Chapter 20
Despite having spent weeks in the saddle, resting infrequently and riding hard, Richard was awake at dawn. It was the warrior in him, ever used to arising at first light when the enemies’ camp was beginning to stir as well. Men didn’t stay alive by letting the enemy catch them in their beds.
His body ached. He’d made way too many demands on it. First, the ride through the borderlands, then the night spent indulging in pleasure. He started to stretch, then became aware of the small form clinging to him. At the same time, his sleepy senses recognized the sweet scent of roses.
Gwen.
Richard brushed aside the riot of fiery hair. She was beautiful. He hardened instantly. God help him, he wanted her again.
There was nothing unusual in that, but he acknowledged it was much too soon. He doubted she’d welcome him once she became aware of the soreness that accompanied losing her virginity and making love half the night.
She lay partially across him, her head nuzzled against his shoulder, an arm thrown over his chest, a leg nudging his groin. In short, she clung to him as if her life depended on it. Richard smiled.
He’d awakened with a woman at his side so many times in his life that it should not seem a novelty.
But somehow this was different. Was it because she was Llywelyn’s daughter?
Did he feel a certain amount of triumph that he’d spent the night filling her with his seed, the innocent daughter of his enemy?
Even as he asked himself, Richard knew it was none of these things.
He brushed his lips across her forehead. She sighed and shifted, her leg causing him an exquisite amount of torture before it stilled. Carefully, he extracted himself from her arms. He had to leave before he rolled her on her back and indulged in his lust.
Once he was fully clothed, he returned to the bed to stare down at her, though he told himself he should not.
He tucked the fur coverlet around her, his heart beating faster than usual as he relived in finite detail every glorious minute of their lovemaking.
Her every curve, her every quiver, sigh, and moan was imprinted on his brain forever.
Richard ran his hand through her russet curls, then straightened and pulled the hangings shut before he was tempted any further.
Alys was in the small solar that adjoined his chamber. The old woman dipped in a curtsy. “Good morning, my lord.”
“Aye, ’tis good indeed.” He took a deep breath. Why did the morning air seem so alive, so fresh and new?
“Can I do something for you, my lord?”
The old woman was looking at him, waiting for him to speak. Richard realized he’d been standing there for some moments. “Umm, yes, Alys. I don’t want Gwen awakened. Let her sleep as long as she wants. You can bring a tray up for her later.”
Alys smiled. “Aye, my lord.”
Richard had the distinct impression he’d not fooled the woman for a minute.
Light pierced the depths of the curtained bed. Gwen rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes and propped herself on an elbow. She turned to the man at her side, but he was gone.
It was disappointing to wake up without him. She frowned. Disappointing? Irritated, she reached for the hangings and threw them open.
The table had been cleared of the previous night’s half-eaten meal. Likewise, the pile of discarded clothes was also gone. Gwen blushed clear to her toes. What on earth must Alys think?
The tender ache between Gwen’s legs reminded her of the things that had happened last night. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. She and Richard had finally made love—and it had been glorious! She couldn’t imagine why she’d waited so long.
Now she understood the secretive look in Elinor’s eyes. It was a look born of the pure joy of joining with a man in an act as beautiful as it was mysterious.
Guilt followed quickly on the heels of Gwen’s happiness.
Richard was her father’s enemy, her enemy. He was Black Hawk de Claiborne, despite his melting caresses and heart-stopping kisses. And he’d told her he intended to kill her father one day.
Gwen furiously twisted a lock of hair. Why should she feel guilty? She couldn’t have kept Richard from claiming his privileges forever. He was too much man, and far too dangerous, to prevent him from taking what he wanted.
And it was not as if she could ever love Black Hawk de Claiborne. Her father would always come first, there was no fear of that.
Gwen flipped the coverlets back and shrugged into her robe. She would never allow Richard to kill her father. Somehow, she would stop him.
Alys came in, carrying a basin of water for Gwen to wash with. She set it on a stand beside the bed. “Good morning, my lady,” she trilled. “I thought I heard you call for me last night, but then I didn’t think it was my name you said after all. Was everything all right? Did you sleep well?”
Gwen’s face was ablaze. She remembered what name she said, and the circumstances under which she had said it. She lifted her chin and looked Alys in the eye. “Aye, thank you, Alys. I must have been dreaming.”
Alys smiled broadly. “Aye, no doubt you were.” She cleared her throat. “Lord de Claiborne seems in good spirits this morning, I must say.”
“He does?” Gwen cursed herself for sounding too eager. Shrugging, she said, “’Tis nice, I suppose.”
She waited, but Alys did not speak. Gwen sighed. Alys would offer no more information than Gwen asked for.
“Where is he, Alys?”
“I last saw him in the hall.” Alys’s eyes strayed to the bed. She sucked in her breath, her brow furrowing.
Gwen followed her gaze. The sheet was crisp and white, like newfallen snow, marred only by the few drops of blood strewn across it like precious rubies. She met Alys’s questioning look.
“’Tis not time for your flux. I’ve been counting.”
Gwen crossed her arms. “Nay, I… we—that is, he…”
She let the sentence trail off. She couldn’t finish because one thought kept winging through her brain—the amount of blood was almost exactly the same as Richard had put on the sheets at Shrewsbury. It was a painful reminder that what he had done with her last night was nothing new to him.
The things she had thought so special—the way he touched her, the way he kissed her, the way her name sounded on his lips while he was shuddering his release—were things he had done with countless women. She was just another of his conquests.
At least he’d gotten her name right.
Alys straightened the covers. “’Tis extraordinary. He waited until you were ready. Do you have any idea how lucky you are, child? Most men would not wait.”
Gwen turned away, tears pricking her eyelids. Aye, she was lucky all right. He’d almost raped her that first night, then stopped when his own guilt prevented him, not because of any concern over her feelings.
And now Alys was more firmly on his side than ever before, believing him to be some kind of sainted man among ordinary mortals.
Gwen hugged herself tight. Just as he’d done in the cave, Richard had once again proven she was unable to resist his smooth seduction. She’d given in gladly, willingly, wanting him with a fierceness she’d not known was possible.
’Twas no wonder he was gone when she awakened. It hadn’t meant the same thing to him as it had to her.
How could she face him again when he would turn his cold silver eyes on her and laugh because he had won?
She ate very little of the food Alys brought. She took care with her appearance, her stomach knotting as she ran a brush through her hair, shaping the red-gold curls.
She wanted to see him, and yet she did not. She rejected the first three gowns Alys chose, finally settling on gold samite. Gwen knew the color suited her hair perfectly. She chose a simple girdle of gold and silk to complement the dress, then pinched her cheeks until they glowed soft pink.
She descended to the hall, telling herself it mattered not at all if Richard looked at her indifferently.
She hesitated when she saw him. Richard stood at the other end of the hall, deep in conversation with Owain. She started to flee back up the stairs, but he looked up and saw her before she could go. Their eyes locked and he moved toward her.
Gwen could only stare, her heart doing flips in her chest. She remembered him as he had been last night—all virile, hungry male. He had joined his magnificent body with hers and shown her what it meant to be a woman.
A small shiver washed over her and she knew all her careful composure was for nothing. If he looked at her with contempt or indifference, she would die.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips.
“Aye,” Gwen said, unable to meet his eyes. Why did he have to be so handsome? Her heart accelerated as she waited for the setdown that was sure to come.
She started when his lips brushed her palm, and then she was imagining them elsewhere on her body, kissing, sucking, arousing. The sweet ache between her legs tortured her with memories of his possession.
Hot. Complete. Breath-stopping.
Gwen closed her eyes.
“’Tis the same for me,” he said in a thick voice. “I cannot stop thinking of you, or of last night.”
Gwen met his heated stare. How did he know?
He drew her close and lowered his mouth to hers. Gwen responded, dimly hearing the cheer in the background. Before she could drown in him, he lifted his head. His eyes were smoky as his hand stroked her cheek. “Jesú, I could take you back to bed and make love to you for the rest of the day.”
“Yes,” Gwen whispered, mesmerized by the stark need in his eyes.
“My sweet wife, you tempt me beyond reason,” he said, twisting a stray curl around his finger. “Unfortunately, I’ve far too many things to do today.”
Gwen stared at the floor, momentarily embarrassed by her own boldness. Richard still wanted her! The knowledge sent a wave of relief washing over her.
“Are you certain I did not hurt you?”