“You promised!” Gwen cried as he set her down in the middle of the room.

A devilish smile lit his handsome face. “Aye, I’ve not forgotten. But, how am I ever supposed to get you to agree if I stick you in another part of the castle?”

Gwen hadn’t counted on that bit of logic. It never occurred to her that he would still try to seduce her. She moved away from him, then stopped when she realized she was walking on a tapestry. She whirled to face him. “I am sorry, my lord. I did not know it had fallen on the floor.”

Richard laughed. “You have done nothing wrong. You can walk on it.” She looked down, saw that he too stood in the middle of the colorful cloth. “’Tis from the East. The Saracens use them. ’Tis called a ‘carpet’.”

Gwen took a step, testing the fabric. She had heard that the queen used carpets in her private apartments, but she had never gone there when she was a hostage at Windsor.

It was not unpleasant. It would most certainly feel better on her naked feet than rushes did. She looked around the room in disbelief, finally noticing the difference between it and the rest of the castle. ’Twas the exact opposite of everything she’d seen so far!

The master chamber reflected the tastes and personality of the man who dwelt here. It was large and furnished with the most basic of elements. The only exotic thing was the carpet.

A stone fireplace lay against one wall, a massive wooden tub sitting next to the hearth. Three large windows, all with glass, looked out on the river valley. A table with several plain chairs stood to one side of the room. The walls were white, painted with red lines to resemble bricks, and a large tapestry hung facing the canopied bed.

Gwen swallowed hard. Two hawks, one larger than the other, soared side-by-side high over a lake. The larger one gripped a fish in its talons.

Richard followed her gaze. “’Tis beautiful, is it not?”

Gwen nodded.

“’Tis also from the Holy Land. ’Tis the male and female. They mate for life, you know,” he said softly.

“Aye,” she replied, pressing a hand to her throbbing temple. Where was she going to get some willow bark?

Servants came bearing trays of food, and hot water for the bath. When they had filled the tub and laid the food on the table, Gwen found herself alone with Richard once more. She did not know what to do, so she waited for him to move first.

“’Tis a wife’s duty to undress her husband and bathe him,” he said, coming to her.

“You are wearing armor,” Gwen said, studying her feet.

Richard chuckled. “An Englishwoman would know how to remove her husband’s armor.”

Her head snapped up and she glared at him. He drew off his gauntlets and tossed them on the table, then unclasped her mantle and let it drop to the floor. She stood very still as he pulled the tie from her hair and moved behind her. His fingers deftly loosened the braid, shaking it out until her hair fell to her waist in a silky cloud.

Gwen’s heart was in her throat. “W-what are you doing?”

“Since you cannot attend me, I will attend you.” He reached for the girdle at her waist and unknotted it smoothly.

“I do not need your help, my lord,” she said, trying to pull away from him. “What of your promise?”

“Jesú, you are so worried about that, aren’t you?” A lazy grin spread across his face. “I can promise you, my sweet, that when I make love to you, ’twill be with your complete permission. In fact, you will ask me—nay, beg me—to do it.”

Gwen stiffened. “You are outrageous.”

“Some might say so.” He stripped her down to her chemise, and she breathed a sigh when he turned and shrugged out of his hauberk.

Rust stained his quilted gambeson orange. He laid it out carefully beside the shirt of mail and continued to divest himself of the armor until he was clad only in a tunic and chausses.

Gwen watched him out of the corner of her eye as he took her hand and led her to the tub. His mouth curved in a smile as he lifted the bottom of her chemise. She held her arms rigidly to her sides, stopping his progress.

“Come now, love,” he coaxed, “the sight of your beautiful body gives me much pleasure. Would you deny me when I will be gone for God knows how long?”

Gwen relaxed slowly. It was just this once and she was the one with the say so. It couldn’t hurt to allow him this much.

He eased the chemise up, caressing her hips, her waist, the sides of her breasts, before lifting it off.

“Jesú,” he breathed, his eyes darkening. She crossed her arms over her breasts and he reached up to undo them. “Let me look at you.”

His gaze traveled down her body, slowly, slowly. Gwen resisted the urge to cover herself. Her nipples tightened, and he murmured his appreciation. He lingered so long on her triangle of flaming curls that she wondered if he’d forgotten the rest of her.

Her eyes flickered over him, widening at the bulge straining against his clothes. She looked up in time to see him swallow hard.

“Get in,” he said, his voice low, intense.

Gwen obeyed. Warmth flowed down her spine like honey as she settled into the water. God, it was wonderful after the cold ride through the March! She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the edge.

Mayhap she could forget that Richard was staring at her like she was a cup of wine and he was dying of thirst.

“I think there is room enough for two in there.”

Her eyes shot open. He was removing the rest of his clothes. “You promised!”

“I said nothing about baths, Gwen, only making love.”

This time she could not tear her eyes from him. She would see his male sex even though she was terrified of it. Her heart lodged in her throat as his clothes peeled away.

He was beautiful, every last inch of him. Flame and shadow licked over his bronze body. His manhood only emphasized what she’d already seen. And it was every bit as big as she’d thought it would be.

Weapon was an adequate word. It stuck out like a knight’s lance, and beneath it was a sac much like a stallion’s. Black hair curled around the base, the same black hair that trailed from his chest to the juncture of his thighs and down his legs.

Her mouth dropped open. That thing was supposed to fit inside her. Elinor had told her so. It was the only thing Elinor had told her, but she’d assured Gwen it would work.

“Do you like what you see, sweet?” Amusement tickled the corners of his mouth.

Gwen turned away, her face hot.

Richard chuckled and stepped into the tub. The water rose considerably beneath his bulk, some of it splashing over the sides to soak the beautiful carpet. He seemed not to care.

He sat at the other end, facing her, his legs stretching along either side of hers. “’Tis heavenly, is it not?”

Gwen glanced at him. “Aye.” She crossed her hands over her breasts, trying to ignore the feel of his skin against hers. He reached for the soap and a cloth.

“Come here.”

“I would rather not, my lord.”

“Back to that, are we? Come here, Gwen. Have I hurt you yet?”

“Nay,” she admitted reluctantly. She scooted forward until he could reach her. He uncrossed her arms and ran the lathered cloth slowly over her breasts. Gwen closed her eyes.

Why did it not feel the same when she did it? It glided over her breasts, her neck, her face. Her skin warmed beneath his touch, then chilled when he moved on.

He washed her arms, then moved lower, down her belly, down—

“Nay!”

“’Tis only a cloth, Gwen.” He slid it over her mons again.

Gwen bit her lip at the delicious sensation. Mayhap he did not know the feeling it caused when he touched her there.

“See, ’tis only a cloth,” Richard said huskily. “It does not hurt, does it?”

“Nay,” she whispered, watching him, her entire body quivering with each brush of the cloth against her womanhood. When he stopped, she almost asked him not to, then caught herself at the last second.

He turned her until her back was to him. She hesitated, then did as he directed. He lathered her hair, massaging her head with sure fingertips. She leaned further and further into him until she brushed against his stiff member.

Richard groaned, and she jumped. He rinsed her head gently, then handed her the cloth. “Your turn,” he said.

Gwen’s jaw dropped. She retreated to the far end of the tub and turned to face him. “My lord, surely you do not expect—”

“Aye, I do.” He had the audacity to grin.

She took a deep breath and moved toward him. She touched the cloth to his chest, hesitantly at first. His silver eyes glittered. She rubbed harder. It was a stretch to reach him. She got to her knees and moved closer.

The dirt from his armor washed away, leaving the handsome face that had haunted her dreams for the last four years.

He shifted and the unexpected motion threw her off balance. He caught her as she fell against him.

Gwen gasped. The hair on his chest was rough against her breasts, and deliciously erotic. He pulled her closer until her torso was pressed to his, his manhood straining between them.

“You torment me, Gwen,” he whispered. “You’ve tormented me for years.”

He crushed his mouth to hers. Gwen opened to him like a rose to the first morning light, responding to his caresses with feverish intensity. He trailed wet kisses down her neck, and she threw her head back, arching into him. His hands moved over her, shaping her.

She gave a little cry as his mouth closed over her nipple, pleasure bolting through her like a tongue of fire.

He teased the hard bud, and then he was sucking on it, nipping it. When he stopped, Gwen thought she would burst, but he took the other nipple in his mouth and began again. Her fists curled into his shoulders.

His hand glided down her body. He cupped her mound, his fingers stroking the hot flesh. A tremor shook her when his thumb brushed across the nub of her womanhood.

Liquid heat flowed through her veins. Every nerve ending in her body came alive as his hand moved over her again and again. This was madness. Every caress, every shudder, inescapably bound her to him.

It had to stop.

His mouth closed over hers, his tongue probing urgently. One hand splayed across her back, crushing her against his hard chest.

He picked her up and when she sat down again, her legs were over his thighs and his swollen manhood pressed against her mons. He grasped her buttocks in both hands and slid her upward along the length of it.

Gwen tore her mouth from his as fear welled up inside her. “Nay!” she cried, pushing against him. He was a big, brutal warrior. His mating would be savage, feral, uncontrolled.

“I want you,” he breathed against her neck. “God, how I want you! Do not deny me, Gwen.” His voice was hoarse, almost pleading.

Indecision washed over her. It was happening too fast. Her body ached for him even while she feared him. He was her husband and it was only right she give in. And yet if she did, she knew she would be lost—hopelessly, irrevocably lost. He would demand nothing less than total surrender, and when he was done he would leave. She was just another conquest, and she couldn’t bear it.

“I-I cannot,” she said.

His arms tightened around her briefly, and then he shoved her away. His eyes flashed in the firelight. “I’ll not wait forever, wife.”

Gwen looked away, crossing her arms over her breasts as he stood and stepped from the tub.

When she finally stole a glance at him, he was nearly dressed. His face was hard, savage. The muscle in his jaw twitched.

Gwen knew despair in that moment. He would spend the night in some other woman’s bed, touching her, kissing her with all the passion that should be Gwen’s.

“Ask Owain for anything you might need while I’m gone. I will instruct him to teach you how to administer a castle in your lord’s absence. I doubt you had much training for that in your father’s household.”

Gwen gripped the padded edge of the tub. “When will you return?”

“Do you care?” he asked harshly. He rubbed a hand over his brow, his voice softening. “I don’t know. It could be days, maybe weeks.”

Gwen’s heart sank. She almost changed her mind, almost asked him to make love to her, but the words were too foreign.

He scooped up the armor. “’Tis best if I sleep elsewhere this night. I will send Alys to attend you.”

Gwen’s blood roared in her temples. “You mean you will spend the night in another woman’s bed.”

His face darkened. “You’ll not question me, wife,” he growled. “I’m a man. I have needs. If you cannot meet them, ’tis your own fault if I spend myself on another.”

He left and Gwen smacked her hand against the water. Fat droplets splashed her face, trickling down her neck to wash away the lingering sensation of his kisses.

---

Richard strode into the Great Hall. A pretty wench eyed him and licked her lips. He watched her, undecided. His body throbbed. This girl was new. He’d not taken her before.

She swung her head toward the pantry. Richard nodded. He followed, closing the door behind him. The pantry was deserted, as she must have known it would be. Loaves of bread, and the remains of prepared dishes from the kitchen, were laid out on the shelves and tables.

The girl lifted her skirts, smiling. Richard swallowed. Goddamn his flame-haired bitch of a wife to hell! He would not wait for her to give him the release he sought. It was her fault she drove him to this.

A niggling voice told him he’d gone too fast with her. He’d let his need spiral out of control and he’d frightened her. If he went back and started over, plied her with sweet talk and gentle caresses, she would surrender to him, he was sure of it.

But going back would mean humbling himself. Richard clenched his jaw. He would not beg a woman for her favors, especially when there were others willing to appease him.

He’d wanted to deny her accusations of infidelity, but anger and pride prevented him. She would learn her place and she would learn not to question or accuse him.

Richard eyed the wench doubtfully. If he did this, it would put Gwen in a bad position. He shook his head. He was the lord of this castle. The servants would obey Gwen because she was his wife, whether he tumbled serving wenches or not. The lord always kept lemans.

Despite the display of legs and female attributes, his shaft was flaccid. Richard closed his eyes and thought of Gwen. He pictured her in his tub, her creamy skin glistening with moisture, her green eyes wide, her lips parted in discovery.

His manhood cooperated. He was going to do this. He was going to prove, to himself and to her, that he would not be ruled by any woman.

He released the drawstring of his chausses and braies. The girl smiled and licked her lips.

Richard swallowed again. “Like this,” he said, turning her so she was bent face first over a table. Her round bottom wiggled, inviting him to sheathe himself within the glistening pink folds of her womanhood.

He shoved all thoughts of Gwen from his mind and stepped closer, gripping the girl’s hips.

“Aye, milord, aye,” she panted.

The sound of her voice, high-pitched, not throaty and musical like Gwen’s, shattered his single-minded concentration.

Richard backed away, his stomach twisting. “Not tonight.”

Bloody hell if he wasn’t losing his mind. His hands were actually shaking as he fastened his clothes!

He turned away when the girl faced him. Her skirts dropped into place with a swish. She waited, as if he might change his mind.

“Get back to the hall,” he snapped.

“Aye, milord.” The door closed behind her and Richard leaned against a table, bracing himself with his hands.

God help him, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave Gwen to face a servant he’d recently bedded. They might obey her, but they’d laugh behind her back.

He should have taken the time to introduce her in the hall tonight. Now she would have to forge her own way with the staff. Owain would help her, he would see to it.

He almost succeeded in convincing himself that was the only reason he’d stopped.