Chapter 30
Anne, too, was partaking of wine at that moment. Except hers spilled across the hard abdomen of her lover before she could lick it all up.
Dafydd groaned when she painted the tip of his penis and started to lick. Anne giggled as she drew him in her mouth.
When she’d drained him dry, he pulled her up and suckled a breast lazily. Anne arched her back.
“Did Dunsmore suspect anything?” he asked.
“Nay, he did not know ’twas your men mingled with mine.”
Dafydd reached for the wine. “And how fares my niece with the mighty Black Hawk?”
Anne pouted. She didn’t want to think of that flame-haired witch right now. “She loves him, though he does not return it.”
That was satisfying, at least. Anne toyed with the hair on Dafydd’s chest.
“’Tis fitting that fate deal her the same lot in life as her mother. Eurwen loved my brother to distraction, but he was too caught up in his precious Wales. If Eurwen had listened to me—” He took a deep swallow of blood-red wine.
“You were in love with her.”
Dafydd’s face was stony. He finished off the wine and set the cup aside. “Aye,” he said, staring straight ahead. “Llywelyn has always beaten me in everything. Love was not an exception.”
“Nay, Dafydd, you have beaten him in one thing.” Anne smiled. “You have sons! You have seven children. He has but one.”
“Aye, and one on the way. This one could be the boy he’s been waiting for.”
Anne traced a circle around his nipple. “Accidents do happen.”
“Yes,” he said carefully, “yes, they do, dearest Anne.”
Anne’s hand slipped to his groin. “We haven’t much time left. The king will seek me as soon as the castle is abed.”
Dafydd rolled her on her back. “We mustn’t allow the king to bed you before we are quite certain everything is in working order.”
Anne could not agree more.
Gwen luxuriated in a hot bath scented with rose oil, then slipped into a silk chemise and velvet robe. She had a quiet supper of roasted fowl and winter cabbage, followed by baked apples and honeyed wine.
It was several hours since Richard had gone and she was beginning to get annoyed. She’d saved her explorations of the house until tomorrow, thinking Richard would be back soon. Every minute that passed only increased her annoyance.
She stood and began to pace. The master chamber wasn’t as large as the one at Claiborne, but it was luxurious nonetheless.
The bed was big and canopied, its wooden posters carved with intricate designs of birds and animals.
The hangings were crimson velvet, embroidered with a spread-winged hawk.
They were pulled back to reveal sheets and pillows of linen and silk, and coverlets of fox and rabbit.
The ceiling was painted with a forest mural and a fierce hawk, and Gwen marveled at the delicacy of the work. Two narrow windows looked out over the Thames. She’d stared out of them until nightfall obscured the view. It was nothing less than amazing.
Even in winter, boat traffic slogged up and down the mighty river that was England’s trade link with the rest of Europe. As far as she could see, the waterfront was lined with buildings both large and small.
London was intimidating to someone born and raised in the pastoral splendor of Wales.
Sighing, she sank into a velvet-cushioned chair. Mayhap Richard had found an elegant lady he preferred over her. Certes, she could not compare with the painted and pampered ladies of the royal court.
She curled into the chair and laid her head on her arm. If he didn’t come soon, she was going to bed and to hell with him.
She had no idea what time it was when she was awakened by loud voices. She stood quickly, massaging the crick in her neck. The door swung open and two men came in, supporting Richard between them.
“Is he hurt?” Gwen asked, hurrying to his side. She recoiled when the strong smell of wine hit her head-on. Fear was immediately replaced by anger.
He raised his head slowly. “Gwen,” he slurred.
“Put him on the bed,” Gwen said crisply.
“Aye, milady,” the two men said in unison.
Richard refused to lie down, gripping the bedpost instead. The men gave up and left him standing.
“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded, knowing it was ridiculous to ask when he was not in any condition to give her a decent answer.
He blinked. “Wessminsser.”
Gwen rolled her eyes, then went to him and started to remove his garments. His free hand entwined in her hair and he pulled her up to kiss him. She pushed him away.
“Lemme make love t’you,” he said.
Gwen laughed ruefully. “I doubt you could, my lord.”
He blinked, then lay his head against the post. Gwen got his mantle and tunic off, then started to remove his chausses. He twirled one of her curls around his finger.
“I love you…” he said, soft and slurred.
Gwen straightened, her heart skipping a beat. She searched his face, hoping for some spark of lucidity. There was none.
He was drunk. He had no idea what he was saying. He tormented her with the one thing she desired above all else when tomorrow he would have forgotten he’d ever said it.
Gwen slapped him.
His eyes widened. Perversely, he grinned. “Never do what I think.”
“You are insufferable,” she whispered.
“Aye.”
She finished undressing him, then unwrapped his hand from the bedpost and led him to the side of the bed. He fell on it and she pulled the covers over him.
She pushed her hair over her shoulders, then raised her hand in front of her face. It was shaking, just like the rest of her.
It was the incessant pounding that woke him. His head felt like a battering ram.
Richard turned over and tried to go back to sleep. It didn’t work. Finally, he sat up and looked around. It took several minutes to realize where he was and several more to focus on the still form of a woman at the window.
“Gwen?”
She started, then turned to look at him. He couldn’t tell from this distance, but she looked like she’d been crying. “I did not expect you to awaken for quite some time,” she said, sniffling.
Richard raked his hands through his hair. “I wish I hadn’t. Jesú, what the hell happened?”
She laughed, but it didn’t sound happy. “Oh I knew you would not remember.” She wrapped her arms around her body. “’Tis a good thing I am accustomed to disappointments.”
But unfortunately he did remember the one thing he wanted to forget. He had no idea how he’d gotten back last night, but he could never forget the crusade. His heart constricted.
The morning light was dull with sleet and snow, but where it touched Gwen, it shone like sunshine. Her glorious hair was like a river of flame and molten gold, the lushness of her form outlined by the velvet robe she wore. Richard could picture every delicious curve in perfect detail.
Oh God, how could he leave her? How, when he’d only just discovered he loved her?
Despite the ache in his head, he went to her. She refused to face him and he slipped his arms around her, pulling her against him.
Nuzzling her hair aside, his lips sought the sweet curve of her neck. “I’m sorry we did not get to talk last night. I know it was important to you.”
“Aye,” she said softly.
Richard knew they should probably talk now, but he couldn’t stop his hands from sliding up to mold her breasts. He felt her quiver and he was encouraged. Lord God how he needed her!
One hand slipped inside her robe and down to cup her feminine mound. His tongue made light circles around her ear. Her breathing quickened.
His shaft filled and he pulled her harder against him until she was aware of his arousal. “God, I want you. Make love with me, Gwen.”
His finger slipped into her cleft. She moaned her pleasure as he began to stroke her.
“That’s right,” he whispered. “Surrender to me.”
She turned in his arms and he bent to kiss her. How had he ever thought that all he felt for this woman was desire?
She was soft and warm and he crushed her to him until she protested it was too much. He eased his grip just enough to let her breathe.
He didn’t want to let go. Not ever.
He needed her so much he thought he might die of it. She was Llywelyn’s daughter. She was the woman he loved.
He undid the fastenings of her robe and let it slide to the floor. Next came her chemise. He swallowed hard. He’d seen her body dozens of times, but this was the first time he saw it with the full knowledge he loved her.
“Extraordinary,” he murmured, tracing the soft curve of a breast until it peaked in his fingers.
“Richard—”
Her eyes were red-rimmed, her expression serious. Richard felt a stab of pain that he had caused her grief. For one horrific moment, he wondered if last night he’d lost control of his tongue and told her of the crusade. “What, cariad?”
“Do you remem—?” She sighed and shook her head. “’Tis nothing.”
Richard kissed her. He wanted to make her happy, wanted to see her beautiful smile, hear her beautiful laughter. He wanted all those things before he told her of the crusade. He had to tell her, of course.
Eventually.
Her hands curled into his shoulders when he sucked a nipple into his mouth and tugged gently. For once his own lust wasn’t uncontrollable, and that surprised him. Her pleasure seemed more important somehow.
“Do you want me, Gwen?” he whispered huskily.
“Aye,” she breathed.
He joined her on the bed, his hard dark length pressing against her soft white body. He explored her with his hands and his mouth, finding new secrets, while she gasped and moaned and clutched at him.
He didn’t enter her. Instead, he brought her to climax, over and over, with his mouth and his fingers. His shaft throbbed, full and heavy, the pulse reaching all the way to his ears. When she tried to touch him, he refused to let her.
Richard knew when she reached the point she was so sated she couldn’t take anymore. Her eyes were heavy with sensuality and sleep and her body was limp. He kissed his way up her belly, her breasts, her neck, finally seeking her mouth.
She kissed him back, sighing. Her hand trailed along his arm and into his hair. “What about you?”
“Sleep, Gwen. I will be here when you wake.”
“Promise?” she asked, covering a yawn.
“Aye.”