His Captive Princess

by Sandra Jones

  He moved over her, his arousal heavy and straining against her leg. He took her nipple into his mouth through the fabric, swirling his tongue around the charged bud. Her freed hands sank into his hair as she bucked with want. “Warren, I had to do it,” she panted. Oh, sweet pleasure! “I had no choice.”

  He snorted, his hands tightening on her sides. “You’re not sorry at all for what you’ve done. Ah, but did you miss me? I think you did. Let’s see how much.”

  Before she could answer, his mouth claimed her other breast. He tugged her gown up until air splashed over her exposed lower half, making her yearn for him to cover her with his large warm body. Then he cupped her mound, and his fingers slipped over the slick folds. With a husky laugh of satisfaction, his breath rushed out across her as if what he found pleased him greatly. She tilted her hips, giving him further access.

  “Oui, Eleri. Your beautiful body cannot lie. You’re mine.”

  She grabbed his arms, meaning to push him away, but her rebellious core welcomed the inner stroke of his strong fingers. Round and round, he formed a skillful pattern, building pressure in her center. She ached for relief, clenching reflexively against him. His skin was hot to touch, his muscles like stony ridges. But his hand was gentle as he continued the sweet rhythm.

  She bit her lip as her hands moved higher, finding him bare-chested. Beneath her palms lay a warrior’s wall of sinew.

  She longed to see him. He was impossibly harder than she remembered. Her hands explored him, causing his nipples to pebble. He sucked air through his gritted teeth. Her touch recalled the smooth skin and coarse hair, each curve and angle, though it was like she’d never known him before. Every time was the first time with Warren.

  His flat stomach caved slightly just before her fingers met the waist of his breeches, and lower, she discovered the effect her exploration had on him.

  He gathered her hands in his and pulled her upright. She reached for him, pining for the return of his touch, but he slid a supporting arm around her shoulders. “Time for my captive to pay her penance.”

  He kissed her mouth, hard and demanding, taking her by storm, penetrating her defenses. His tongue swept inside her, seeking, then swirled around her—a dance of triumph, both arrogant and seductive. She responded greedily, taking each stroke as she opened for all he had to give. His palm cupped her head, his fingers moving in her hair, kissing her as if she alone could quench his thirst.

  After several moments, he broke away, allowing them both time to catch their breaths.

  Dizzy with need, her muddled thoughts finally comprehended his words.

  She shoved his shoulders with new anger, realizing his attentions weren’t out of caring, but an attempt to gain vengeance. He wanted to prove a point. To humiliate her the way she’d humiliated him. “I may be your captive, but I’ll never be your slave! I’ll not bend to your wishes.”

  He sighed raggedly. After a moment’s pause, he pulled the fabric from her eyes.

  She blinked, focusing in the brilliant afternoon light. Sitting before her on the bed, Warren turned away from her, but not before she saw the frustration and longing in his eyes. He sat utterly still, taut as a drawn bow—hers for the taking.

  The golden skin of his broad shoulders drew her perusal. Always a guilty pleasure, she allowed herself to appreciate him while he wasn’t looking, her gaze roaming over his sculpted chest until she caught the trace of his old arrow wound. It had healed so well, she only found it when she searched for the thin crooked scar.

  She then looked lower, making out the red track of a new wound still healing across his side. Her fingers touched the scar.

  “A close call. One of your Gwynedd warriors at Kidwelly.” His upper lip curled with contempt.

  She frowned, suddenly overcome with regret. He’d risked so much.

  He rolled off the bed abruptly. His hands slid under his waistline, slipping the garment off. The sight of his glorious, battle-hewn form made her mouth water, and when she tore her eyes off his physique, she found him watching her with rekindled fire. Her lustful gaze offered him all the invitation he needed.

  Glorious!

  She wriggled backward across the wide mattress, shaky with need as well as apprehension, her anger fading away. He was so agitated, so full of righteous venom, and yet tremendously aroused. No matter his mood or what he said, she did not fear him. Not for a moment. However, when he returned, he moved over her body, looking every bit the intimidating invader she’d been raised to elude. Her back hit the post of the bed frame. His strong arms braced the wall at her sides, blocking her escape. But at the moment she wouldn’t leave for any reason. She wanted this more than life—to have him in her arms again!

  Passion’s heat radiated from his flesh, making her want to join with him, though it reminded her of his burning temper.

  “You’ve always done as you pleased, Princess. I can’t change you, nor do I want to. You’re strong, a fighter. And I’ve never wanted another woman as I want you.” He took hold of her gown and pulled it over her head. Then his gaze feasted on her nakedness with savage hunger.

  She swallowed a whimper as his dark head descended. His tongue swept out across her peaked nipple, and she ran her hands through his lush hair. Aching, she wrapped her legs around him—so ready to join with him again. His fingers returned to dip between her legs, spreading her, probing the moisture, making her writhe against his touch. Oh, how she’d missed him!

  He lifted his head, staring into her eyes as if searching for something. Voice ragged, he said, “I told you I’m a possessive man, Eleri. I want to keep you, mount you, fill you, but even as I hold you like this…I am still your captive. Have mercy and tell me you’ll have me.”

  Excitement spread through her. “Aye, Warren.”

  His hands slid under her thighs as he dragged her beneath him, closing the space between their bodies. Then his mouth met hers again. He entered her, and her groan of satisfaction vibrated harmoniously with his in her chest.

  His thick cock went deeper as her body accepted him, quaking with the final appeasement of her cravings. Her fingers dug into his muscles as she pulled him into her. Their joining stirred her pulse to a frenzied tempo in her ears as they thrust. Evenly matched, they rocked together, taking and giving, higher and higher. His hand skimmed down her neck, across her chest, kneading her breasts as he kissed her mouth. Their bodies slowed and moved as one, fluid and graceful. He wrapped her in his embrace, cradling her against him as he buried himself inside her.

  He arched his back, becoming solid steel atop her as he gazed down at her with eyes full of unabashed need. Consumed with emotion for this man, she felt her insides quicken, yielding her entire spirit to their union until she shattered with a cry. His lips curved with a saucy gleam of victory in his gaze, and he came, groaning his release.

  When his seed was spent, he touched his forehead against hers, carefully cupping her face. Her eyes burned with tears from the rising feelings in her heart. Feelings that were new to her. She’d been married to a prince, a respected and powerful leader, but she knew nothing of love before Warren. And that was what this was, no matter what his feelings for her.

  He kissed her, the sweetest kiss she’d ever known, smoothing her hair away from her face. “Let me lie with you for a while, ma cœur. I don’t want to let go of you just yet.”

  She nodded, fearing her voice would break if she spoke.

  Neither of them slept, though they were still enough. She was content listening to the sound of his breathing while he held her close against his side. Her hand rested over his heart, as his fingertips swirled a pattern across her stomach.

  Their future together seemed cursed with impossibility—from the portents she’d heard, to his precarious position with his king—but the fact that he didn’t seem to hate her eased her troubles.

  Gong, gong. A bell rang somewhere outside h
er chamber window far below the lord’s keep.

  Warren froze, listening.

  There were men’s voices, too, but she couldn’t distinguish their words.

  He exhaled, scowling. “Bon sang.” Muttering, he eased up, sliding his arm from underneath her with care.

  “What is it?”

  “Just a moment.” He sauntered to the window with casual grace, and she admired his bare backside through languid eyes. Standing behind the window casing, he braced an arm over his head, staring out. “My brother has returned.”

  She glanced around their lovemaking nest. At least her prisoner’s bonds were forgotten for the moment. Determined to make the most of whatever freedom he offered, she dragged her sheet up around her and joined him to share the view.

  “Is that not good?”

  When she put her hand on his arm, he glanced down at her. His brow furrowed with worry as his unguarded gaze met hers, then up went the battlements. “It means our guests are here sooner than expected.”

  “Who?”

  Warren’s arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her to his side. He pointed out the window. Locked in his protective hold and clutching the sheet modestly over her chest, she peered down from what must’ve been one of the top stories of the keep. She’d only seen Cardiff Castle, a Norman-occupied fortress, from a distance. Then, it had swarmed with soldiers, knights and elegant ladies. The bailey below looked as busy as a beehive now with a small party of armored men leading their horses to the stables. Among them, Warren’s gruff brother bellowed in the ears of the men following him. His dark hair made him easy to identify even from this height. When he turned his head, she noted a dark smudge disfigured his cheek.

  “He’s bruised. What happened to him? Was there another incursion?”

  “Ah, no. ’Twas my… Never mind my brother!” he snapped, making her take a second glance at Domenic and the fresh mark that mirrored the injury she bore from her abduction.

  She hid a smile behind her hand.

  “Look there.” He squeezed her shoulder, clearly agitated as he pointed out a figure across the lawn. A petite raven-haired child fed a pony from her hand. As the soldiers passed by, she huddled closer to the animal, her wide eyes scanning the bailey with trepidation. “There is Prince Lew’s future bride.”

  Her mouth went dry. She turned to see the look in his tense face, and was reminded of how she felt when Owain had left her to fight in the first rebellion—leaving her with his people without asking if she would like to join him—or even without so much as a goodbye. She’d been hurt, later furious.

  She touched his chest with deep sympathy. “I know it’s no consolation, but my brother-in-law has always treated me with kindness.” She would have to try to talk Lew out of the arrangement later, but in the meantime, she wanted to offer Warren some hope to cling to.

  His lip curled with censure. “Her bridegroom would’ve been her choice had the king not wanted this pact with Deheubarth so badly. She’ll be no more than a slave now, expected to bear children…as soon as her body is able to make them.”

  He turned her around to face him. His thumbs kneaded against her skin while his eyes flashed with volatile emotion. “Claire loves to play.” He growled, “Do you think she’ll be able to play as a child anymore when she becomes his wife?”

  Fresh tears stung Eleri’s eyes for the little girl whose greatest sin in life was being the late king’s illegitimate daughter.

  “I saved your life, Warren.” She cupped his rough cheek, hoping to keep his attention long enough for him to listen and know she spoke the truth. “The assassins would’ve killed you when we left the abbey. We might’ve been able to protect you if Nest had returned soon enough, but then Vaughn arrived. And he wanted—”

  “No more, Eleri!” Warren tilted his head back, glaring at her. “I never want to hear his name again. That night is etched in my memory forever.” His hands slid from her shoulders to behind her neck, idly stroking her nape, his fingers threading into her hair. She shuddered from the contact, and he took a step closer. She sensed the tremor of indignation running through his muscles, barely restrained. “You watched me, knowing I was looking for you! After I’d told you, begged you for death rather than to be returned—because I knew it would ruin my family—and what did you do? You went to a man you said you hated. You asked for his help, then betrayed me to my fate.”

  Her heart wrenched for him. “I can’t deny it. I did all those things.” She looked up at him in challenge. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Fire sparked in the irises of his eyes, and he cast a furious grin. “At the moment? Nothing. Wait for your brother-in-law to arrive for the wedding. Mayhap make a trade if he’s interested.”

  He pulled away from her and treaded back into the room, collecting his clothes.

  He would hand her over to Lew? Good. It might help his little sister. Politically, it wasn’t a wise compromise for either country. The prince would want Eleri back, of course, if not for their friendship or a sense of duty he owed his brother, for the fact that he depended upon her for her connection to the Otherworld. But she had no real worth in Deheubarth now that Owain was dead. She was naught to them, and they would respect Lew even less for declining such an advantageous match.

  Yet Warren had made love to her, made her feel as if her feelings for him were returned—despite everything that she’d done. He’d used those feelings to get the response he wanted, to use her body to satisfy his pride and need for retribution. And all the while he’d been planning to discard her like a piece of livestock. The crushing blow of Warren’s plan was that not only was she a captive and a slave in his bed, but she was also, apparently, expendable.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Warren watched Eleri admiring the elaborate green court dress which Gwen had laced tightly onto her body. Embroidered gold orfrois bands of silk decorated its long sleeves as well as the belt slung low across her hips. A matching golden circlet rested on her head.

  He’d brought her the latest Norman court fashions, partially out of necessity to introduce her to his people, but mainly out of his desire to make amends. He’d even gifted her with an elegant new dagger in an effort to prove his trust in her. After three days of keeping her confined to his chamber to assuage his wounded ego, she deserved to be treated far better, like the princess she was.

  She’d been withdrawn after his announcement he was trading her to the Deheubarth. A taste of her own medicine, he’d originally thought. But his threat probably hurt him worse than it did her. Seeing her sad and angry made him feel like horse dung.

  Tonight he would make up for it, escorting her to dinner in the great hall to finally meet his family. When he’d invited her, her expression had brightened like the desert sun. He hadn’t the heart to tell her the good news yet that Prince Lew would also be joining them and that her brother-in-law would expect to be allowed to see her.

  He wanted to keep her joy for himself alone.

  Jealous? Oui, he supposed he was. But he liked to be the cause of her happiness. Despite everything that had befallen him since their first meeting, he still wanted no other woman as much as he wanted Eleri. If she would forgive him of his weakness, his possessive nature, he would do anything to keep her affection. Even if it meant letting her go, but on her own terms. Not his.

  “Turn,” he commanded, leaning forward in his chair. He pretended to make a critical study of her, though watching her groom and dress her body was pure wicked fun.

  Gwen moved aside, giving Eleri ample room to follow his orders.

  The princess frowned, twining one of her braids around her finger, stroking the soft ribbon threading her hair. “When you said you were going to treat me exactly the same as I treated you, you weren’t jesting. I’m surprised you haven’t made me sleep in the stables.”

  Gwen smothered a laugh under her hand, pretending to ignor
e them as she collected the laundry. They had been tossing banter back and forth for nearly an hour while the maid worked. Half-serious, half-teasing. Completely enamored of each other.

  Eleri had to sense he didn’t wish to let her go. Although they’d mentioned nothing more about the trade, each of their meetings stirred intense emotions. First, her resentment had caused her to lash out. They’d tussled, ending with her on top of him, each taking their frustration out on the other’s clothing as they tore through the layers. Then she’d claimed him physically, joining with him until they’d both collapsed, her fury and passion spent. Following that, they’d made love again and again, saying nothing of what would become of them. Her silence on the subject was slowly eating away at his heart.

  She might’ve already resolved herself to leaving him for good.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m trying to make you presentable for my mother and sister. You may remove the trappings tonight after dinner. Or mayhap”—he rubbed his chin as a smile tugged his lips—“I’ll remove them for you. In the stables, you say? Sounds intriguing…”

  Eleri turned as red as her hair. “My lord!” she gasped, planting her hands on her hips. When she tilted her head back and stuck out her tongue at him, her headpiece slipped off her hair.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as more blood surged to his privates. Their games made his erection more painful by the moment. It was times like these, when they were alone, she would grapple with him until they fell upon the bed, chests heaving, mouths clashing and hands tunneling under each other’s clothing.

  Gwen bent to pick up the circlet, speaking Welsh. “If I may say so, Princess, the young lady will like you regardless of what you wear.”

  Eleri smiled her thanks when the maid straightened and handed her the ornament. Despite everything Warren had done in retaliation and later regretted, he’d been pleased with the local woman he’d brought into the castle for her.