The Dark Knight's Captive Bride

by Natasha Wild

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s go for a ride. Sirocco needs to stretch his legs a bit.”

  “Yes, I’d like that,” she replied.

  She was surprised when he began to saddle the stallion. She’d thought an earl would call a groom for such menial tasks, but then she realized Richard was a warrior, a man very capable of looking after himself.

  “I can saddle my own horse, too,” she said.

  He put his hands on his hips. “Princesses don’t know how to saddle horses.”

  “This one does,” she said smugly.

  She retrieved a saddle, struggling to hold the leather frame. It was too heavy, so she dropped it and started to drag it toward her horse. Richard laughed and picked it up with one hand.

  “Nay, woman, I’ll do it. What kind of a husband would I be if I let you do it yourself?”

  “I really can,” she grumbled.

  “Fine. I’ll set it on your palfrey’s back and you can do the rest. Agreed?”

  Gwen returned his smile. Sweet Lord, he was too beautiful when he smiled like that. “Aye, Richard.”

  He settled the saddle in place and stepped back. “How long have you had this mare?” he asked, patting the horse’s neck.

  “Since I was five, I think.”

  “Mmm, almost fifteen years. How old was she then?”

  Gwen stopped in the middle of tightening the girth. “I don’t know. I’ve always had Gwynt. I never stopped to think how old she might be.”

  Richard was smiling. “Gwynt?”

  Gwen’s face grew hot. She turned away and tugged the strap. “Aye. When my father gave her to me, he let me name her, so I chose Wind. I know she does not look like much, but to a five year old she was fast.”

  “Aye, I know. I named my first horse Gwynt.”

  Gwen turned. “You did?”

  Richard nodded. “Aye.” He checked the cinch while she slipped the bridle in place. “Jesú, ’tis tight enough!”

  “Of course it’s tight! There’s a trick to it, you know.”

  “Indeed?” Richard asked, barely containing his smile. He knew there was a trick to ensuring a saddle was tight, but he’d have never thought this slight wife of his would know it.

  She waved her hand airily. “Oh of course. You bring your knee up and nudge the horse’s belly just enough to get him to let out his breath. Then you pull the strap tight.”

  “I shall remember it,” he replied. It was worth pretending ignorance when she turned her smile on him.

  They led the horses into the bailey and he hoisted her into the saddle. Taking a small escort of men, they rode through the town and into the valley. Crisp snow crunched beneath the horses’ hooves, the air filling with snorts and the jingling of reins as the animals tossed their heads.

  Richard rode beside his wife while the men hung back far enough to give them privacy. He told her how the valley would look in the spring, pointed at a place where wild roses grew in profusion.

  He didn’t tell her those wild roses had reminded him of her, that for four years he’d ridden out here and walked through the perfumed air, thinking of the Welsh girl he couldn’t forget.

  His gaze kept straying to her face. She already seemed to love this valley almost as much as he did. Her enthusiasm was genuine and that pleased him immensely.

  They brought their horses to a halt on a rise overlooking the river. Her breath caught as she gazed at the rippling sheet of pristine snow stretching before them.

  “’Tis beautiful, simply beautiful,” she said.

  “Aye,” Richard agreed. But he wasn’t looking at the river below, or the naked trees encased in crystal ice, or the endless sea of white undulating across the hills.

  He tapped Sirocco with his heel and the well-trained stallion sidestepped until he was rubbing against Gwen’s palfrey. She turned to him, her eyes sparkling with delight, her cheeks flushed with delicate color.

  Richard felt a throbbing pain in his heart. He supposed it should have been frightening, but he found it unbearably sweet instead. “I want to show you something else,” he said quietly, his finger tracing the curve of her face.

  She smiled, catching his hand and threading her fingers through his. “I will follow you anywhere.”

  The pain in his heart swelled. “I don’t want you to follow,” he said, “I want you beside me. Will you stay beside me, Gwen?”

  “Aye, Richard, I will.”

  They stared at each other, her smile fading, softening, turning to a look of such pure, sweet beauty that Richard wanted to grab her and hold her close. He didn’t feel the icy wind blowing his cloak open, didn’t hear the soft rushing of the river, or the piercing cry of a lone hawk high above.

  He cupped the back of her head and bent to kiss her. She met him with such warmth, such hot passion, that his insides melted.

  Richard groaned. “I should have taken you to bed.”

  She pulled away, smiling mischievously and admonishing him with a wagging finger. “’Tis too late now, my lord. You must show me this other thing first.”

  “Tease.”

  “Lecher.”

  He grinned. “You win, my sweet. Let us proceed.”

  They turned and skirted along the silvery river, then entered the forest, winding through the trees until he stopped before a sheer rock face that soared skywards.

  Gwen dismounted and followed him toward the wall, gasping when he disappeared inside a fold in the gray rock.

  A hand reached out and grabbed her, pulling her into the cave entrance.

  “Richard! You scared me disappearing like that,” she scolded, her heart racing.

  He brushed his lips across hers. “You’re always so concerned for me, worried over every bruise and every battle. Does that mean you care for me?”

  “Nay,” she lied, pushing away. She kept her back to him. “’Tis just that I’m afraid the next man King Edward gave me to would not be so skillful in bed.”

  Richard laughed. “I’ve spoiled you, eh? Mayhap I should just worry about my own needs from now on and forget about yours.”

  She whirled around. “You would not!”

  “Nay, you are right. I’m only teasing you, my beauty. Never fear, your pleasure is so entwined with my own, I’d not get anything out of it if you didn’t also.”

  He stepped into the cave and she followed. It was too dark to see anything. “Richard,” she whimpered.

  His hand found hers. “I am here, love. I won’t leave you. Hold on to my mantle while I light a torch.”

  Gwen gathered a fistful of cloth, pressing herself tight against his back.

  Long seconds passed, and then light suddenly flooded the cavern. Gwen gasped. A thousand—no!—a million shards of multi-colored light were reflected from the mirror-like surface of the walls.

  “’Tis beautiful, is it not?” Richard stabbed the torch into the soft ground. “I found it when I was a boy. I used to come here often, searching for King Arthur’s treasure.”

  “Rhys and I used to search for the treasure!”

  “Do not say that name to me,” he said quickly. “Not now, not here.”

  “I’m sorry. I did not mean—”

  “Shhh,” he said, slipping the hood from her head and entwining his fingers in the silken waterfall of her hair, “not now, cariad.” He looked at her for a long moment. “I think I have finally found a treasure,” he murmured before kissing her.

  Gwen melted against him, lost in his embrace. Nothing else existed outside of here and now. So much for loyalties and heirs and dead wives. She was hopelessly trapped in the spell he wove.

  “Would that it were summer,” he said in her ear.

  She clawed her way back to sanity. “Why? Surely it looks the same no matter what time of year.”

  “Nay, ’twould look a thousand times better if I could undress you and make love to you beneath these sparkling walls.”

  “Wh-what makes it look like this?” she asked, stepping away from him.

/>   He shrugged. “’Tis crystal. It shines so when reflected.”

  “Oh,” she said, spinning around and staring at the ceiling. She twirled until she was almost dizzy and the brilliant lights merged into one streak of color.

  “Gwen.”

  She stopped, her gown swirling around her. His voice was so raw, so naked. The look on his face frightened her.

  “Richard?” She took a step toward him, her heart pounding, her vision still swimming.

  “Sweet Christ, if ever I were to see a fairy princess, she would look just like you.” He crossed the distance between them and molded her to him, cupping her cheeks and tilting her face up to his. His look was unguarded for once, his eyes mirroring some turmoil within. “Fairies have a nasty habit of abandoning their mortal lovers. Say you won’t abandon me, Gwen.”

  “Nay, Richard, never,” she replied, and meant it.

  He kissed her possessively. Gwen buried her fingers in his hair, lost herself in the silken heat of his mouth. She wanted to be as close as it was possible to be, wanted him to touch her deep inside, wanted to feel their hearts beating as one.

  She wanted to remember this moment forever.

  “Take me, Richard. Now, here,” she breathed against his lips.

  And then he was pressing her against the wall, shifting their clothes, fitting his body to hers, sheathing himself within her moist heat. Dear God, never had she felt more alive than when this man made love to her. It was more than physical, more than man and woman.

  She needed him. Needed him in order to breathe, to live. She tightened her legs around him, met his mouth ravenously.

  After they’d exploded together and drifted back to earth, Richard held her against him, his breath heavy in her ear. “I have no control when I’m with you.”

  “I like you uncontrolled,” Gwen whispered, easing her legs down his body until she was once again standing.

  “I’ve never shown this place to anyone,” he said. “You are the first.”

  “I’m glad you shared it with me. ’Tis beautiful.”

  “Aye, ’tis one of the few treasures of my heart.” He traced her cheek with a finger. “We will come again in summer, when we can linger.”

  “I will look forward to it,” Gwen replied, slipping her hand into his as they left the shelter of the cave.

  The men rejoined them at the edge of the woods and they rode back the way they’d come.

  Claiborne castle sat on its formidable perch, cowering the valley into meek submission. Gwen was surprised to feel a sense of belonging, of home. Where once the sight of Claiborne had made her cringe, she now thought it perhaps the most beautiful castle in all of Wales and England.

  They passed into the village and up the steep slope to the castle. As they rode into the bailey, Gwen leaned over her mare’s neck, petting her and speaking words of praise for a pleasant ride.

  When she looked up again, there was a large party of newcomers milling around the inner bailey. Her heart plummeted to her feet. In the party’s midst, a lady with blonde hair sat atop a white horse. Her gaze flickered over Gwen, then landed on Richard. The smile she gave him said, I’ve missed you, lover.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Anne?” Richard bit out.

  “Now is that any way to greet an old friend?” Anne said, her lips pursed in a ridiculous pout as she rode forward to meet them. She swept her hand toward her party. “It seems as though you have forgotten your duty to my son, my lord. I have brought him to begin his training.”

  Richard’s voice could have cut through steel. “I’ve forgotten nothing. I will send for him in the spring when the snows thaw. You may return to Ashford Hall first thing tomorrow.”

  Anne opened her mouth to protest, but a boy rushed forward then, his face lit with admiration and awe.

  “Greetings my Lord De Claiborne! ’Tis been a long time since you have been to see us, but Mama said you wouldn’t mind if we came to Claiborne instead. I’ve been looking forward to learning to be a squire. I promise to study very hard.”

  He broke off, looked up at his mother, then at Richard. Gwen had a difficult time reconciling the fact that this boy was Anne’s son. She hardly seemed the motherly type, but the boy’s face shone equally for her and Richard.

  “You’ve grown, Tristan. I am certain you will make a fine squire,” Richard said. “In the spring—”

  Gwen tugged Richard’s sleeve. For some strange reason, she couldn’t bear to see Tristan disappointed. Richard turned, the annoyance on his face softening only slightly. Lowering her voice, she said, “You cannot send the boy home, my lord. He’s waited too long, and ’twould break his heart if you sent him away now.”

  “He will begin in the spring. He can wait that long.”

  Gwen shook her head. “Nay, he cannot. Richard, please.”

  His hand closed over hers. “Why do you care so much, cariad?”

  “I—” She glanced at the boy. “I do not know, exactly, but mayhap ’tis because I know what it feels like to be disappointed.”

  His expression grew distant. “Disappointed because you had to marry me instead of the man you really loved.”

  Gwen gripped his hand as though her life depended on it. “Nay, I’ve never loved any man—”

  But you.

  She bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly confused by the emotions inundating her.

  He waited, his eyes flickering over her face. When she said nothing more, he sighed. “For you then.” Turning back to the boy, he said, “I believe my captain’s squire is soon to be made a knight. You will begin training to be Sir Andrew of Carrick’s squire.”

  “Thank you, my lord!” Tristan cried, his face breaking into a wide grin.

  Anne’s gaze went from her son to Richard to Gwen. Her eyes narrowed for only a second. Gwen returned her stare evenly. “We are pleased to offer you lodging, Lady Ashford, until you can begin your return journey. I will have Alys find a room for you.”

  “Thank you, Lady de Claiborne, but I shan’t be returning to Ashford Hall. I wish to accompany you and Lord de Claiborne to London for the Christmas festivites.”

  Gwen felt insane panic rise in her stomach. She turned to Richard, waiting—praying—for him to say no.

  He didn’t acknowledge her. “You are welcome to travel with us, Lady Ashford,” he said politely, all traces of his anger gone.

  Gwen’s heart split in two.

  26

  Gwen whirled around as the door to the solar opened. Richard entered, stripping off his gauntlets and throwing them on a table. His hair was windblown, his cheeks and nose reddened by the cold. He flashed a smile, and Gwen sank into a chair, no longer able to hold herself up.

  Unconsciously, she pressed a hand to her thundering heart. Surely, even at this distance, he could hear how loud it beat for him.

  “I did not expect you so soon,” she said.

  “Are you disappointed?” he asked softly.

  “Nay. I-I missed you.”

  He laughed. “I was but making sure Tristan was settled in with Andrew and Justin. I’ve not been gone that long, wench.”

  Gwen stared at her lap, willing the ridiculous tears she’d been holding back to go away. She heard him move, and then he was at her side, kneeling and clasping her hands between his.

  “I had to say yes, Gwen. As much as I would rather refuse Anne, ’tis better to take her away from the March. She prefers life at Edward’s court and will not wish to return with us.”

  Gwen nodded, unable to meet his gaze, unable to speak for fear of crying.

  Richard squeezed her hands, then framed her face and forced her to look at him. “What is it, Gwen?”

  When she didn’t answer, he searched her face, his eyes widening. “You think she is still my mistress.”

  After a moment, he stood and went to the other side of the room, his back to her.

  Yes, God help her, she was afraid Anne was still his mistress. She should have known today had been too perfect to be
real. Richard was a man, like the king, like Rhys.

  Gwen stood, one hand still clutching the chair arm for support. “She told me you were with her on our wedding night.”

  He whirled around, his face taut, hard-edged with anger. “And you believed her?” he asked increduously.

  Gwen stared at the floor. “Why should I not? You are English. You don’t need my permission to keep a mistress.”

  She looked up, found him staring at her intently. She thought he was going to say something but then he crossed the room in a flash, dropping to his knees in front of her.

  It happened too quickly for her to respond with more than a surprised squeak. She would have stumbled backward and fallen in the chair had he not wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tight. He pressed his face to her breasts, and when he spoke she could feel his hot breath through her garments.

  “I swear to you—on my life, on my honor, on everything I hold sacred—that I have been with no other woman since I first saw you again in Shrewsbury.”

  Mute shock stilled her vocal cords for long seconds. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but this had definitely not been it. Slowly, she entwined shaking fingers in his hair and clasped him tight. When she found her voice, it was barely a whisper. “I believe you. Oh God, I believe you.”

  He tilted his head back. “There is only you, I swear it.”

  Gwen cupped his face and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was long, infinitely sweet, perfect. Her heart sped dizzily.

  He put her off guard, twisted her insides with his nearness, made her want things it was impossible to have.

  She tore away from him and went to stand in front of the fire, suddenly chilled. Another minute and words would have poured from her lips unchecked, words she was not yet certain she was ready to say.

  She heard his breath leave him on a long sigh, and she peered over her shoulder. He still knelt, his arms limp at his sides, his chin bowed to his chest, his eyes closed. She turned away when he lifted his head.

  The scraping of his sword against the floor told her he was rising. Gwen prayed he would not come to her. If he took her in his arms one more time, she would be lost.