Chapter 3 #3
She swung around to look at her rescuer. His face was shadowed, but there was something familiar about him, even through the veil of too much wine. What sort of a man could frighten away a knight with only a command? He moved into the light, and her heart began to thump.
“Richard?”
He was even more splendid than she remembered. Tall and darkly handsome. Big. His tunic stretched across his broad chest, molding the hard curves. Her breath shortened when she remembered herself pressed against him.
“Don’t you know better than to leave the hall in a man’s company and unescorted?” he demanded.
“I only wanted some air to clear my head,” she replied, bewildered. Did he not remember her? Somehow it hurt to think so after all the nights she had awakened with him on her mind.
But of course she had only been a clumsy girl when they met, and he was a man. Lord, she still felt like a clumsy girl! Where was all that charm and allure she’d been honing this evening? It was gone, deserting her when she needed it most, just like a fairy illusion.
Gwen smoothed a nervous hand over the bodice of her gown. She didn’t notice the way his eyes followed as she caressed the fabric over her breasts, or the tightening of his jaw, or the darkening of his eyes.
No, all she could think was that a man like him would not remember her. She was young and awkward and totally unsuited for one as handsome as he. She’d been a fool to ever think otherwise.
His voice was cool as he spoke. “Or you wanted a tryst and then changed your mind once you got out here. You should not drink so much wine.” Her breath caught, but he didn’t stop. “But then, that is one of the things you Welsh do best, isn’t it?”
“Those are lies spread by you Englishmen! How dare you speak to me that way!” She suddenly longed to prove her worth to him, to see his eyes widen and his words change to ones of respect.
She stiffened her spine and fixed him with a regal stare.
“Do you know who I am? Princess Gwenllian, daughter to the Prince of Wales, and I will not listen to a mere knight insult me as if I were a chambermaid.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “You are sadly mistaken, your most revered and illustrious Highness. I am well aware you are the daughter of that Welsh murderer.”
Rage kindled in Gwen’s soul. “Murderer? You, an English knight, dare to call my father a murderer? What about all the murders and injustices done to my people in the name of the king?”
“Savages deserve no better than they give,” he said, his voice dangerously low.
Gwen clenched her fists and took a halting step toward him. He was not at all as she had dreamed. The illusion was shattered, but at the same time a small corner of her heart leapt that he remembered. “You are an arrogant, vile, English swine!”
He advanced on her with lightning swiftness. Gwen backed away, coming up short when she hit the wall. Before she could move, she found herself pinned against it by his hard body.
Her heart thudded in her chest, her breath shortened, and she lifted her chin to stare defiantly at him. His arms were braced on either side of her head, and he lifted one to brush his knuckles down her cheek. Gwen trembled.
“Don’t you realize what could happen to you out here, alone with a man like this?”
“I will scream,” Gwen whispered. But her blood surged as his body pressed harder to hers. She felt as if her own body was reshaping itself to mold to his. Every hard angle of him found an answering hollow on her.
Richard smiled. “Nay, I think not, Princess.”
“Wh-what makes you so sure?” She sounded breathless, even to her own ears.
“This,” he said, lowering his mouth to her exposed throat. Gwen sucked in her breath. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Her skin was on fire.
“And this,” he continued, running his hand across her breasts so lightly she barely felt it. She shivered. This was wrong and she had to stop it before—before what?
His gaze settled on her mouth when her tongue darted out to wet her lips. She raised her hands to his broad chest, not to push, but to touch.
Slowly, she smoothed them upwards, searching his face as she did so. His eyes glittered strangely, but he didn’t stop her. He wasn’t wearing chainmail as he had been the first time she’d touched him, and Gwen started at the silken ripple of muscle beneath her palms.
She caught herself wondering what his bare chest felt like, and before she knew it her hand strayed beneath the neck of his tunic. His skin was hot and smooth. She slid her hand over him, encountered crisp hair and hard curves.
He made a sound low in his throat that sounded like a growl. “That’s it, Princess. You know what to do, don’t you? I should have known you would.”
Gwen blinked. He sounded angry and she had no idea why. God, what was he doing to her? Why did she feel dizzy and drunker than when she’d left the hall?
His head descended. Gwen’s heart skipped a beat. Right now she wanted this more than anything. When their lips were almost touching, he said, “Kiss me, Princess.”
Gwen closed her eyes. Disobedience was out of the question.