Chapter 13
Gwen sat up, feeling beneath her pillow for the bedrobe. She tugged it over her naked body, heat suffusing her face. The women had been sent away twice. God only knew what sort of a sex-crazed Welsh whore they thought she was.
Richard pulled on his underclothes, then turned and held out his hand. “Ready, sweet?”
Gwen took a deep breath. “Aye.”
The queen and her ladies waited. Richard let her go, and she shrank against the wall, desiring to be anywhere but here.
He strode out in front of the women. He was bare from the waist up, his braies riding low on his hips. Margaret de Valence gasped. Last night it had been part of a ceremony, but this morning was a different matter altogether.
Catherine de Lacy merely gaped at him.
A smile played at the corners of Eleanor’s lips. “Richard de Claiborne, you are incorrigible.”
Richard bowed. “Majesty. Ladies. If you had not insisted on interrupting my sleep I am certain I could have found the time to dress properly later. Much later.”
Eleanor waved a hand, silently bidding the women to carry out the task. Alys stood in the entryway, her hand covering her mouth. The corners of her eyes crinkled.
“Really, Richard,” Eleanor said. “You must eat sometime.”
He didn’t answer, his mouth crooking in a lazy grin. Eleanor shook her head.
Gwen stood quietly, hoping to avoid any attention. Fortunately, Richard was drawing most of it. Catherine and Margaret found the stain and called the Queen over. For one irrational moment, Gwen thought somehow they knew it wasn’t really her blood.
But the three of them merely nodded. Catherine smiled at her, winking, and Gwen prayed the floor would swallow her up.
“We will expect you at table soon,” Eleanor said over her shoulder as they walked out the door.
Richard turned to her. Her breath shortened. Even in the full light of day, he was magnificent. If his chest was not so broad and his arms not so big, he would almost be a little boy with his mussed up hair and mischievous eyes.
Gwen gasped when he picked her up, holding her so he had to look up at her. His arms wrapped around her bottom and she held herself up by pressing down on his shoulders.
“You have only glimpsed the surface of things to come, sweet. There is much yet to learn of passion between a man and a woman.”
He swung her around, laughing, then slid her down his body until their eyes were level. Gwen was mesmerized. What had gotten into him?
He stared at her for so long she thought she would melt. His voice was soft when he spoke. “If I were Rhys ap Gawain, I’d have never let you go.”
Gwen wasn’t even aware he had set her down until he walked away. Her heart sped dizzily and she leaned against the wall for support.
“Dress warmly. We ride for Claiborne castle today,” he said, tugging on the rest of his clothes.
“How far is it, my lord?”
He came to her, his gaze penetrating hers once again. His finger brushed her cheek. “Have you forgotten my name so soon, Gwen?”
“Nay.”
“I know how to make you say it,” he said softly, reaching for the edge of her robe.
Gwen jerked away. He laughed. “If you forget it again, I may have to.” He went to strap on his sword.
“’Tis a day’s ride to Claiborne, sweet, no more.
I will be in the hall with the king. Come as soon as you are dressed. ”
He left and Gwen was thankful. She needed a chance to catch her breath and quiet her racing heart. Sinking down on the edge of the bed, she stared at the small stain of blood.
Alys returned, flashing Gwen a knowing look.
“Not you too, Alys,” Gwen said, groaning.
Alys giggled as she hurried about her business of readying for the journey.
The hall was almost as lively as it had been the night before.
Gwen paused in the entryway, scanning the crowd.
Elinor had once told her that feasts sometimes went on for days.
This one might also, but Richard had chosen to leave today.
In a way, she was glad. Not that Claiborne castle was the ideal destination, but at least the English court wouldn’t be there.
She wanted to search for Dafydd, but Richard picked her out, his gaze following her as she wound her way through the room. He frowned when she took her seat beside him.
“Where is your wimple?”
Gwen touched her thick braid. “Welsh women do not wear them.”
“In England, only virgins and the queen herself may wear their hair uncovered. From now on you will cover your hair as befits a lady of your station.”
“I will not do it,” she said, glaring at him.
“What?” His voice was hard, dangerous.
Gwen swallowed. God, it was like baiting a tiger. But she wouldn’t back down. “I am Welsh. You’ve taken all I have but you cannot take that from me. I will not pretend to be English.”
His face darkened. “You will do as I tell you.”
“You have the advantage of strength over me, my lord. Mayhap you should beat me into submission. Or worse…”
Richard curbed his fury. He probably deserved that remark last night, but not now. He’d shown restraint with her and he’d certainly not pressed his advantage when he could have. His voice was controlled. “Now is not the time, Gwen. I will discuss it with you later.”
King Edward turned to them, his eyes twinkling. “Sleep well, Richard?”
“Aye, Ned,” Richard said more curtly than he intended. “And you?”
Edward beamed. “Like a baby.”
Richard grunted.
A servant brought oranges to the queen. “Do have an orange, Gwenllian,” she said, leaning forward to catch Gwen’s attention.
“Thank you, Majesty,” Gwen replied.
“Richard, you will have to start getting oranges for your wife. She has fallen in love with them,” Eleanor said, peeling the fruit deftly.
Richard’s jaw tightened. “Indeed?” He turned back to Gwen. “Was one lesson enough, or do you need me to peel it for you?”
Edward coughed.
“I can manage,” Gwen snapped.
Richard drew in a deep breath. He’d regretted it the instant the words crossed his lips, but it was too late to take it back. God’s passion, how she aroused his anger! And other parts of him.
That was the problem, he decided. He was unused to this state of frustrated sexual arousal. He was going to have her, soon, or he was going to find comfort elsewhere.
She didn’t look at him while she fumbled with the orange. Tired of watching her struggle with it, he grabbed it. She ignored him, picking up a piece of bread instead.
“You must both come to London for Christmas,” Edward said.
“Oh yes!” Eleanor echoed. “I will be delivered of our son by then. You must come and celebrate.”
“Thank you, Majesties. We shall,” Richard replied, handing Gwen the peeled orange. She took it, snatching her hand away when his fingers brushed her palm.
Edward sat up straight. “God’s bones, where is my mind this morning! Richard, I want you to escort Lady Ashford to her estate on your way back to Claiborne.”
“Why does she want to return to Ashford Hall?” Richard asked, suspicious of anything that put Anne in close proximity to him.
Edward shrugged. “She has been at court for six months. She wishes to visit her son.”
Richard frowned. “I plan to travel quickly. The lady will only hamper me with her baggage.”
“One night in Oswestry will not hurt you. You can make it that far. Mayhap you will find something of the brigands that have been waylaying pilgrims to Holywell.”
“I already have. I think they’re using one of the caves in the Cambrian foothills for their base. I intend to hunt them down when I have seen my wife settled at Claiborne.”
“Jesú, Richard! One night will make no difference. I have promised Lady Ashford escort and you will provide it.”
The woman was up to something, of that Richard was certain.
She was vain and spoiled and not in the least bit happy living in the March.
Did she think to come to Claiborne and try to insinuate herself as his mistress again?
He wouldn’t put it past her, though if she did, she would not find the task easy.
Besides, he’d slaked his thirst at that well too often to want another taste.
Still, there was nothing he could do except obey. Richard inclined his head. “As you command, Majesty.”
Gwen stood in the bailey with Alys, waiting for the last of the horses to be loaded with Lady Ashford’s things.
Good Lord, the woman had a lot of trunks!
Thankfully, her own trunks had gone straight to Claiborne when they’d descended from the mountains.
She looked around for a sign of the elusive lady, but saw nothing to indicate she had appeared.
Pewter-tinted clouds hung low in the sky. It had not rained yesterday and Gwen prayed it would wait. She did not look forward to riding in a downpour.
The inner courtyard hummed with activity. Richard’s knights checked their saddles, ran their hands over their horses legs to feel for any injuries—bone splints, swollen tendons, cuts—and when satisfied, mounted gracefully despite the bulk of their armor.
They were a splendid looking group. She counted twenty of them, all turned out in crimson and black, and carrying helms that sported plumes of white and black feathers. One man bore a blood-red banner with the hawk emblazoned in the center of it.
Black Hawk’s men were frightening enough just standing here. Gwen imagined they were downright terrifying when they rode you down in battle.
A group of horsemen caught her eye. “Rhys!”
She lifted her skirts and ran across the bailey, dodging puddles and animals. An old woman shook her fist when Gwen nearly ran into her. Gwen gave her a hasty apology and kept on going.
The bay stallion tossed his head impatiently as she ran to Rhys’s side and gripped his calf.
“Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?” she asked breathlessly.
“I would not dream of it, Your Highness.” Rhys’s mouth lifted in a boyish smile, a smile that contained a hint of sadness. “Are you well, Gwen? Did he hurt you?”
Gwen fixed her gaze on his leg. “No, he did not hurt me,” she said softly. Rhys touched her hair and she raised her eyes to his.
“If he ever does…”
“Have you seen Dafydd?”