The Dark Knight's Captive Bride

by Natasha Wild

  Owain translated. Oliver paled, his gaze flickering over her doubtfully. Gwen brushed her hair from her face in a pretty gesture, studying the far wall with interest.

  Oliver wiped his hands on his tunic before speaking. Owain turned to her, barely able to contain his smile. “He asks the countess to please reconsider dismissing him and says he will serve her well and faithfully.”

  Gwen toyed with her girdle chain. “Very well. Tell him he may stay. From now on, the menu is to be discussed with me.”

  Oliver bowed when Owain finished translating. Gwen took a quick inventory of the kitchen. She instructed Oliver to prepare lighter fare in the morning, followed by a large mid-day meal, and ending with a light supper.

  By the time she and Owain departed, Oliver seemed more than eager to bake confections and roast tender gamebirds for her pleasure, though he grumbled under his breath the entire time.

  Gwen smiled to herself. Elinor would be proud.

  When they reached the solar, Owain was beaming at her. “Is there anything else I can do for you, milady?”

  Gwen pushed a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Yes, Owain. You can teach me how to speak English. I can’t have you translating for the rest of my life.”

  “’Twill be my pleasure.”

  “We will start tomorrow then. I am too tired for much else today.” Judging by the shadows creeping across the room, it was almost dusk. Gwen realized she was exhausted. She’d had no idea her first day at Claiborne would take so much out of her. Damn Richard! She would succeed in spite of him. “I think I will retire now, Owain.”

  “Shall I send a tray to your chamber?”

  “Aye.” Gwen turned to go, then stopped. “Thank you, Owain. For everything.”

  He smiled in answer.

  Later, Gwen lay in bed and thought of the day behind her. Thank God Owain had not balked at her orders, or she would never have gotten as far as she had.

  Tomorrow promised to be just as interesting. There were still the outbuildings to be toured, and mayhap the village, and then…

  She was asleep before she could complete the thought. Alys pulled the hangings shut and retreated to her pallet.

  * * *

  The knights set up camp once the shadows of night darkened the sky. They’d found a set of prints at Llanwell cave and had followed the trail all day without rest.

  Andrew walked over to where Richard sat against a tree. “’Tis odd is it not, milord?”

  “Aye,” Richard said, lifting his flask to his lips. He took a long drink of the bitter ale, then wiped his mouth across his mantle.

  “Welshmen usually head straight for the mountains. Do ye think they mean to lead us astray, then double back?”

  Richard shook his head. “’Tis not like a Welshman to go so deep into England.”

  “Ye mean to say ye thinks they’re English? What of the weapon?”

  “Edward is having English archers trained to use the longbow. ’Tis more effective than our crossbow and if ever Llywelyn tries to rebel again, he’ll get his own weapon used against him.”

  Andrew looked thoughtful. “Well if they weren’t Welsh, why’d they attack us, I wonder.”

  Richard had been thinking about that too. “I’m certain ’tis the same brigands who have been robbing travelers on the road to Chester. They must have been using Llanwell cave as a hideout and were probably taken by surprise to find us there. I don’t think they planned the attack. They retreated too quickly once they found out they were outnumbered. Welshmen would have fought harder.”

  Andrew nodded. “Aye, yer right about that. The Welsh don’t give up so easily.”

  The men took turns at watch during the night. Richard rose sometime after midnight to take his turn. He leaned against a tree to rest the weight of his mailed body.

  Against his will, he thought of Gwen. Richard was not at all accustomed to allowing a woman to dominate his thoughts, but he couldn’t seem to get this one out of his mind.

  God how beautiful she had become! If anything, her hair was more glorious, her eyes more breathtaking, her body more desirable than ever before. He knew an overwhelming urge to possess her, to mark her as his woman forever. He thought of Rhys ap Gawain and the urge became even stronger.

  Rhys loved her. It was obvious from the way he looked at her. Did Gwen love him too? Richard was certain she did. It didn’t matter though. She was his. She was going to sleep in his bed, bear his children, keep him company on cold winter days. Him, and no one else.

  A sudden thought struck Richard—there were many ways to make love to a woman and not all of them involved penetration. He was amazed it had never occurred to him before now.

  He slammed an iron-clad fist into his hand. The mail chinked dully. By God, she’d not deny him again! ’Twas no wonder she’d responded to his foreplay. She was accustomed to being touched that way, just not to the sex act itself. Richard knew a murderous desire to castrate Rhys ap Gawain.

  Slowly, the red mist of rage lifted. What did it matter if she were experienced in other ways? Her virginity was intact so she could not be carrying her lover’s bastard. Surely that was all that mattered.

  Richard breathed out between clenched teeth. Seduction was still the best course of action. He would use her body’s response against her until she was too blinded by passion to say no. He vowed he would have her as soon as he returned to Claiborne castle.

  18

  It was more than a fortnight since Richard had gone. Gwen stared out one of the large windows in his chamber. Their chamber.

  A light blanket of snow covered the valley below. The River Dee cut through the white landscape like a knife. Jagged mountain peaks rose beyond the valley. Owain had told her that the highest and furthest was Snowdon.

  Every day she looked for it, and every day she was thwarted by the steamy clouds clinging to the mountain range. She sighed and turned away.

  Alys sat beside the fire, humming a melody while she sewed. Gwen’s gaze drifted to the huge bed.

  She’d come to think sleeping in it was torture. The covers, the pillows, the sheets—they all smelled of Richard. It was like lying in his embrace, and yet it was not.

  “I am going for a walk, Alys,” she said, sweeping on a heavy velvet mantle lined with white ermine.

  Alys looked up from her sewing. “Is aught amiss?”

  Gwen shook her head. “I just need to get out of this room ’tis all.”

  “He will return safely.”

  Gwen swallowed. “I was not thinking of my husband, Alys.” In truth, she had thought of nothing else for days.

  Alys shrugged and bent her head over her sewing. Gwen hurried for the door.

  Claiborne castle was huge. Gwen wandered with no real destination, moving from room to room in silence. Servants bowed or curtsied when she passed. She smiled her acknowledgment.

  Without thought, she trailed her hand along tabletops and woodwork, searching for a trace of dust. There was none, and that pleased her.

  Gwen scanned the faces of the chambermaids and serving wenches she passed, wondering which of them Richard had spent the night with before he’d left.

  It didn’t matter. His attempt to belittle her with his servants had not worked, thanks to Owain’s cooperation. She’d had to suppress a desire to be harder on the women, certain all their chattering in a language she couldn’t comprehend was about her. Even if it was, they still obeyed her orders.

  There had been a few problems at first. Servants who were asked to do things they’d probably never done before complained bitterly. One woman refused outright to scrub the smoke from the walls. She’d been sent packing only to return the next day humble and ready to work.

  Rushes crackled under Gwen’s feet as she walked, the scent of marjoram and roses rising from them. Some of the smaller rooms were carpeted in the same manner as Richard’s chamber. The carpets had been dragged outside and beaten until not a pouf of dust came from them. The wainscoted walls shone with fresh paint. So
me were white, others green, some gold.

  In the Great Hall, a mural of Richard’s coat of arms commanded the wall behind the dais. Now that it was washed, the colors leapt out and made the hawk seem alive somehow.

  As far as Gwen was concerned, they could have left it dulled by smoke.

  The hall was orderly these days too. The knights had rebelled at first. Gwen had had to threaten them in the same manner as she’d threatened Oliver. For them, she’d worn silk and velvet and made sure it was tightly laced.

  The humor of it hadn’t escaped her. A virgin pretending to be a siren. Just keeping her color down while she’d strutted in front of them and spoken of Richard’s devotion to her had taken all of her willpower. Owain had not needed to translate for them because the knights spoke French as well as English. It had been satisfying to finally be able to speak for herself.

  She stopped at the passage leading to the women’s quarters. She’d considered taking a room there, but the idea of leaving Richard’s chamber had disturbed her for some reason. His bed might be torture, but she didn’t want to give up the feeling of being with him. It was ridiculous, but she actually felt safe in his room. Safe in Black Hawk’s lair.

  What had Elizabeth felt when she lived here? Gwen chewed her lip. She wanted to ask Owain about Richard’s first wife, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Owain was close to his lord. He would likely tell Richard all she’d said and done since he’d left anyway. Having Richard know she’d asked about Elizabeth was too much.

  Gwen turned away from the passage. It was a good thing Owain had not suspected her true purpose when she’d insisted on touring every last inch of the castle. She’d searched all the rooms for a sign of a kept woman. If Richard had a leman, she wasn’t at Claiborne.

  She thought of Anne again. Ashford Hall was less than a day’s ride away. Richard could come and go with ease if he so desired. Mayhap that was where he was now. He’d probably caught the Welshmen the first day out and was avoiding his wife.

  Gwen was fuming by the time she found Owain in the Lesser Hall. His face lit up when she approached. “How are you today, milady?”

  “Very well, thank you,” she replied stiffly. Owain frowned. Gwen’s anger crumbled. “I’m sorry, Owain. Mayhap I am feeling a bit restless.”

  She took a seat and studied the bright walls with satisfaction.

  Owain followed her gaze. “’Tis as grand as ever it was when Lord de Claiborne’s mother was alive. You’ve done an admirable job.”

  Gwen smiled. Owain had told her about Richard’s mother and how the castle had flourished in her day. “Do you think so?”

  “Aye.”

  She twisted a curl around her finger. “’Tis a grand castle. And big.” It was strange, but she’d come to appreciate Claiborne castle. It had a wild, untameable quality about it that reminded her of its lord.

  Owain nodded. “Aye, ’tis. King Edward’s master builder Sir James added onto it a few years ago. Refortified it and enlarged the rooms. ’Tis more grand and fearsome than ever it was in milord’s father’s day.”

  “’Tis hard to believe you’ve been here that long.”

  “Aye, ’tis for me sometimes, too. But I served William de Claiborne since before Lord Richard was born. Richard is eight and twenty and I was here two years before that.”

  “What clan do you come from?”

  “I am from Gwent, Lady, in the Black Mountains.”

  Gwen nodded. “I thought you spoke the south.”

  Owain smiled. “After all these years ’tis still obvious?”

  “Aye.” She toyed with one of the golden chains hanging from her girdle. “Owain?” He waited, his eyebrows raised. “I…I was wondering why you continue to serve him. He is an enemy of our people.”

  “He does what he must to serve his lord, the king. His father would have done the same had it been commanded of him.”

  “But you are Welsh! Does it not bother you?”

  He took her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Some ties are stronger than others, Lady.”

  Gwen cleared her throat. “What was he like? I mean when he was a little boy?”

  Owain sat in a chair opposite her. His mouth curved in a smile that was oddly like Richard’s. “Much the same as now. Stubborn, headstrong. Once when he was four, his mother told him he could not go with his father into the borderlands. Do you think he cried? Nay, he snuck into the stable and would have been out the gates if he could have reached the horse’s back. He came to me to ask for help and I had to talk him out of it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell his mother?”

  Owain chuckled. “I would’ve eventually, but it was easier to talk him out of it first. Even as a boy, he had a damnable amount of pride. Probably would have never forgiven me if I’d hauled him to his mother.”

  “How did you manage it?”

  “It wasn’t easy. I had to promise to sneak sweets from the kitchen and be his target for sword practice. Thank God his sword was only a stick!”

  Gwen laughed. She tried to picture Richard as he was then. She could not. He was too dangerous, too forbidding, to ever imagine him as a little boy.

  “Did you teach him to speak Welsh, too?”

  “Aye. He has always been good with languages. He learned very quickly.” Owain shot her a calculating glance. “Mayhap he can teach you English better than I… if the two of you find the time.”

  Gwen blushed. Owain had been present for every lecture she’d given about how Richard was besotted with her. A sudden thought struck her. What if he did tell Richard the things she had said? Richard would probably laugh and denounce her in front of everyone.

  “Is he usually gone for so long?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “’Tis never the same, milady. Sometimes days, sometimes weeks.”

  Gwen almost dreaded his return. When Richard was back, he would be the lord and master of Claiborne castle. He might not let her make decisions or continue doing things the way she had been.

  She twisted the chain furiously. Damn if she would give up without a fight! She felt useful, needed, and she would not let him take it away.

  After she checked on the progression of the afternoon tasks, she returned to the master chamber. The windows drew her, as always, and she pressed her hands to the thick glass.

  Snow whispered past to cover the ground below. She tried to make out the individual patterns of the white flakes as they fell. Eventually, her eyes registered movement far off in the valley.

  What shepherd would have his sheep out in this weather?

  She pressed her nose to the glass, then wiped impatiently at the steam that sprang up. She hurried to the next window, and the next, each one steaming in turn.

  She wiped the window with her sleeve and peered into the valley again. Horses. Knights. The crimson and black banner of the lord of Claiborne castle.

  “Richard,” she whispered, pressing her fingers to the glass. She turned from the window and ran to the door. There were a million things to do.

  * * *

  “Rub him down good and walk him until he’s cool, Edwin,” Richard said, handing over Sirocco’s reins.

  “Aye, milord,” Edwin replied. He led the sweating stallion toward the stable, petting his nose and talking softly.

  “Are ye ready for a pint o’ ale, milord?” Andrew asked, drawing alongside him.

  Richard smiled. “Among other things.”

  The two men trudged across the bailey together. “Aye, I reckon ye can’t wait to see that dainty wife o’ yours. I intend to find me a bit of womanly company too. Christ, ’twas some hard ride!”

  “Aye,” Richard said. He stifled a yawn as he and Andrew climbed the stairs of the forebuilding. He stumbled as they entered the hall and Andrew reached out to steady him.

  “Mayhap ye should skip the wooing and go straight to sleep, milord. Ye should ha’ stayed in Shrewsbury for a night or two.”

  Richard looked at his captain’s bloodshot eyes. “Mayha
p we should both skip the wooing til we’re better rested.”

  Andrew grinned. “I’m not so tired I can’t lay on my back and let some wanton female take advantage of me.”

  Richard’s smile faded as he let his gaze wander over the hall. “My God…”

  Owain came up to him. “Milord,” he said, bowing. His tunic was spotless with not a wrinkle to be found.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  Owain grinned. Andrew’s jaw hung open. Richard walked into the hall and stopped. He turned around slowly. The walls had actually been whitewashed! The tables were draped in white linen and the men seated at them talked quietly.

  The serving wenches were laced up to their necks. One of the knights laid a familiar hand on a wench’s bottom. Richard gaped as she slapped him and stormed away.

  And where were the hounds?

  He stared at the mural. Jesú, he didn’t remember it being so bright, even when his father had had it painted. The little wench had turned his castle on its head!

  Owain came up beside him. “Your countess has made some changes.”

  “I can see that,” Richard growled. His head was spinning. The changes weren’t bad, just shocking for a man who was used to routine. How in the hell had she managed it? And, better yet, where was she? Why wasn’t she waiting for him? Surely she’d known he was coming. The whole damn castle knew he was here before he’d even ridden through the town gates.

  “Your wife awaits you in your chamber, milord,” Owain said, as if discerning his thoughts.

  Richard felt a tension he’d not even known was there drain from his body. “Send food and bathwater.”

  Owain’s smile broadened. “She has already ordered them for you.”

  Richard brushed past him and headed for the stairs at the other end of the hall. Tired as he was, the muscles in his groin tightened. He clamped down on his desire. He was too weary for seduction and she would not come willingly.

  He hurried to his chamber and flung open the door. Gwen whirled to face him, her hair swirling around her like liquid fire. Richard stared. Why had he ever wanted to make her wear a wimple?