Chapter 11 #2
Eleanor nodded to the ladies. They put Gwen in bed, then placed a lit candle in one of the niches of the headboard and pulled the bedcurtains closed.
Richard paid no attention while the ladies took their leave.
His thoughts were only for the woman waiting for him.
His one glimpse of her two nights ago had been so brief he had begun to wonder if he’d only imagined the creamy silk of her skin, the uptilt of her breasts, the rosy crowns of her nipples.
It seemed he had waited for this night for four years and he was suddenly impatient to get on with it. Exasperated, he turned, barely listening to the bawdy jokes that flew through the air. How to tame a wild Welsh filly and how to furrow a ripe field were only a couple of the suggestions offered.
Richard clenched his jaw, meeting Edward’s gaze. One corner of Edward’s mouth quirked. He held his goblet up, calling for silence.
“My lords, it seems our most beloved Earl of Dunsmore is impatient to attend to his bride, so let us drink to his success and be gone!”
“Hear! Hear!” they said, lifting their drinks as one.
“Dunsmore, you’re worse than a ram in rut! But not that I blame you after what we have just witnessed.” Red Gilbert clapped him on the back, laughing.
“Out.” Richard’s voice was hard-edged with leashed fury. “Now.”
They all stared at him. Edward cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
“I do believe, my lords, that this is the first time this King of England has ever been dismissed by a vassal! Ah, but if I had not seen the lovely prize awaiting him, mayhap I would be angry. As it is, I cannot find fault with his command.” Edward smiled, motioning the men toward the door.
They grumbled about the fun ending before it had begun, but filed out peacefully.
When Edward was the only one left, he winked at Richard. “Try to get some sleep this night, eh?”
Richard grinned suddenly. “As you command me, so shall I do.”
Edward returned the grin, then disappeared through the door after the others. Richard bolted it, knowing from his past attendance at weddings that men delighted in bursting in on a couple who had forgotten to bar the door.
Now that he was alone with Gwen, the anger he’d been holding in swelled to fruition. He stalked to the bed and threw open the hangings.
Gwen gasped. The golden light of the fire licked over his immense frame, caressing the crests and hollows of hard muscles. Her pulse raced. His face was livid.
He was on the bed in a flash, gripping her arms. “In England, a man can beat his wife for less than what you did to me tonight.”
His eyes glittered like cold steel. Gwen no longer cared what happened. He didn’t even know her, just made assumptions based on his own narrow-mindedness. She was not going to take his bullying anymore.
“Do it then!” His eyes widened. A growl rose low in his throat. Goaded beyond reason, she cried, “What are you waiting for, my lord? Do it!”
He released her and she braced herself for the blow, but it did not come. He left the bed, stopped to remove his chausses, then walked to the table and poured some wine.
Gwen stared openly. She could not stop herself. She had never seen a man’s body unclothed before, had never known one could be so beautiful. His braies rode low on his narrow hips, hiding his bottom and his male sex.
She wanted to see it—and yet she did not. She jerked her gaze upward. When he turned to face her again, her breath caught. He was supple and graceful, a lion stalking his prey, and she realized in that moment how lucky she was that he had not hit her.
“You play dangerously close to the edge, sweet,” he said. “But tonight I can think of better things to do than beat you.”
He slammed the goblet down. He had desired her since the first day he’d seen her. He would deny himself no longer.
But he must be careful. After all, she could be carrying her lover’s child. He would not spill his seed in her until he was certain she did not.
There would be no subtle stoking of a virgin’s passions.
First, he would make love to her like a storm over the Irish Sea, and together they would explore heights untouched.
When they had come down from their initial passion, he would start again, slowly awakening her body to sensations she had never experienced with a man as young and green as Rhys ap Gawain.
Richard stripped off his braies, gritting his teeth when she turned away in silent rejection.
All the women he’d ever bedded always wanted to see his manhood, to touch it, to feel its great size in their hands before he filled them with it.
Well, he would melt her defenses soon enough, and then she would beg him for it.
His blood pounded in his ears as he reached for her. She stiffened and his control snapped. He crushed his mouth to hers. She’d wanted him before. He would make her want him again.
Perversely, she started to fight, pushing at him, pulling his hair, twisting beneath him as his entire length pressed down on her, flesh searing flesh.
Richard found it strangely exciting. She was challenging him, trying to deny the attraction that burned like a flame between them.
He vowed she would beg him for fulfillment before he was finished.
“Go ahead and fight me, wife, for it will make no difference,” he whispered against her lips. “Once you are mine, you will never again desire a green boy like Rhys ap Gawain.”
“No! He is not my lover!”
“He never will be again,” Richard said fervently. She stilled, her eyes widening as his hard length pressed against her abdomen.
She sucked in a strangled breath and began to fight with more fury than before. “No!”
“Oh yes, my sweet,” Richard said hoarsely. He forced her legs apart, settling himself between them.
Panting from her exertions, she ceased struggling. Crystal tears glittered in her golden-green eyes.
Richard almost stopped, almost started over, but he was too far gone. He’d wanted her for much too long to stop now. Besides, she would forget all about Rhys once he was inside her, caressing her secret woman’s place.
He stroked her hair, kissed her neck. He would enter her slowly until she begged him to sheathe his entire length inside her. Then they would burn together.
He pressed against her entrance. She was impossibly tight and he shuddered.
He checked himself. His need was great and he was dangerously close to thrusting to the hilt.
She quivered beneath him and he felt a surge of triumph.
His Welsh bride was as affected as he by the joining of their bodies, whether she admitted it or not.
He pressed his lips to her ear, murmured encouragement to her in Welsh, swallowing heavily as he slipped into her folds. So tight.
“Open for me, Gwen,” he said in a husky whisper. She was so small he feared he might hurt her.
“I know not what you mean,” she replied.
“Sweet Christ, do not tease me now, woman!” He pushed deeper still, then froze. “Oh my God,” he groaned. It couldn’t be—it just couldn’t be!
Richard rolled off her, his mind trying to adjust to this startling revelation. There was no mistaking the barrier he had encountered. His wife was no whore.
“I told you so you great black brute!” She scrambled onto him, clawing, slapping. With a quick movement, he pinned her arms to her sides and pressed her onto her back.
The sheet had tangled, coiling around her body and separating them by a thin sheaf of linen. Her breath broke on a sob. She wasn’t quivering with desire. She was shaking with fear! Jesú, he was no better than men like Gloucester!
He wanted to hold her, comfort her, make everything right again. “I did not know. I thought…”
“I know what you thought, you vile English bastard! I hate you!” she said tearfully.
Richard flinched. He deserved her hatred and more for the insults he’d dealt her.
He had refused to see her as anything but a whore from the moment he learned she was Llywelyn’s daughter.
Nay, that was not true either. He’d considered her for a leman the very instant he slipped off her hood in the stables of Rhuddlan castle.
Her underlip quivered and he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her once more. He coaxed her to part her lips, sliding his tongue over them lightly. He wanted to reassure her, prove he could be gentle.
But kissing her, even so tenderly, was enough to start his shaft pulsing again. When she felt it, she jerked away like a rabbit trying to escape a fox.
“Please, my lord, please don’t hurt me,” she said in a rush.
Richard lifted his head. Her eyes were wide, their depths a mixture of fear and loathing. With a sigh, he buried his face against her neck, breathing deeply of her sweet scent. “I won’t hurt you,” he said thickly. And then he let her go.
Slipping into his clothes, he was seized by a primal joy that she had known no other man. And he, like some kind of crazed animal, had almost raped her. That left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d never forced his attentions on a woman before, had never needed to.
Returning to the bed, Richard pushed the sheet back and pulled his dagger. He ran the finely-honed blade across the underside of his forearm.
Gwen gasped. “What are you doing?”
“There must be blood on the sheets tomorrow.”
“But…” She looked up with wondering eyes.
“I’ve treated you badly this night. I’ll not touch you again until you wish it.” Clenching his fist, he held his arm over the linen until a few drops had fallen, then wiped the wound on his tunic. “Sleep well, Princess.”
He unbarred the door and called for Alys. “Lock it behind you.”
He waited until he heard the bolt slide into place before he moved.