The Dark Knight's Captive Bride

by Natasha Wild

  “We must hurry,” she said. “We only have a few minutes until they know I’ve gone.”

  But Welshmen were more at home in the woods than armored knights. They lost their pursuers easily, slipping higher and higher into the waiting mountains.

  By the time they arrived at Dolwyddelan a few days later, the gathering of chieftains and warriors had swelled to numbers unheard of in all Llywelyn’s years of leading the Welsh. For once, the entire country seemed united in the quest against England.

  When Gwen finally got in to see him, his jaw dropped. “What are you doing here?”

  “You look well, Father,” she said.

  “Lass, what are you doing here?” he demanded, his amber eyes flashing as they flickered over her middle.

  She laid her hand on his arm. “I had a dream.”

  “You should not be on your feet,” he said softly. He ushered her to a chair, then took the one across from it. “Now tell me of this dream.”

  When she finished, he smiled sadly. “Ah, Gwenllian, it matters not. Sometimes I think ’twould be easier to leave this life altogether. I will see this through to the end this time. If that is indeed the end, so be it.”

  “’Tis the curse.”

  He shook his head. “There is no curse. ’Tis a bard’s tale. Your mother was a sweet, beautiful lass who would hurt no one. No matter how much they hurt her,” he added almost absently.

  “Are you my father?” she blurted, unable to hold the question back any longer.

  His eyes widened, then he passed a hand over his face. “Yes,” he said after a long moment. Gwen didn’t say anything and he raised his head to look at her. “Were you expecting a different answer?”

  “Aye. ’Twould explain so much if you’d said no.”

  “I’ve never had much luck at siring children. I was a fool to believe the things suggested to me of your mother. Since Elinor died, I’ve thought of many things I would have changed if I could. I’ve lost two women I loved in my life. I’ve let duty come before things I never knew were important until they were gone.

  “I should have never doubted Eurwen. I’ve paid for it for years. If I pushed you away, lass, ’twas my own guilt that caused it and no fault of your own.”

  Gwen brushed aside the tears trickling down her cheeks. She clenched her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. “I wanted to hate you for giving me as a hostage. I wanted to hate you for giving me to Black Hawk de Claiborne. But I never could.” She laughed bitterly. “Christ, I wanted you to tell me I was not your daughter so I could finally hate you for all you did to me!”

  “You have every right to feel that way, though I do not wish you to.”

  Gwen dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. “’Tis funny, but I never even realized it until this moment. I wanted to hate you, but you have taken that from me too.”

  “I am sorry, Gwen,” he said softly.

  “Did you even know the things I did for you? How much I wanted your attention?”

  “Nay,” he whispered, his expression both pained and distant.

  “The first time you ever took me anywhere with you, I was so proud. And then, then—do you remember what happened then?” she asked, her anger building. She didn’t give him a chance to reply. “You gave me as a hostage, then sent Einion to tell me why! I was devastated, and when I saw you again, you didn’t even apologize.

  “And then you gave me to Gwalchddu. But when you defied the king and applied to the pope to stop the marriage, I was certain you cared for me. But it was not for me, was it? It was nothing more than a power play!”

  He rubbed his forehead absently. “I have wronged you, lass, and I’m sorry. I wish I could recall all the years I lost with you, but I cannot.”

  Gwen gazed at him, and felt her anger fading. He looked like an old man. It surprised her, though it should not. He was fifty-four, the years beginning to weigh heavily on him. He looked more tired, mayhap thinner, than when she had seen him last.

  The fight leached out of her. “Well, Father, you managed to do one thing right, though I did not believe it at the time.”

  “Dunsmore?”

  “Aye. I love him. He has more than filled the empty space in my life and my heart.”

  “You cannot know how much that pleases me. ’Tis true I tried to keep you from marrying him for selfish reasons—the alliance with Scotland, Arwystli—but I did worry for your safety with him.” A sudden smile creased his weatherworn face. “I should have known you’d charm the savage beast. ’Tis what your mother did to me.”

  Gwen’s tone became earnest. “You should not fight, Father. Sit it out on Snowdon. Let the English subdue Dafydd.”

  Llywelyn shook his head. “Nay, lass. ’Tis gone far beyond that now. Edward strangles us with his laws, starves us with his empty promises.” He steepled his fingers. “I was hunting recently. We shot a stag, then chased it through the woods, following the trail of blood. It crossed the Teifi tributary and we pursued. ’Twas a Welsh stag, shot on Welsh land after all. Do you know that Edward’s officials heard the cry of the hunting horn and came after us since we’d crossed into English territory? They seized the stag as their own, took the hounds, and imprisoned half my retinue. I had to pay handsomely to get my men back, though I never got the stag or the hounds.”

  “’Tis unfair!”

  “Aye. And that is the way Edward deals with us, Gwen. Unfairly. We will allow it no longer.”

  He stood and helped her up, then hugged her to him in a surprisingly strong embrace. It took her a full minute to respond. As she’d wanted to do all her life, she wrapped her arms around him, and felt the answering pressure of his around her.

  “You are my true daughter, Gwenllian. Never doubt it.” He kissed her on the forehead. “You must return to your husband before this war gets ugly.”

  Gwen searched his face. This could well be the last battle of his life, the last of Wales’ life. In that instant, she made her decision. “I am not leaving.”

  “You must, Gwen. I am at war with England. Dunsmore will not understand your presence here.”

  Gwen pushed away from him. “Nevertheless, I am staying.”

  Her heart thudded painfully, despite her brave words. Richard might not understand. He might never forgive her. She was risking everything.

  But she was Welsh above all else. She could not abandon her father, her countrymen, on the eve of a war that meant life or death for Wales.

  Richard had his duty. She had hers. God help them both.

  37

  News of Prince Llywelyn’s alliance with Dafydd spread the length and breadth of Wales in a matter of days. Everywhere, the Welsh rose in great numbers. They attacked English castles, setting fires that left nothing but smoking ruins in their wake. They besieged towns and killed hated Englishmen who had previously suppressed them.

  Never before had the Welsh been so determined. They pushed through the Marches, from Chester in the north to the Bristol Channel in the south. They fought across South Wales, from Chepstow castle at the mouth of the Wye to Pembroke castle on the west coast.

  In the north, Dafydd attacked both Flint and Rhuddlan castles with a vengeance. Neither fell to him, though many others went up in flames.

  Richard held Rhuddlan with one hundred men, confident the king would reach them long before Dafydd could manage to starve them out.

  He thought of Gwen often. He worried about her, but he reasoned that if Dafydd were here, he could not be besieging Claiborne. If any stray bands of Welshmen attacked the castle, they would be repelled easily enough.

  When Edward arrived with the army in mid-July, Dafydd fled to the hills to regroup. Richard and Edward sat in the same solar they had once shared with Dafydd and discussed how to proceed.

  The king’s strategy was simple. He would secure the coast, then build mighty fortresses to hold it. Ringing Gwynedd with English castles would assure future dominion over the volatile principality.

  Eight-thousand-foot soldiers and four
-thousand-mounted knights made the trek from Worcester. Of that number, nearly a thousand were crossbowmen. The experimental longbowmen numbered half that.

  Fifteen-hundred-woodsmen also accompanied the army, hacking a mile-wide path through the dense forests to build roads. Edward’s aim was to make Wales easy to access for English merchants and settlers.

  He stood at the window and gazed out over the sprawling army encamped outside Rhuddlan’s walls. “I’ve sent the earl of Surrey into the Vale of Clwyd to secure the territory south of Snowdonia. Forty ships from London and the Cinque Ports are on their way to Anglesey. We’ll block the Menai Strait, same as before. If this campaign continues into winter, Llywelyn will find himself without a harvest.”

  “Who is in command of the vessels?” Richard asked.

  “Luke de Tany.”

  “The old seneschal of Gascony? Jesú, Ned, he is an impatient man. Are you certain he is suited for this game of hide-and-seek?”

  Edward waved a hand. “Aye, he will be fine. He knows he is to secure the Strait, then await my orders.”

  “Any word from Llywelyn?”

  “Nay, though the archbishop of Canterbury has threatened him with excommunication if he does not yield.” Edward clasped his hands behind his back. “I think Llywelyn means to see it through this time, Richard. Victory or annihilation.”

  Richard thought of Llywelyn’s stricken face when he’d been told of his wife’s death. “Aye,” he said softly. “I think you are right, Ned. Mayhap he feels he has nothing left to lose.”

  Within a few days, the army moved west, toward Conway and the Menai Strait. The garrisons at Rhuddlan and Flint were secured and Richard joined the king.

  They received word of Llywelyn’s sorties in the south and west. He stormed Aberystwyth and took Llanbadarn castle, then cut across the center of Wales to Montgomery, taking towns and besting English forces led by the Marcher earls.

  Dafydd swooped down out of the mountains to engage Edward’s army, then disappeared back into the gullies and ravines the Welsh knew best.

  As the middle of August approached, Richard prepared to return to Claiborne. Since Dafydd insisted on playing cat and mouse, and Llywelyn had not yet realized the threat Edward’s triple offensive placed on Gwynedd, there was no need for Richard to stay.

  He took twenty men and set out for Claiborne. Within three days, they were in the valley of the Dee without encountering any resistance along the way.

  When Richard rode into the bailey of his castle, he sensed something was wrong. The guards looked at him with wary eyes. The servants scurried in the other direction.

  Owain came to greet him, his face drained of all color. The dark circles under his eyes told of many sleepless nights.

  Richard’s heart stopped beating in that instant. “Gwen?”

  “Richard, she—”

  He shoved past Owain, not stopping when the Welshman called to him. He raced through the hall and up the steps, then flung the chamber door wide. He stopped in the center of the room, spinning around.

  “Where is she?” he demanded when Owain appeared in the doorway, red-faced. “What have you done with her?”

  “She is gone, Richard. We searched but we did not find—”

  “Searched?” Richard braced his arm on the table for support. Dear God, he’d thought her dead, but if they’d searched, that meant she was alive. Then the significance of Owain’s words hit him.

  “Searched?” he repeated in a roar. “What the bloody hell do you mean, searched?”

  “She disappeared one day. We thought she’d been captured, but—”

  “When?”

  Owain swallowed. “Two and a half months.”

  Richard gripped his sword so hard he could feel the imprint of the carved hilt cutting into his flesh. The pain was a welcome respite from the hot rage threatening to consume him. “You had better have a damn good reason for not sending for me, old man, or I swear I will kill you where you stand.”

  “Goddammit, kill me then! ’Twould be a relief after the hell I’ve been through these months past. Besides, she wasn’t abducted, she left. She wrote Alys a note, though we didn’t find it for a couple of days.”

  “Get me the note,” was all Richard could manage.

  Owain left, then returned with Alys. The two didn’t speak, or look at each other, though Richard hardly cared what had happened between them.

  Alys held out the scrap of parchment, and Richard snatched it. It was written in Welsh. The writing was sloppy, as if scribbled at the last minute.

  Alys,

  I have gone to my father. Do not worry, Rhys is with me. I will see you soon.

  Gwenllian

  “What does this mean, she will see you soon?” Richard demanded.

  Alys started to cry. “I know not, my lord, truly. I have already told Owain. I know not.”

  Owain’s jaw tightened. “I sent a messenger. You never came.”

  “I never got it,” Richard said numbly. “Rhuddlan was besieged.”

  Gwen was with Rhys ap Gawain. Rhys, whose face had so clearly told Richard the feelings he still harbored for Gwen. Feelings mayhap she returned.

  The black rage that had consumed him so briefly when he’d found her in Rhys’s arms returned in full force, eating at him until he thought he would explode.

  “Out,” he snapped. The two of them stared at him, sympathy written on their faces. It was more than he could take. “Out, goddammit, before I kill you both!”

  Alys scurried away first, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Owain backed out, pulling the door shut behind him. “She will return, Richard. She loves—”

  Richard picked up the chair and threw it at the door. It crashed against the wood, splintering into three large pieces.

  He sent the table crashing with a booted foot to the edge. The other chair followed the first. Lying Welsh bitch! She promised she would never leave. It was a lie. Everything was a lie!

  He stood in the middle of the room, his chest heaving. Gwen was gone. She’d chosen her father and Rhys over him. She had sworn she would never doubt him again and she had lied. Had she been planning her betrayal the entire time they’d been making love on that last night they shared?

  His gaze settled on the bed and a sharp pain ripped through his heart. He went to it slowly, his eyes never straying from it as he relived every moment, every word, every caress, every kiss.

  Oh God, how could she abandon him?

  His foot hit something and he looked down to see he’d kicked one of Gwen’s trunks. He opened it, and the scent of roses drifted to him. He sank to his knees and lifted one of the gowns. A rosepetal fluttered to the floor, brilliant crimson against dark wood.

  Settling against the bed, he brought his knees to his chest and buried his face in the dress. For the first time in twenty-odd years, the frightened little boy won the battle, and the brutal Earl of Dunsmore wept soundlessly.

  * * *

  Night had fallen and the torches flickered with the summer breeze drifting through the open shutters of the castle. Anne smoothed her chemise over her curves before she entered the room.

  At first she did not see him in the darkened chamber. Then her gaze landed on the figure slumped at the end of the bed. His head rested on a trunk, and women’s clothes were strewn around him.

  “Richard.” She stood over him, waiting. “Richard…”

  His head lolled back. “Gwen?”

  Anne gritted her teeth. “Yes, darling. I am here.”

  He held up his hand and she took it. He pulled her across his lap, his hands entwining in her hair, his face buried against her throat. His voice was husky, breathless. “I knew you could not leave me. I knew it was a mistake. I cannot live without you, Gwen. I cannot…”

  He stiffened. Anne cried out when he shoved her away. She landed on the floor with a thud. Then she laughed. “You never used to push me away. Nay, you used to bury that big weapon of yours deep inside—”

  “Shut up, bitch,
” he growled. “I should snap your neck for that trick.” He shot to his feet.

  Anne felt a surge of triumph. Oh, this was much better than she’d imagined. Richard de Claiborne actually cared for a woman, actually hurt because she’d left him. “What is the matter, my lord?” she teased. “Have you never been jilted before?”

  He jerked her up, then thrust her toward the door. “You are stretching my patience, Anne. And I have precious little of it left.”

  Anne clutched the door and glared at him. “She left you, like you left me. ’Tis the least you deserve.”

  He let go of her arm and surprisingly his voice softened. “I never desired anything more from you than sex, Anne. I am sorry if you expected more from me.”

  “I wouldn’t have left you if you’d married me,” she said bitterly. “I hope she never comes back!”

  His eyes glittered in the torchlight leaking in from the passage. “It is not her choice to make.”

  He shoved her through the door and shut it. Anne stood there for a moment, angry and undecided.

  It is not her choice to make.

  Laughing, she clapped her hands together. Oh God, it was entirely too good to be true. Richard was going after his wife. In the middle of a war, he was riding into the heart of Wales.

  * * *

  Dawn had barely begun its ascent into the sky when Richard vaulted onto Sirocco and clattered through the gates. Owain stood in the bailey, but Richard didn’t acknowledge him.

  Ten knights accompanied their lord. Where he was going, more than that would only call attention to their presence.

  Llywelyn was far south, but Richard didn’t believe Gwen would be with him in her condition. Nay, she would be at Dolwyddelan, or high on Snowdon in Llywelyn’s summer fast.

  All through the night, he’d wanted to hate her. He’d told himself he hated her even while his heart felt as if it were splitting in two.

  Actually, he owed Anne for showing him the folly of that line of reasoning. When he’d awakened and thought she was Gwen, the relief and love that flooded through him was blinding. He’d been willing to forgive her anything just to hold her again.