Chapter 3 #2
Richard grinned. “You have no intention of allowing Llywelyn to win. ’Tis merely a stalling tactic.”
“Until I can figure out how to circumvent the treaty, ’tis the only option. I am glad you approve.”
“Aye, ’tis fitting somehow,” Richard said. “But how do you intend to keep Llywelyn in check now that you’re giving back his hostages and finally allowing him to wed Elinor? If you give Arwystli to Gruffydd, ’twill surely cause another war.”
“I’ve not yet decided. Something will avail itself of me ere he returns to Wales, I am certain of it.” He got to his feet. “Now, I believe there is a wedding to prepare for.”
Richard felt a chill run down his spine as he stood. When Ned was in one of his moods, he was capable of anything.
They parted company and Richard returned to his chamber. He lay on the bed and crossed his arms behind his head. He had absolutely no intention of going to the wedding.
He thought of the flame-haired princess and almost changed his mind. She was certain to be there. He’d not seen her since that day in Rhuddlan. When Ned had decided to hold her at Windsor, Richard vowed to avoid going to the royal court unless it was in residence elsewhere.
He knew it was irrational to avoid seeing her. She was only a girl, but she had the promise of great beauty, and Richard was nothing if not appreciative of women’s charms.
How much had she grown up in a year’s time? He closed his eyes. It would not do to lust after her. She may only be Welsh, but she was also a princess and he could never make her his leman.
No, he was definitely not going to the wedding.
Richard stood in the shadowed recess of the door, watching the crowd. Disgust washed over him. The mere sight of Llywelyn filled him with impotent rage.
He had not been able to stay away, but he still wasn’t going in there to watch Llywelyn, his new bride at his side, gloating on the dais, no matter what Ned wanted.
Dancers swirled before his eyes, their clothing a whirlpool of dazzling color. Smoke from the dripping tallow candles curled ceiling-ward, sizzling and sputtering as a draft skimmed across them.
Richard searched the milling groups with a purpose he would not admit. When he found her, he ceased to look elsewhere. Torchlight illuminated her red-gold hair as she glided through the hall.
“Gwen,” he whispered, startling himself by speaking aloud. It seemed for a moment that she turned in his direction.
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
She was a beauty. She’d grown. Even from this distance, he could see how she’d filled out, become soft and womanly.
He was too far away, but he recalled those cat-eyes, mysterious and golden-green.
They were framed in an oval face with high cheekbones and a full mouth the color of ripe summer berries.
Her gown was of vivid blue silk, clinging to her curves with every movement.
A small diadem sat atop her crown of curls, a single sapphire winking from it boldly.
Her hair cascaded over her shoulders like a flame, red and gold twisting together until the colors were no longer distinguishable, one from the other.
Richard watched her for some moments, unable to tear his gaze away. Men crowded around her, and she slipped in and out of his vision as she moved between them, smiling seductively.
She was Llywelyn’s daughter, for God’s sake! He should not be surprised that she behaved so wantonly, encouraging the attentions of the men surrounding her. The Prince was completely lacking in morals, ambitious and deceitful. His daughter would be no different.
Richard was not comforted by that thought, though it might make getting her in his bed a bit easier. He frowned. He’d never allowed himself to actually plan on seducing her. Once the idea formed, he knew he would not deviate from it. Besides, it would be a lovely way to anger Llywelyn.
She was accompanied by a blond knight, and they were making their way toward where Richard stood. Slipping back into the shadows of the murky corridor, he waited, unable to leave just yet.
“Is this good, Your Highness?” the man asked when they had walked into the passage.
Gwen stopped and took a deep breath. “Aye. I don’t know what came over me. Thank you, Sir Guy,” she said, clasping his hand.
Richard felt a sudden and inexplicable anger seize him at the intimate gesture.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you all night,” Guy said, pulling her into his arms.
His head dipped toward her and she turned her face abruptly. “Nay!” she cried as his lips found the hollow of her neck. In the next instant, her slippered foot darted out and kicked him in the shin. He grunted, but didn’t let go.
“Unhand the lady, Guy,” Richard said, stepping from the shadows. His hand strayed out of habit to his sword hilt.
Guy’s face registered surprise, then anger. “The princess is with me. I’ll invite you not to interfere if you know what’s good for you.”
Richard took a step toward him.
Guy backed away, his eyes widening in recognition. “Beg your pardon, my lord. No harm done. I only meant to kiss her.”
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of my sight. Now,” Richard growled.
Guy bowed. “As you command, my lord.”
When he was gone, Gwen took another deep breath. She had only meant to thank Guy for being kind to her, but not like that. English bastards always tried to take that which did not belong to them.