Chapter 32 #2
Unconsciously, Gwen clutched her stomach. What of their child, their son? Aye, she knew it was a son. She did not know how, but she knew it nonetheless. Would he grow up without a father, take his father’s place long before he should?
Gwen drew in a shaky breath. It was a fact of life that men went to war. Her father had. Rhys had. But the thought of Richard in such danger terrified her to the depths of her soul.
She’d been so frantic for him when he’d left to stop the raid. If she admitted it, she’d been frantic the day she’d seen him leap onto Sirocco and charge the attackers at the cave. How would she live, fearing for him with every breath, missing him with every fiber of her being?
The smoke was choking her. Her blood pounded in her temples as the music and laughter swelled in her ears. She had to get out of the hall, had to be alone for a little while. Quietly, she rose and slipped away from the queen and her ladies.
Gwen wandered the passages and rooms of Westminster Palace. She knew not where she was or where she was going. All she wanted was to forget.
She opened a door and stumbled out into a quiet courtyard. Though the air was cold she never noticed. Angrily, she swiped at the tears trickling down her cheeks. Never had she cried so much until she married Richard!
She giggled almost hysterically. Mayhap she would not cry so much when he was gone. She sank down on a stone bench. Nay, mayhap she would never stop until he returned.
Gwen thought she understood what Richard’s aversion to falling in love had been.
Well she could imagine his father’s grief at losing his wife.
Richard had said he never wanted to care that much for a woman.
Did that mean he didn’t love her as much as he might?
Was that why he could manage to leave her when she could not bear the thought of living without him?
She didn’t know how long she sat before she felt the hand on her shoulder. She jumped, half expecting to see Richard. “Dafydd!”
He smiled. “One and the same,” he replied, sitting down beside her. “What are you doing out here, Gwenllian?”
“Nothing. The hall just seemed stifling so I decided to go for a walk. What brings you out here, Lord Dafydd?”
He sighed. “Will you not call me ewythr?”
“Uncle?” Gwen said incredulously. “I think not!”
Dafydd shrugged. “I’m not as bad as all that, Gwenllian. My brother and I just happen to disagree on the best way to run Wales.”
“Is that why you tried to murder him?” Gwen couldn’t keep the contempt from her voice.
“’Twas a mistake. I’d give anything to change it. And it was not just I. The prince of Powys wanted his death much more than I did.”
“Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn,” she spat. “He would have placed you on the throne merely to serve his own ends.”
“Well, we did not succeed, and ’twas almost ten years ago it all began. I’ve had time to regret that youthful mistake.”
Gwen glowered. She was too upset about her own life to worry about Dafydd’s. It made her bolder than she would have dared ever dream. “Tell me about my mother. Why did she leave? Or did he send her away, as you claim?”
“He did send her away, Gwen. Not directly, but he did it all the same.”
“Why?”
Dafydd hesitated. “Because he believed her unfaithful. Eurwen could not bear it, and she left.”
Gwen’s breath shortened. “Unfaithful?”
He nodded. “Llywelyn has never had much luck at siring children. When you came along, well…”
Gwen leaned heavily against the bench, stunned into silence. Dear God, all these years. That was why she could never gain her father’s affection, why he’d bargained her future so easily. He did not believe her his child. It made so much sense now.
“He never denounced me,” she whispered.
Dafydd shrugged. “He had no proof.”
Gwen stared into the darkness. Her father could have denied her if he wanted, proof or not. He was the Prince of Wales for God’s sake. Whether she was truly his or not, he’d raised her as his own, given her a title. If nothing else, she owed him for that much.
Gwen was too lost to hear the approaching footsteps, or to realize Dafydd had risen and was staring at the intruder in silent challenge.
“’Tis a pleasure as always, Prince Dafydd. Or would that be Lord Dafydd? I can never remember which side it is you are on.”
Gwen’s gaze snapped to Richard. Her heart turned over at the sight of him. She wanted to lose herself in his arms even while she wanted to slap his beloved face for not telling her about the crusade.
Dafydd smiled lazily. “One day, Dunsmore, I’m going to delight in seeing you beaten.”
“I hope you intend on living a long time,” Richard said, baring his teeth in a poor imitation of a smile.
“Oh I do,” Dafydd replied, sauntering off toward the palace.
Gwen felt a chill wash over her. It did not surprise her they were enemies, but something in Dafydd’s tone set her on edge. Too confident, too certain of himself.
But she couldn’t think of that right now. All she could think of was the man towering over her. He pulled her up and drew her against him.
“Jesú, you are freezing. Why did you come out here?” he demanded.
Gwen clung to him, let his warmth flow over her. She closed her eyes. Emotion rolled through her in waves as she fisted his surcoat in both hands, pressed against him, breathed in his unique scent.
She told herself she should not behave so. She told herself she should be railing at him. Screaming, slapping, kicking, clawing. She held him tighter.
“Come,” he said, pulling her toward the door.
When they were inside, he strode down the passage, then swept her into a shadowed alcove. Her teeth began to chatter.
Richard swore, then started rubbing her arms vigorously. He caught a servant hustling past and ordered him to take them to a private room with a fire.
The man bowed jerkily. “M-milord, I would have to find the chamberlain, and—”
“Take us to a room now, my friend, or you will find yourself without a very precious part of your anatomy,” Richard threatened in a quiet voice. “I care not who you have to insult to do it. Blame the earl of Dunsmore when any ask you.”
“Aye, milord. This way, milord,” he replied.
He led them to a richly appointed room with a roaring fire, then bowed profusely when Richard gave him gold coin for his trouble. Richard barred the door while Gwen went to stand beside the fire.
She stared at the odd-looking rug spread before the hearth. ’Twas a beast with hideous fangs, long dark hair around the head, and a smooth tawny hide.
“’Tis a lion,” Richard said behind her.
“A lion,” she repeated. She’d had no idea ’twas what a lion truly looked like. All she’d ever seen was the lion device on the King’s coat of arms. Certes, that did not look like this.
“Why did you leave the hall without telling me?”
Gwen faced him, studied his features as they hardened with anger.
“Christ, I’ve been searching for you half the damn night! And what the hell were you doing with Dafydd ap Gruffydd?”
Gwen started to laugh. She couldn’t stop, even when his face seemed carved from stone. He grabbed her arms and shook her softly. Gwen hiccoughed the last of her giggles, then fell into silence, staring up at him, knowing all the hurt she felt inside was written on her face.
“When were you going to tell me?”
His expression crumbled. He turned away and raked his hands through his hair, then sat heavily in a chair, his legs sprawled out in front of him. His gaze lifted to hers. “Soon,” he said.
“When do you leave?”
“I do not know yet. Six months, a year.” He shrugged, his finger tracing the edge of the table. “There will be a meeting in the spring to determine.”
Six months! God, if he left then, she would bear his son without him. For some reason it frightened her, and she knew what Elizabeth must have felt. Her pulse quickened.
“Can you not stay?”
His jaw hardened. “Nay.”
The silence stretched between them until he shot out of the chair and pulled her to her knees on the lion rug. He cupped her face between his hands, feathered kisses along her forehead, her jawbone, the slim column of her throat. “As God is my witness, I do not want to leave you, but I must.”
“I am pregnant,” Gwen blurted.
He leaned back on his heels. Gwen bit her trembling lip. This was not the way it was supposed to happen. She’d said it in a desperate hope he wouldn’t leave her if he knew, even while she realized it was futile.
“You are certain?” he asked, his eyes wide.
Gwen nodded. “I’ve not had my courses since we were married.”
He was kissing her suddenly, crushing her to him.
He lifted her against his heart, then laid her back on the rug, leaning over her, endlessly kissing her.
“I love you,” he murmured in Welsh, over and over, as his lips trailed down her neck.
She could feel the beat of his heart, fast and strong, mingling with hers.
Just for now, just this once, she wanted to forget the inevitable and join with him as they were meant to do in this glorious moment they shared. She would think of the Crusade, of her father, later.
There was no need for foreplay. They both knew that only when they were joined deeply would they be able to forget, at least for a while. Gwen arched her hips up to receive him, glorying in the powerful feel of him moving within her.
Their mating wasn’t uncontrolled for once. Long minutes passed while Richard lay completely still, concentrating all his lovemaking on her mouth. In those moments, she could feel him deep within her, their hearts beating as one.
Gwen didn’t even care when she felt the hot trickle of tears running across her temples. Richard brushed them aside, whispering love words that only made them fall faster.
“Oh Richard, ’tis not close enough,” she said. “It can never be close enough.”
“I know, my love, I know.”
Gwen had no doubt he understood. No matter how closely they were joined, it was never close enough.
When it was over and he cradled her against him, Gwen clutched him tight, never wanting to let go.
Tonight, she’d lost a father. Soon, she would lose a husband.