Chapter 35 #3
Goddamn Dafydd to hell! She knew her father, knew his pride.
He would not fight for England. He would hold out if he could, but if forced he would come to war on the side of Wales.
That was the one thing the bloody English never could understand.
Welshmen were fiercely loyal and fiercely patriotic. And so were Welshwomen.
“And if he does not obey?”
“Then ’tis war against him as well.”
She dropped her hands to her lap. “You would fight my father?”
“Yes, cariad, I would fight your father,” he said softly. “’Tis my duty.”
He didn’t stop her when she left the bed and shrugged into her robe. She settled into the windowseat and stared at the green valley dotted with sheep.
Richard and her father. They would meet on the field of battle. She knew it with a certainty.
She heard Richard get out of bed and walk to the table to pour wine. She glanced at him, and found she couldn’t look away. He stood in a beam of sunshine, fully naked, his bronze form so hard and magnificent that her breath caught. He was a beautiful, beautiful man.
She pictured him in a cave of glittering lights with the sweet perfume of roses all around. And then a man with golden hair said, “Choose.”
“Gwen?”
She jerked. “Aye?” she said, her heart thudding.
He came to her and sank on one knee. “I know ’tis hard for you. I would spare you if I could, but you have a right to know,” he said, stroking her cheek.
“Yes, thank you for telling me, Richard.”
“We only have tonight. I do not wish it spoiled by any more talk of war.”
She threaded her fingers through his and kissed his palm. “Nay, no more talk of war.”
They didn’t emerge from their chamber at all that night. Alys brought the evening meal up, and they fed each other bits of meat and fruit, then made love by moonlight in the windowseat.
When it was over, Richard carried her to bed and she fell asleep in his arms, not even caring that the only light was provided by the moon. As long as Richard held her close, she was safe from the darkness.
She was awakened by the sounds of chinking metal when the sky was just beginning to pinken. She sat up and saw Richard slipping into his hauberk.
“You were not going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?”
Richard spun around. Jesú, he’d hoped to spare her the pain of departure. He’d intended to be long gone before she awakened. “We said goodbye last night, cariad. Or have you forgotten?” he teased, suddenly wishing he could love her one more time.
On her knees, she came to the end of the bed, clutching the coverlet in front of her. “Nay, ’twas not enough. Kiss me again, Richard. Make it last.”
Richard gave in to the temptation, though he told himself he should not. He pulled her soft body against him. She moaned when his tongue met hers. He kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her, until she was breathless and clinging to him.
Then he stepped back enough to let the coverlet fall and reveal her naked body.
He kissed the valley between her breasts, then the soft swell of their child. Her fingers threaded in his hair.
“I know not how long I will be gone, Gwen.” He captured her lips once again. “But I promise you I will return when ’tis time for the babe.”
“I love you, Richard. God keep you safe,” she whispered.
He tore himself away. Before he lost his will to leave, he forced his feet to keep moving until he was out of the room and down the stairs.
Owain stopped him as he was crossing the hall. “Be careful, boy.”
Richard clasped the older man’s shoulder. “Take care of her for me.”
“I will indeed, milord.”
Fifty knights and men-at-arms waited in the bailey.
Destriers pawed the ground, eager to be off.
Richard swung onto Sirocco and surveyed the castle.
A garrison stayed behind to defend it if the Welsh attacked.
Though Claiborne was designed to be impregnable, he prayed they would not have to find out.
He turned to find Andrew staring at him. “What?” he grumbled, though he had a good idea.
Andrew smiled. “Why I was just thinking how pretty ye smell, milord. Certes, the enemy will appreciate how clean ye are.”
“Perhaps I should leave you behind, Sir Andrew.”
Andrew laughed. “And disappoint my new squire?”
Richard sighed. Tristan of Ashford looked every bit of his nine years as he eagerly awaited the advent of the journey. “Mayhap that is all the more reason.”
“The boy will be fine, milord. You were riding the patrols at his age.”
Richard nodded in resignation. Yes, he’d ridden the patrols at the age of seven. Seen his first battle when he was eight. Killed a man when he was ten.
He’d been killing ever since.
As they started forward, Richard turned around in the saddle. He couldn’t shake a sense of loss, and he knew it must be because he’d only just returned and had to leave her again so soon.
He sought the master chamber. She stood there, watching. Their eyes met across the distance and she blew him a kiss. He touched his hand to his lips before turning and riding out the gates of Claiborne.
Her scent would haunt him all the way to Rhuddlan and beyond.