Chapter 18 #3
She slid the garments from his body, sucking in her breath when his manhood stood up proudly. What did that male weapon feel like? She wanted to trace her finger along the ridge and find out. Heat unfurled in her belly. She closed her eyes and turned away, her ears suddenly hot.
“Jesú, ’tis not as bad as that, is it?”
“Get in the tub, my lord—Richard,” she said faintly. How was he ever going to fit that inside of her?
The water splashed. He sighed. Gwen pushed up her sleeves before gathering the soap and a washing cloth.
His eyes widened. “You are going to attend me?”
She busied herself so he wouldn’t see the color staining her cheeks. She reasoned that it was because he’d ridden so far and so hard, and because he looked so tired, that she complied.
“Isn’t that what I am supposed to do?” she asked lightly, careful not to look into the tub as she dipped the cloth in the water.
“Only if you want, Gwen. I’m not so spent I can’t do it myself.”
Gwen didn’t answer as she stroked the cloth over the refined angles of his face.
“It feels so good.” He closed his eyes and settled back, trusting her as a child might. Dirt and rust washed away easily. The dark circles beneath his eyes did not.
She frowned, moving down his neck. She washed his shoulder gently, then held up the cloth and squeezed it. Hot water trickled over the bruise, and he groaned.
“Does it hurt much?” she asked softly.
“Like hell.”
“You are sure nothing is broken?”
He opened his eyes. She caught his briefly questioning look, the hint of vulnerability that was quickly veiled. “Aye, I am sure. ’Tis stiff and somewhat sore, but will heal. I’ve had worse.”
Gwen bit the inside of her cheek. “You caught those men?”
“Aye.”
“What did you do with them?” she asked, focusing on the bubbles on her hand.
“What do you think I did?”
Gwen raised her gaze to his. She sensed that what she did or didn’t say was very important somehow, but still she could not answer.
“You think I spitted them and left them to rot. Or that I hung them or mutilated them, don’t you?”
“Nay,” Gwen whispered. The bubbles popped, tickling her flesh.
He let his breath out slowly. “I took them to the king’s justiciars in Shrewsbury.”
“They will hang,” Gwen said dully. How many Welshmen would die before King Edward was satisfied?
“Aye, but they weren’t Welsh, Gwen.”
Her head snapped up. “But, the longbow—”
“English outlaws. The king has been training English archers to use it.”
Gwen frowned. “Aye, Rhys told me so.”
Richard’s eyes hardened. Gwen cursed silently. Suddenly desiring to escape his cold glare, she stood.
His body relaxed as she ran her fingers through his crisp black hair. She massaged his head, delighting in his little groans of pleasure. Lather dripped down her arms when she finally bid him to lean forward and rinse.
She came to his side again and dipped her hand in the water.
She rubbed the cloth across his chest, lingering on the hard muscles.
The darkness of his skin made her hand seem like purest ivory in contrast. The tips of her fingers grazed his breast and heat curled within her.
She glanced at him. His eyes were the color of smoke.
“There is more to me than that,” he said in a husky voice.
Gwen swallowed and moved downward, over his ribs, his abdomen. Something touched her and she jerked away. Slowly, she returned.
This time when that part of him touched her, she did not move. Her heart beat wildly. Their eyes met as she closed her hand over solid male flesh.
Richard groaned. “God above, Gwen, I do not have the strength to do it the way you deserve.”
Gwen let him go, ashamed for acting so boldly. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
Her protest was cut off as he grabbed her arm and pulled her down until their mouths touched. She kissed him back, her lips parting, her tongue seeking his. Fire leapt in her breast and flowed to the apex of her thighs.
She whimpered when he pulled away. His eyes searched hers. “I want you so much I can taste it, but trust me when I say the pleasure would be all mine. I promise you once I’ve rested, I’ll devote myself to your pleasure as well as my own.”
Gwen nodded, unable to believe what she was agreeing to.
He smiled. “Now get away from me before I lose control of my lustful desires.”
Gwen stood and went to the window. The snow was falling heavier now. Cattle shuffled through the fields, nosing for shoots of grass buried beneath winter’s first offering.
Her cheeks burned and she pressed her face against the cool glass. He was barely returned and her body throbbed for him. And she had just agreed to let him make love to her.
Gwen shivered. It was going to be an earth-shattering experience, she was certain.
She heard Richard climb from the tub. She waited until she was sure it was safe before she turned around.
He had slipped on a black tunic and was seated at the table, whipping the covers off the dishes. Gwen’s eyes widened as she watched him. He wolfed down the roast pheasant and peas with saffron, two meat pies with onion and garlic, half a loaf of bread, cheese, and a flagon of wine.
When he was finished, he took a deep breath, then stood, stretched, and walked to the bed.
“Wake me in time for supper,” he said, falling onto the mattress.
Gwen’s jaw dropped. Surely he was joking.