on doing everything himself?”

  Richard grinned. “I hear some wanton wench addled his wits so much that all he wants to do is make love to her.”

  Gwen snatched a handful of sand and threw it at him, then sprinted for the water. She splashed into the blue-green Adriatic, screaming when she turned and saw Richard close behind.