His Captive Princess

by Sandra Jones

  He whipped around, scanning the polluted bailey. Of course, Eleri would be fighting with him, but since she wasn’t, that must mean—

  Another scream drew his attention away from the combatants to a point high in the air. On the side of the timber belfry, Eleri clung to the beams, while Prince Lew followed her several yards below.

  What in the name of Christ was she doing?

  “Dom,” he yelled at his brother, who presently held his booted foot against the throat of an attacker, “take charge of the men.”

  Without waiting for his brother’s response, he ran to the base of the belfry. When he arrived, he gazed up at the soles of the boots above him. Prince Lew, the bastard, was a dizzying three lengths away, creeping sideways across the beams for better footing. Eleri held fast directly above him.

  Bon sang! If he were a better archer, he’d aim at the damned youth, but with his poor fortune with arrows, he’d probably strike Eleri instead. So he grappled the boards, working his way skyward. Sweat beaded at his hairline at the thought of the height, and moisture drizzled down his face. Up and up he went, ignoring the sting of perspiration as it met his eyes, keeping his sights on his progress. His muscles bunched as he swung his legs up and over another board, and he concentrated on his inner strength as he strained—on Eleri, the woman he loved more than anything in the world. Higher and higher. He mirrored her movements now as she ascended to the highest level of the tower, picturing the way he’d seen Sayer managing the altitude despite his bulk, as he tried for the same actions.

  In two lunging moves, he caught up with the prince, grasping the youth’s calf as he hung perilously from a beam with one arm.

  “Warren!” Eleri cried. She extended her dagger threateningly down at the lad’s face.

  Lew grunted, kicking his leg. His expression purpled with rage. “Let go! You’ll not have Owain’s wife. I’ll see you both dead first.”

  Warren pulled against the young man, using all his brute strength to wrap the whelp’s leg around one of the supports. The prince squawked in pain, his ankle twisting. The beam beneath Warren’s weight suddenly groaned. With a loud snap the wood broke, splintering in half. Warren let go of his enemy, catching hold of the next beam down and saving himself from a fall to certain death.

  Eleri screamed his name again. He looked up to find her struggling with her brother-in-law, who now held her hem in his fist. Unable to take his eyes off his beloved, he clambered up to join them on the top platform, pulling himself up the railing.

  The princess flailed with her dagger at the prince, swatting him with the flat of the small blade as tears coursed down her cheeks. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will!”

  “I’ve no doubt of that. You’ve broken my heart already.” Lew staggered to his feet, freeing his weapon to parry against hers. “You’re worthless. Owain was like a father to me, a wonderful ruler, and this is how you honor his memory? Whoring with a Norman?”

  Warren dropped the bow and quiver and drew his own weapon. The hefty steel gripped comfortably in his hands. “My lady said she doesn’t want to fight you. But I do,” he growled at the prince’s back.

  Lew hobbled around, dragging his twisted ankle. “I will accept that challenge.” He sneered with a glint in his eyes.

  Lew was green and reckless, but Warren couldn’t lie to himself—the youth would be well trained to use the fine blade. The boards beneath their feet shivered as his opponent threw himself into the first strike.

  Swords clashed, steel singing as it grazed off steel. Lew moved away from Warren’s jabs, but after several measured strokes, Warren could read the patterns of his actions. Though he wished he had his shield, he soon had the young prince moving in circles, ducking more than striking, muttering agonized curses from the impact on his ankle.

  Movement from the corner of Warren’s eye caught his attention. Eleri had picked up his bow and aimed a notched arrow at the prince. She was a pagan princess worthy of legends with her bliaut flowing around her in the smoky breeze while her arms became an extension of the weapon itself, carved of flesh instead of sapling yew.

  “Put it down,” she ordered, voice low and lethal.

  Lew snarled at her, “Some shield maiden! Daughter of the ancient Aberffraw line? Ha! Think what your father will say when he hears you defended his enemy. I never felt worthy to wear my brother’s mantle until now, killing his foe.” He turned as he finished, lunging toward Warren.

  He struck a heavy blow at Warren, hurling into him, but Warren anticipated the move, blocking the swing and sidling against the barrier. The force twisted the boy’s damaged foot, and he fell forward with an oath. Eleri’s arrow hit his back squarely between his shoulder blades, the brunt sending him into the rail. The board cracked, breaking and spilling him over the side. He screamed as he fell—a sickening gut-wrenching call for help, answered only by the blessing of a quick death upon impact.

  Warren clutched at the splintered end of the loose rail as he lost balance, his stomach tumbling and his body sure to follow. But quick hands seized his tunic as Eleri dragged him against her, and he embraced her as they collapsed in a heap on the platform. Glancing out at the bailey, he found his brother leading the capture of the remaining attackers. With the last enemies imprisoned, everything was under control.

  Safe. The woman he loved. His family and friends. Everyone safe.

  She buried her face against his neck, her fingers still gripping the fabric of his raiments.

  He kissed the crown of her head and pushed the loose tendrils of her hair from her face as he tilted her chin to see her better. “Hush now. Don’t cry.” He kissed her forehead, her salty eyelids and her full lips. “You saved my life.”

  But tears filled his eyes too. Happy, relieved tears.

  “I can’t believe he could be so cruel. I should’ve known he’d meant to kill you from the first attack. How could I have not known his intentions?” She rubbed a tear away, staring up at him with eyes full of guilt and concern. “Gareth was his man and would never do anything on his own. He’s always been loyal to the Prince of Deheubarth.”

  “Mon amour, you were blinded by your feelings for your people, but that’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re a leader they can be proud of. You’re devoted and brave, fierce and caring.” He kissed her lips longer, caressing her face with gentle fingertips. His soul swelled with fierce emotion. “I love you, ma belle fée rouge. I will defend you with the last drop of my blood and my last breath.”

  She reached for him, pushing her hand into his hair at his nape, and brought his mouth to hers for a lasting, life-affirming kiss.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eleri tossed breadcrumbs across the pebbled beach. In moments, a trio of birds sailed in to collect the scattered remains of her breakfast. It was the last of the food they’d brought from the abbey, but she and Warren had been too busy making love that morning to finish eating. Besides, there would be plenty to eat when they reached her father’s keep…if, she prayed, her sire didn’t cast her away first.

  She felt Warren’s presence close behind her and smiled at the pleasant tingle of awareness that came along with it.

  He put his arm around her waist and pointed to the azure Snowdonia Mountains on the horizon. “I think we should climb one of those today.”

  She laughed and leaned closer to enjoy the woodsy scent of his neck. “Verily? They’re quite steep. Has my husband vanquished all his fear of heights?”

  He pulled away, sharing his scowl. “I climbed to the top of a tower for you and brought you down on my back. ’Twasn’t proof enough of my courage?”

  The memory of that tragic day gave her a sense of loss for Lew, though the jab of pain had dulled over the past two fortnights. Her grief was softened by the pleasure of traveling with Warren again, accompanied by her friends and his brother, and now she eagerly anticipated seeing her father for the first time si
nce their arrival in Gwynedd.

  And since her betrothal to a Norman.

  The breeze ruffled his hair. She turned in his arms and smoothed a stray lock back from his forehead.

  He caught her hand and brought it to his lips for a slow kiss. “I’m being serious. We could start with one of the smaller peaks. Of course, we’d avoid the streams.”

  Try as he might to distract her, he couldn’t hide the tightness around his eyes betraying his worry.

  She’d promised gladly when he’d asked—no visits to any waterside at night. She hadn’t called on Gwrach since before they’d wed. But meeting her family was unavoidable…and something Warren dreaded.

  He turned her back around, and his hands swept up her sides until they covered her breasts, fingers dancing over her aroused flesh.

  The hard length of him pressed against her backside, and she eagerly brushed against him. His groan sent heady pleasure through her. Soon, very soon, she would make him her captive again. Their new game, with bonds and a hood, had become their favorite, as they loved to play and tease each other’s bodies.

  She angled her neck, giving his mouth room to explore.

  Gwrach had never been wrong. She’d cried “my son,” for Lew, who had considered his older brother Owain like a father, and “my husband,” for Gareth, who had tried to kill Warren because Lew had threatened his wife. Nest had dispatched Lew’s advisor during the fray, relieving Eleri of the burden of deciding his punishment. Her friend had also shared with her Gareth’s dying words—his remorse and fears for his family’s safety.

  As for the white stag, mayhap the taboo she’d crossed had been marrying the son of her father’s former enemy. Or for killing Lew.

  She didn’t regret either.

  However, she was certain Warren had been right. Their lives and fate were their own to do whatever they desired. Her husband loved her as an equal—he’d said as much when he’d argued against Owain’s treatment of her—and she didn’t fear he would abandon her to go fight in a battle. If Mother Goddess granted them fertility, they would raise their children wisely, offering their greatest strengths, patience and love.

  She kissed Warren back, returning the ardent strokes of his tongue with her own, while her fingertips traced the rough edge of the familiar scar on his chest—the wound that nearly killed him and yet brought them together.

  When the kiss ended, she offered him warmth in her smile. “I’ll show you the entire principality, from these shores and forests to the ancient Druid stones on the island of my birth, Ynys Mons, but only after you meet Father.”

  He bit his lip in exaggerated consternation, then gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Je suis transparent? Are you for certes he will not set his army against me? We have brought only a conroi of men, Dom, and your guards. You’ve said yourself he won’t approve of our union. And Lord Vaughn is back in Deheubarth, regrouping his army, no doubt preparing for another revolt.” His arms stiffened, drawing her closer in his embrace as he continued to voice his concerns. “I am ready to defend either people, yours or mine, but if our visit begins a skirmish here…”

  “My lord.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gazed up at him and grinned as heat rekindled in his dark eyes. “Father might banish us from his castell or from Gwynedd altogether, but he would never risk harm to his heir.” They’d had this discussion before, and would probably have it many times over. They were both fighters, only now they fought on the same side.

  His mouth curved with boyish pleasure, melting her insides. He tugged her hips against him and kept her near with his hand over the small of her back. “Oui, you’ve begun another day without your courses.” His eyes crinkled with mischief as he lowered his mouth to her neck and murmured, “But before we leave here for Devon, we should keep trying. Just to be certain.”

  He dropped tiny kisses along her skin until he reached her collarbone. His rigid cock pressed against her stomach, demonstrating his sincerity.

  “Mmm…I agree.” Delicious quivers ran through her.

  Warren had told her before that Claire would enjoy having a niece or nephew, but Eleri looked forward to having time alone with her new sister in order to instruct her on how to use her first bow. Claire’s family was grateful she’d been rescued from marriage to Lew, but Eleri wanted the girl to be able to defend herself if she was ever in danger again.

  She caressed his strong arms, sliding her hands around his shoulders, loving his size and strength. If they had a babe, it would be a great warrior, who enjoyed training dogs like Warren, and her sire would surely approve—

  “Oh Goddess.” She pushed halfheartedly against his chest. “You have distracted me again. Let’s gather the others and make your introduction to Gruffydd.”

  Walking into the impressive, lime-washed hall of what had often been one of the kingdom’s greatest foreign enemies, Warren’s gut fluttered with anxiety for his wife. Eleri and her companions led the way toward the Gwynedd king’s throne in the midst of the room where armed guards, allies and a council crowded close to their liege, likely meaning to intimidate them. He touched the hilt of his sword in a timeworn habit, but when his wife glanced back and caught his action with a scowl, he dropped his hand away.

  Eleri had seen through his weak attempts to avoid paying respects to her father, but her vision was clouded with a daughterly love for her sire. She wasn’t aware of the harsh reality that some children of royalty faced: when the time came for the monarch to choose between country and family, the latter often lost.

  He knew the feeling of disappointing a parent with his mere existence, and he longed to protect her from it.

  “Eleri, welcome home.” The king’s eyes narrowed as he took in their group. A finely dressed woman stood at his side, watching the proceedings with a vacuous stare, and Warren could only presume this was the new queen, Betrys, whom the princess had told him about.

  At the beckoning wave of Gruffydd’s hand, Eleri went alone to sit at her father’s knee. Although he was white-headed now, the old man had probably once looked much like his daughter with fiery red locks. Warren prayed he didn’t have a matching temper. “Thank you for seeing me, Father. I return with a heart heavy with loss. Your ally, Prince Lew, has been slain…after he betrayed me and tried to kill me during treaty negotiations at Cardiff. Had it not been for Warren de Tracy—”

  The king lifted his gaze and found him. “By the saints! You’ve brought the Norman here? De Tracy was their commander against the Deheubarth forces. How could you forget what happened to Owain? How I’ve aided your husband’s people against the Normans in your honor?” The king summoned his guards with another wave. “This man is not our friend, Eleri. He is the enemy.”

  “But he saved my life”—Eleri broke off as three of the king’s men immediately moved toward Warren.

  He pushed past Sayer’s outstretched arm and stepped up beside Eleri. “Sire.” He bowed his head, then his words rushed out. “I must speak with you about your daughter. Prince Owain was a fool.”

  “Guards—”

  “No, Father!” Eleri clutched Warren’s arm. “Listen to what he has to say! Lew and Owain wished to incite rebellion, but Warren’s mission was always one of peace—through our union.”

  Rough hands pushed Eleri aside and grasped Warren’s arms. He planted his feet, refusing to budge. “Hear us out, Sire! Owain failed to protect the princess. He left her side. I would never! And he—”

  One of the soldiers produced a sword glancing with uncertainty between Warren and his liege.

  “Wait,” the king commanded. “Let the Norman continue. I want to hear the rest of his opinions of my daughter’s match.” He leaned against his armrest, rubbing a thoughtful finger across his lips.

  Held between Sayer and another man, Warren cast a warning glare around the circle. Let them try to subdue him.

  He took a steadying bre
ath before continuing, “I believe Prince Owain’s failing was that he didn’t appreciate his wife. Your daughter is a fierce, skillful warrior, and any soldier should be proud to have her at their side. Oui, I know a husband’s duty is to protect his woman, but where better to do that than with her right beside him? She’s as good as a man in combat. If she chose, I would take her into battle, keep her close, yet trust her to do what you—her father—have no doubt trained her to do.”

  He felt Eleri’s stare upon him, but he dared not look away from the king, who was now watching him without expression.

  “Aye, she is worthy of her ancestors.” Gruffydd’s gaze cut to his daughter and the first twinkle of appreciation appeared in his eyes. Queen Betrys leaned down, whispering in his ear. Then returning his attention to Warren, he gestured for the guards. “Let him go for now. I would have a word alone with him.”

  Warren watched apprehensively as Eleri caught his eye, shared a small smile, then slowly left her father’s side to wait with the others in the circle. Still unsure of the king’s intentions, his fingers itched for his weapon just in case they needed to flee quickly, but he forced his hand to relax.

  Once he stood alone by the royal couple, the king murmured, “My queen tells me there are rumors Warren de Tracy is the son of Henry Beauclerc.”

  “Oui. I have been told the same…by my mother.” A joke he seldom made, but the fact that Gruffydd voiced that particular question in private made him slightly more comfortable.

  Yet the two leaders were once bitter enemies. He prayed he hadn’t made a mistake in telling the truth.

  Gruffydd’s heavy eyebrows lifted with surprise. “But my advisors say ye defended the usurper’s strongholds. Are ye a supporter of Stephen’s?”

  Warren lifted his chin. Again he wondered whether to tell the truth or not. Shame washed over him that he couldn’t stand proudly before this throne and defend his oath of fealty. “I have followed Stephen’s bidding by fighting his battles, protecting his colonies, and now by wedding a princess of Deheubarth—though I was happy to wed such a wonderful woman. If that obedience makes me a supporter, then so be it. I have done so to protect my family. But my father declared his daughter Matilda as his rightful heir. She is also my family, so if there was any way—”