Chapter 23 #2
Gwen sniffled and kept her face downcast. “I-I couldn’t.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment and she sensed he was studying her. She dreaded his next question, knowing what it had to be, and wondering what answer she could give.
“Come, I’ll get Alys to prepare a hot bath,” he said, taking her hand.
When they reached their chamber, Gwen folded herself into a window seat, vaguely hearing his rapid orders to a waiting page.
She huddled into his cloak. It smelled of him, and she found that comforting. Closing her eyes, she buried her nose in the fabric.
Her knight had rescued her from the shadows.
She turned away when he came to her. Sitting beside her, he took her chin in his fingers and turned her face to his.
“You’ve been crying,” he said. “Why?”
“’Tis nothing,” Gwen replied, dropping her eyes.
“It must be something.”
“Nay.”
Richard stood. He looked down at her for a moment, then unbuckled his sword and set it aside. Christ, he had no idea how women thought! What was he supposed to do? He was surprised to realize he was even thinking about it. In the past, he just walked out when a woman behaved irrationally.
But why had she been crying? It ate at him until he was suddenly struck with a horrifying thought. “Was it something I did?” he asked just a little too sharply.
Her eyes widened. “N-nay.”
Richard wanted to pursue it, but Alys hurried in with the first of the servants bearing steaming water.
He sat back while she chastised Gwen. He’d never seen the maid behave with anything but deference for her lady, but right now she looked like an angry mother. Gwen bore it all with quiet, almost embarrassed grace, nodding now and again.
Richard studied his wife. It bothered him she was upset, and it bothered him even more that she wouldn’t share it with him.
He knew he should have spent time with her today. Why had he denied himself the pleasure of her company?
The pleasure of her company? Since when had he ever considered a woman’s company to be a pleasure unless it was in bed?
When the tub was filled, Alys started to help Gwen undress, but Richard stopped her. “I’ll take care of her,” he said.
Alys’s eyes widened briefly, and then she curtsied. “Is there anything else you will require, milord?”
“Aye, I don’t think we’ll be dining in the hall tonight. Please send something up.”
Alys curtsied again, then retreated from the room.
“Will you come to me, wife? Or must I drag you from your perch?” he teased.
When she stood before him, he began to untie the knots of her girdle. Her hand, small and white and still cold, settled on his.
“’Tis not necessary for you to attend me. I can do it,” she said softly.
“I want to,” he answered, equally as soft.
Silence suspended between them like the soft beat of butterfly wings. He took his time, removing each garment with care. When she was naked, Richard knew a moment of pure physical lust when he thought he might spread her beneath him on the carpet and drive endlessly into her.
He sensed she needed more from him right now and he took a deep breath, fighting for control. It was hard won, but he seized it and held on firmly.
She sank into the tub, and Richard thought he was insane. Was he truly jealous of the water caressing her silken skin?
He picked up the soap and knelt beside her.
“I can do it,” Gwen said.
This time he gave in. “’Tis probably a good idea, love,” he said, then wondered if his voice was as unsteady as he felt. He retreated to a chair to watch, his body throbbing as though he’d not made love to her in years rather than hours.
She lifted a slender arm and slid the washcloth from her fingertips to her shoulder. Candlelight illuminated the trail of liquid that ran down her chest and dripped off her breasts. Her nipples beaded as wet skin met cool air. A single drop of water fell from the tip of one rosy crown.
Richard closed his eyes. He would have loved to lick away that drop of water, and any others that wanted to cling to her delicious body. “Alys told me you used to go up to the walls of your father’s castle.”
“Aye.”
“I might not have found you otherwise. What would you have done then, since you couldn’t come down?”
She didn’t answer and he opened his eyes to find her head bowed.
“Gwen?”
She turned to him, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“Why couldn’t you come down, Gwen?” he prodded softly.
“I had no candles.” Her reply was so soft he had to strain to hear. Did she say candles?
“Why didn’t you go to one of the towers?”
She threw the cloth to the end of the tub. It smacked against the water, then sank beneath the surface. “You don’t understand! It was dark and I—” She stopped and pressed her hand to her forehead.
Richard went to her, knelt beside the wooden tub. He brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “Tell me, Gwen. Tell me why.”
“I’ve never told anyone,” she whispered. “Never.”
“Never told them what, cariad?” Richard realized he’d slipped into Welsh, called her love, a term he’d used often when coaxing women, but never in Welsh. It must have been because she was Welsh that he’d done it.
She fixed him with her golden-green stare. Richard cupped her cheek, swept his thumb across her lower lip. “You can tell me, cariad.”
She lowered her lashes. “I cannot. You will think—”
“I will think what?” he asked when she stopped.
She took a deep breath. “I-I don’t like dark places.”
He saw the flush creep into her cheeks, the slumping of her shoulders, the quivering of her lip.
Jesú, this woman who had stood up to him from the first minute he’d known her, who had dared him to beat her and thrown water in his face, who had faced arrowfire without blinking, was afraid of the night!
And afraid what he would think of her for it.
Richard wanted to hug her to him and laugh at the absurdity. But he didn’t because he knew she would think he was laughing at her. “Is that all?” he asked lightly. “And here I thought it was something serious.”
Her head snapped up. Her eyes flashed, daring him to pity her. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I was afraid of the dark. I couldn’t walk around the walls because I was too scared to move!”
Richard shrugged. “We’ll just have to make sure you carry a torch the next time, won’t we?”
Gwen slumped against the back of the tub and studied the ceiling. “I am not brave like you or my father. ’Tis weak and childish.”
“I think you are very brave. And I see nothing childish about you.”
Something in his tone made Gwen look at him. He tried to hide it, but his gaze flickered over her body, lingering on the tips of her breasts peeking out of the water. Heat surged between her legs as surely as if he’d touched her with his hands rather than his eyes.
“Why didn’t you come see me today?” The words popped out before she could stop them. Gwen fervently wished she could call them back.
He met her gaze. “I wanted to.”
On impulse, she closed her hand over his where it gripped the edge of the tub. His fingers laced through hers, then he brought her hand up to his cheek.
“I thought of nothing but you all day,” he confessed. “Dozens of times I stopped myself from coming to you.”
“Why?” The word came out as a whisper. She wondered if he’d even heard it.
He rubbed his jaw against the back of her hand, slowly, deliberately. “Because I have duties, Gwen. Because what I want comes second.”
A candle sputtered as a glob of tallow fell against the flame. Their eyes met. Something pulsed between them, something so strong and bewildering that Gwen felt as if her heart would burst from her chest at any moment.
“What do you want right now?” she asked breathlessly.
He let go of her hand and leaned forward until their lips were almost touching. Gwen closed her eyes in anticipation.
“You,” was the word he whispered, the word that seemed to tickle her skin with its promise before his mouth claimed hers.
When Gwen thought his kiss might consume her very soul, a knock sounded on the door and he pulled away to answer it. She sank down in the tub until only her chin was visible while two serving women brought in the dinner Richard had requested.
“Are you warm enough now?” he asked when they had gone.
“Aye,” Gwen replied.
He came to her and held up a towel. Gwen stood. His eyes darkened as rivulets of water trailed down her pinkened skin. Wordlessly he dried her off, then wrapped her in white ermine, despite her protests it was too expensive to use as a blanket.
She followed him to the table. He pulled his chair close to hers and proceeded to attend her as if they were dining in the hall. He gave her the best portions of meat, feeding her every bite from his fingertips. He held her goblet, only drinking or eating when she insisted.
Gwen decided she loved the attention. No one had ever done such things for her before. She realized she’d never wanted anyone to do such things. And now she wanted him to do them, only him.
He was close, so close. His lips frequently brushed her ear. He whispered words to her, beautiful words, and she translated them all into English.
“Dengar.”
“Alluring.”
“Hardd.”
“Beautiful.”
“Trysor.”
“Treasure.”
“Dymuniad.”
“Desire.” Gwen shivered. Richard held the goblet and she drank. Silence fell between them and Gwen’s mind wandered.
It seemed such a private thing they did, but she wanted to ask, did you do this for Elizabeth? Did you share times like these, times when you said not a word but still spoke in ways that made her heart sing?
Oh God, did you love her, Richard?
“What is wrong, Gwen?”
She looked at him then, focused on his striking eyes, his midnight hair, his firm jaw, and she smiled to hide her discomfort. In truth, she dreaded the answer to that question. “Nothing at all. I fear I have drunk too much wine though.”
“Indeed?”
“’Tis your fault. ’Twas you who held the cup.”
He laughed. “Mayhap I wanted to get you drunk so I could ravish you.”
“You need not get me drunk for that,” she replied, her cheeks heating.
“Wanton wench,” he teased.
“That, too, is your fault.”