The Dark Knight's Captive Bride

by Natasha Wild

  He didn’t want to let go. Not ever.

  He needed her so much he thought he might die of it. She was Llywelyn’s daughter. She was the woman he loved.

  He undid the fastenings of her robe and let it slide to the floor. Next came her chemise. He swallowed hard. He’d seen her body dozens of times, but this was the first time he saw it with the full knowledge he loved her.

  “Extraordinary,” he murmured, tracing the soft curve of a breast until it peaked in his fingers.

  “Richard—”

  Her eyes were red-rimmed, her expression serious. Richard felt a stab of pain that he had caused her grief. For one horrific moment, he wondered if last night he’d lost control of his tongue and told her of the crusade. “What, cariad?”

  “Do you remem—?” She sighed and shook her head. “’Tis nothing.”

  Richard kissed her. He wanted to make her happy, wanted to see her beautiful smile, hear her beautiful laughter. He wanted all those things before he told her of the crusade. He had to tell her, of course.

  Eventually.

  Her hands curled into his shoulders when he sucked a nipple into his mouth and tugged gently. For once his own lust wasn’t uncontrollable, and that surprised him. Her pleasure seemed more important somehow.

  “Do you want me, Gwen?” he whispered huskily.

  “Aye,” she breathed.

  He joined her on the bed, his hard dark length pressing against her soft white body. He explored her with his hands and his mouth, finding new secrets, while she gasped and moaned and clutched at him.

  He didn’t enter her. Instead, he brought her to climax, over and over, with his mouth and his fingers. His shaft throbbed, full and heavy, the pulse reaching all the way to his ears. When she tried to touch him, he refused to let her.

  Richard knew when she reached the point she was so sated she couldn’t take anymore. Her eyes were heavy with sensuality and sleep and her body was limp. He kissed his way up her belly, her breasts, her neck, finally seeking her mouth.

  She kissed him back, sighing. Her hand trailed along his arm and into his hair. “What about you?”

  “Sleep, Gwen. I will be here when you wake.”

  “Promise?” she asked, covering a yawn.

  “Aye.”

  She smiled and his throat ached. He wouldn’t always be there when she woke, and the thought was killing him.

  She turned on her side and was asleep instantly. Richard curved his body around hers, more than content to hold her.

  * * *

  Gwen was shocked to discover the entire day had passed while she slept. Richard was still beside her, exactly as he had promised. He didn’t wake when she slipped from his arms and stole to the window.

  Lights dotted the waterfront, reflecting off the river like candles beneath the surface. Gwen turned, stretching. There was a tray of food on the table, a washbasin with cool water, and a crackling fire that was only recently built up.

  Gwen washed, then picked at the boiled beef and peas. There was also cheese and bread, wine, and something sweet for dessert.

  Her gaze stole to Richard. She blushed when she thought of all the things he’d done to her. And he’d done it without a thought for himself. How could she have fallen asleep on him like that?

  She picked up the tray and carried it to the bed. First, she would take care of his real hunger and then she would relieve his sexual appetite. A shiver of anticipation slid down her spine.

  He stirred when she sat in the middle of the mattress and called softly to him.

  “What is that?” he asked sleepily.

  “Alys brought dinner.”

  “That woman is priceless,” he said, pushing to a sitting position.

  “Aye, but she has help. She and Owain conspire together.”

  “How do you know this, my sweet?”

  “Have you not noticed the way they moon over each other?”

  Richard frowned. “Nay. Jesú, ’tis why the old devil insisted on coming to London!”

  Gwen laughed then. “Mayhap they are in love.”

  Richard’s expression was pained for a second. Gwen chided herself for even bringing up the subject of love. He clearly didn’t like the notion.

  She offered him a piece of beef from her fingers. He took it with his lips, his eyes intense as he caught her gaze and held it. He began to feed her. They ate in silence, their only contact the whisper of fingers across the sensitive flesh of their mouths.

  Gwen felt the heat flood her body as they stared at each other. It was so erotic, touching him so briefly, wanting him more with each caress. She remembered in heartstopping detail all the things his beautiful mouth had done to her that morning. Her heart quickened along with her breathing. Her fingers lingered on his lips, and he sucked one into his mouth.

  Instant, blinding heat rocked through her, centering on the bud of her femininity. Gwen gasped as the tingling exploded outward.

  Richard’s eyes widened. He set the tray aside and pounced on her. “It happened, didn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I wanted you so much…”

  “Jesú,” he breathed, stretching on top of her and centering his hard shaft against her cleft. He began to slide back and forth, heightening the sensations, prolonging them.

  “Do not make me wait any longer, Richard,” she whispered. “I need you. Now.”

  She slipped her robe open and he spread it away from her body. He continued to slide over her, hot skin against hot skin.

  She wrapped her legs high around his back. He slipped downward, then pushed into her so slowly she wanted to scream. He retreated, slowly, deliberately. Gwen moaned.

  Again he slid into her with exruciating patience. He repeated the rhythm half a dozen times until Gwen was nearly mindless.

  She stared at his mouth. God how she wanted to taste his mouth! “Kiss me, Richard. Make love to me. I want you. I need you… I love you!”

  His tongue plunged between her lips at the same time his body drove into hers. Gwen was swept up in instant rapture.

  Their lovemaking was intense, explosive, cataclysmic. Gwen arched into him, opened, took him as deep as she could, then deeper still.

  She wrapped her hand around the back of his head, anchored his mouth to hers. Her tongue mated with his, their mouths sliding together like hot, wet velvet.

  It went on and on and on. Finally, he grasped her buttocks and lifted her, driving into her with the ferocity of his climax. She tore her mouth from his and cried her own release as the liquid tremors started deep within.

  After a few moments he rolled off her and lay with an arm across his forehead, breathing heavily, his body glistening.

  Gwen felt the air waft over her, cooling her hot skin. She raised herself on her elbows and gazed at her mound of curls. Even they were damp! After all this time, it was still amazing to think of being joined with a man, this man, so intimately.

  His hand threaded in her hair, cupping the back of her head. He pulled her down to kiss him then pressed her onto her back, coming up on his elbow beside her.

  His fingers traced her face, her neck, her breasts. “You were made for me, Gwen. I’ve never known a feeling so perfect, so right, as when I’m with you.”

  Gwen smoothed a stray curl off his forehead. Her heart beat erratically. She thought she knew what he was trying to say. She dared not hope it was true, yet she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Tell me, Richard.”

  “I love you.” He kissed her when her mouth dropped open. At first, she lay limp, unbelieving. Mayhap she was still asleep and merely dreaming. But the reality of his big, hard body, his unmistakable male scent, his beloved lips on hers, told her she wasn’t asleep. Her arms slipped around him, stroked his hair, his neck, his back. The kiss was sweet, long, tender.

  “I’ve never said that to anyone,” he whispered against her lips. “Never wanted to, until you.”

  She felt tears pooling in her eyes. It was ridiculous to cry when she was so happy. “I
did not think you meant it,” she said. “You were drunk and—”

  “I told you last night?”

  She nodded.

  “Ah, Christ’s bones, you should not have had to hear it like that. ’Twas not the way I wanted to tell you.”

  Gwen laughed suddenly. “I love you, Richard. As long as you love me, I care not how you told me.”

  “Aye, I’ve fought it for so long, but I cannot deny it any longer. I love you.”

  “Was it because of my father you denied it?”

  “Nay, ’twas because of mine.” His hand trailed to her breast. She shuddered when he began to toy with her sensitive nipple. “He loved my mother so much that he was never the same after she died. I vowed to never care that much for a woman lest I be destroyed as he was.”

  “What happened with the king?” she asked softly, knowing instinctively that whatever it was had caused him to admit his feelings.

  “Nothing that need concern you, my love. ’Tis men’s business,” he said, dipping his head to swirl his tongue around her aroused nipple.

  “You seek to distract me,” she said. His teeth closed gently over the hardened tip. “Mmm, my lord, you are insatiable.”

  “Aye, I cannot get enough of you.”

  “Please tell me what happened last night.”

  He moved to the other breast. “’Tis unimportant, sweet. Now cease your questions before I take you over my knee.”

  Gwen knew she could not sway him without the danger of rousing his temper. She decided to give in to his lovemaking instead. “Yes, Richard, please take me over your knee,” she said huskily.

  “Christ but you excite me,” he swore. “I can think of something much more fun than spanking you though.”

  She squeaked when he flipped her on her stomach and tore off her robe, giggling when he bit her bottom cheeks. Her giggles soon changed to moans as his mouth paid homage to the ripe curves, licking, kissing, biting.

  When he finally turned her over and would have slid into her, Gwen pushed him back and straddled him. He groaned as she slid her mouth down his chest, his abdomen.

  Before he could stop her, she claimed her prize. “Tell me you love me,” she commanded, then slid her tongue down his hard length.

  “God yes, I love you, you brazen little temptress.”

  Gwen rewarded him by taking him in her mouth. He bucked and swelled against her tongue until she knew she had to feel him inside her or die. She replaced her mouth with her feminine heat.

  He cupped her breasts, then lifted until he could suckle them.

  “Richard,” she gasped. “God, I love the things you do to me.”

  “I’ve only just begun to do things to you, cariad. You will have to spend the entire day in bed again just to recover.”

  Gwen’s laugh was husky. “As long as you stay with me, I shall not mind.”

  He grasped her buttocks and turned her over without losing the intimate contact between them. Then he proceeded to show her just exactly what he intended to do all night.

  31

  ’Twas Christmas Eve and the music and dancing inside the Palace of Westminster were in full swing. The Yule log had been lit and would be kept burning through Twelfth Night.

  Never had Gwen seen a hall so huge. It was well over two-hundred-feet long and the ceiling soared so far above her head, it made her dizzy to look up for too long.

  The room was bedecked with holly and mistletoe and boughs of evergreen, so much that it would have smelled like a forest if not for the stench of hot tallow.

  Men and women laughed and talked, clustering in small groups, while others danced and sang, their bright clothes muted by the rising smoke that made the room murky and dense. Gwen remembered hearing how the king entertained thousands in this hall, throwing great feasts that lasted for days on end. Well she could believe it.

  The highest lords and ladies of the realm were turned out in all their finery, partaking in the grand feasting and entertainment the king and queen provided. There would be jousting tournaments and shepherd’s plays, mummers and minstrels, Welsh bards and colorful jugglers to enliven the banqueting.

  Gwen had chosen a gown of crimson velvet with a gold chemise, and a jeweled girdle with emeralds, sapphires, and rubies that winked and danced in the torchlight. The sheer golden wimple she wore did little to hide her curls. She’d not braided them and they cascaded down her back in a mass of muted fire.

  She glanced at Richard, and her heart swelled. He was so handsome in his crimson surcoat with the black hawk emblazoned on the front. His sword glittered at his side, reminding all who gazed upon him that here was a man of power and magnetism, a man not to be taken lightly.

  King Edward approached them, smiling. “Gwenllian, my dear, you look ravishing,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips.

  Gwen dipped into a curtsy. “Thank you, Majesty.”

  Edward raised her, his eyes lingering until Richard cleared his throat. The king released her, grinning.

  “Now I see why you’ve not been back in three days. Certes, I’d not let her out of bed either if she were mine.”

  Richard squeezed her hand. “My wife was overtired from the journey, Ned. I did not wish to ignore her.”

  Gwen was amazed at how smoothly the lie passed his lips. Actually, Edward had it right the first time. They’d not been out of bed too often in the last three days.

  Richard had given her the grand tour of Dunsmore House with its elegant gothic arches, gilded artwork, and vast windows. He’d taken her up on the walls and shown her the Archbishop of Canterbury’s Lambeth Palace as well as Westminster Palace and several of the highest-ranking earls’ residences, which were all within close range.

  They’d also walked in the garden, though it was mostly covered in snow, except where the kitchen staff tended a plot for winter herbs and vegetables.

  There was an arched trellis grown over with ivy, and hedges that stretched their limbs skyward. Gwen had thrown a snowball at Richard, then ran when he chased her. He’d caught her beneath the arch and they’d fallen to the cold ground, laughing, oblivious to the snow.

  “God, how I love you,” he’d said before kissing her nearly senseless. As was inevitable whenever they touched, they’d soon ended up in the bedchamber.

  Richard squeezed her hand again, and she knew he was remembering the same things.

  The Earl of Gloucester came over, bearing a cup of wine for the king. “Ah, Dunsmore, I didn’t expect you to bring your wife to court. Surely that cuts down on your fun somewhat,” he said, his voice softly slurred from too much wine. “Must be tiring, plowing the same field night after night, no matter how pretty.”

  Gwen stiffened. Richard took a step forward. Gilbert ducked behind the king.

  Richard’s eyes flashed with hot fury. “You were never one for eloquent speech, Gilbert. Your lack of common sense is only exceeded by your lack of wit.”

  Gilbert peeked around the king, his brow knit in confusion while he considered the insult. Gwen stifled a laugh.

  “You’d best leave while you can still walk,” Edward murmured over his shoulder. “If you’d said that about my wife, I’d have killed you on the spot.”

  Richard turned to her, his features still clouded with anger. She smiled to reassure him. “You are my valient knight,” she said in Welsh.

  His look softened. “Keep staring at me like that, wench, and I will drag you to the nearest alcove and have my way with you,” he replied in the same language.

  Edward coughed politely. “Richard, I wish to discuss the cr—”

  “Majesty,” Richard interrupted, switching back to French. “Allow me to present my wife to the queen.”

  He deposited her on the dais with Eleanor and her ladies, then left to rejoin Edward. Gwen watched him walk away, apprehension knotting her stomach. Richard was hiding something, and the possibilities frightened her.

  * * *

  Despite having very little sleep, Gwen was up at dawn, heaving into the cha
mber pot. She attributed it to the variety of food she’d sampled at Westminster.

  She wiped a shaking hand across her mouth, then poured a cup of water. When she felt somewhat better, she got back in bed and curled up next to Richard.

  She could not be sick today. Richard had promised to show her London with all its exotic sights and its amazing bridge with houses.

  After they awoke, and he’d washed and dressed, he left her to finish dressing on her own, and she again felt the pull of the chamber pot.

  “You should not go riding, Gwenllian,” Alys admonished. “I will send a message to Lord de Claiborne.”

  “Nay,” Gwen cried, straightening. “’Tis over now. I feel much better.”

  Alys’s chin thrust outward. “Nevertheless, you should remain in bed.”

  “Alys, I want to see London. If you tell him I’ve been sick, he will never take me!”

  Alys glared at her for a long moment, then deflated. “Very well, my lady. But I don’t like it!”

  Gwen descended the stairs quickly, pulling on her gloves as she crossed through the spacious ground floor and out into the courtyard. Five knights sat their horses patiently. Richard leaned against the wall. He straightened as she approached.

  “I’m sorry I took so long. I couldn’t find anything suitable to wear,” she lied.

  He laughed. “Do not let Alys hear you say that, sweet. She’ll be sewing new gowns in a trice.” His eyes swept over her azure surcoat and matching cloak. He reached behind her and pulled the hood up, kissing her forehead. “I have a present for you, my love.”

  She followed his gaze to the grooms who led their horses from the stables. “Oh!”

  “Do you like her?”

  “’Tis the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen!”

  “Aye, she’s an Arab.” He took her hand and led her to the mare’s side.

  The delicate looking animal swiveled her ears toward them and Gwen reached out to pet her. Her coat was like finest silk, even in winter.

  Richard ran a hand over the horse. “She’s much stronger than she looks. Arabs are hardy, despite their fine bones and delicate lines. They’re usually hot-blooded, but I picked this one for her gentle nature, as well as her breeding.”