Gwen dreamed. She dreamed of a cave and a man who eased her back on the cool ground and worshipped her body with his. It was summer and the scent of wild roses drifted in on a soft breeze, penetrating the depths of the glittering cave.

Her gown slipped away and her flesh burned beneath his seeking mouth. Ah God, she wanted to touch him too! Her hands roamed over him, her mouth savoring every inch of delicious skin. She kissed the scar on his side and he shuddered.

“I love you,” he whispered, and her heart swelled to bursting. Life had never been so perfect.

Next, she was standing in the middle of a long room. Her father stood at one end, Richard at the other. King Edward sat on a throne in front of her. He lifted his hand.

“Choose,” he said.

Horror gripped her with icy tentacles. “I-I cannot!”

“One of them will die.”

She fell to her knees. “Please, Majesty…”

“If you do not choose, they will both die.”

She looked at Richard, then at her father. But her father was not alone. Einion and Rhys stood with him.

Edward merely shrugged. “Choose,” he commanded. “Him, or them.”

The Welshmen kept multiplying. Richard remained alone. Gwen ran toward Richard, then stopped. She turned and ran toward her father and Wales, then stopped. She started to shake, and tears streamed down her face.

She could not choose.

She screamed.

And sat bolt upright in bed. Owain hovered over her, his face pale. “Is he…?”

Gwen touched Richard’s brow. Owain frowned when she started to laugh. “Nay, he is cooler now. Oh Owain, he is cooler!”

A smile spread over Owain’s haggard face. “He is too stubborn to die over something so minor. ’Twould have to be a sword thrust to the heart, not a dagger wound to the side.”

Gwen ran her hands over Richard’s body, reassuring herself the fever had indeed broken. If anything, he was sweating more than before, but it was a different kind of sweat. Cooler, as though the fever was pouring itself out of his body now that its course was run.

Owain returned to his pallet.

Gwen stroked Richard’s jaw. The images of the dream still haunted her, and she shivered.

Choose.

She pressed closer to him. It was only a dream. They didn’t always have meaning.

---

When Richard opened his eyes, he was surprised to realize it was daylight and he was still in bed. He started to get up, but the dull ache in his side forced him back down.

He stared up at the canopy, and remembered.

Gwen didn’t trust him, thought him capable of horrible things. He eased up and looked around. She wasn’t even here.

Despite the ache, he swung his legs off the bed and sat up. Someone had stitched him. It wasn’t Sir Henry’s handiwork. The stitches were too small and neat.

He stood and went searching for his tunic. A gasp in the doorway brought his head around.

His heart quickened a little, and it angered him. He’d sworn his fidelity on bended knee, shared things with her that he’d never shared with anyone. Despite all that, she believed the tales she’d been raised on in her father’s hall. “What are you doing here?” he demanded more harshly than he intended.

“You must get back in bed, my lord. You’ll rip the stitches,” she said, coming to him, her hands twisting the edges of her gown.

Richard closed his eyes. Roses, goddamn roses! He wanted to pull her against him and bury his face in her hair. “Don’t you have some sewing to do? Or some menus to plan?”

“Nay,” Gwen said quietly.

Her hand settled on his arm, and he thought he might come undone. He stiffened, and she snatched her hand back.

Tears shimmered in her golden-green eyes. “Please get back in bed, Richard. I will bring you something to eat.”

“I have things to do, Gwen.” His inner demon refused to be silenced. “After all, there are prisoners to torture.”

Just for an instant, her eyes widened. She quickly recovered, but he didn’t miss the fact she’d actually believed it, if only for a second.

Overwhelmed by bitterness, Richard turned his back. He knew it was a stupid thing to say. He found his tunic and struggled to get into it. When he felt her hands on him, he stopped.

“Let me help you,” she said.

He stood very still while she dressed him. Every second was more unbearable than the last. All he wanted was to hold her. Just when he thought he would crack, she stepped away.

“Please be careful, Richard. I don’t want you ripping those stitches. I don’t think I could do as good a job the second time around.”

His hand strayed to his side. “You did this?”

“Aye.”

“Thank you for tending me,” he said softly.

“’Tis a wife’s duty, my lord,” she replied, equally as soft.

Richard stiffened. “Duty. Of course. No other reason needed.” Had he only imagined what happened in the bailey on the night he’d ridden out? Certes, it was possible, considering what had occurred since.

He was almost to the door when she called to him. “I feared for you,” she said tearfully.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why, when you think me so terrible? Wouldn’t it be easier if I had never come back?”

“Nay! How can you say that?” she cried, running to him and cupping his face between her hands. She pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his. He didn’t want to, but he responded, kissing her with a desperation that frightened him.

“God, I’m sorry, Richard. I did not mean to doubt you. I know you are not capable of the things said of you. ’Twas stupid of me.”

Something within him twisted and snapped. He grasped her wrists and pulled her hands away. He couldn’t bear to have her say such things, then look at him like he was the devil himself when she found out his true nature. He wouldn’t wait for her to learn just exactly what he was capable of.

“Nay, Gwen, I am capable of great cruelty.”

Her eyes widened. He pulled her tighter against him, wanting to feel her soft curves molded to his body. Her lips parted. All his muscles locked in an effort to keep from kissing her again.

“Do you want to know how much?” he demanded. “Do you want to know what kind of man I am?”

“I—”

“I’ve never told you about Elizabeth, though I daresay you’ve heard of her.” Her mouth closed and she nodded mutely. “I abandoned her, Gwen. I left her to have our babe alone, though she begged me not to go. I knew she was frightened and I left anyway.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I am sorry. You must have loved her very much.”

Richard threw his head back. “Don’t you understand? I loved her not at all! ’Tis my fault she died. ’Tis my punishment for not caring enough.”

“Nay,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“Yes, Gwen, yes! I am everything you thought I was, and worse, much worse.”

She searched his face, then swallowed. “You did what your king commanded. You cannot be blamed for going when he called you.”

He let her go and walked away. He sank onto the edge of the bed and pushed his hands through his hair. His bitter laughter broke the silence. “Is that what you think? Edward cannot be kept from Eleanor’s side when she gives birth. He would not have prevented me from doing the same, especially since Kenilworth is only a few days ride from Claiborne. Nay, wife, ’twas my own cold-heartedness that kept me away.”

Gwen couldn’t speak. He watched her expectantly. She whirled around and went to the window. Her heart was throbbing madly in denial. It wasn’t supposed to be like this!

There were so many things she wanted to say, but a lifetime of guarding her emotions was a hard habit to break. No one had ever had the kind of power to hurt her that Richard had. She didn’t think she could bear telling him she loved him again and not have him say it in return.

She heard him get up. Every instinct she had told her to go to him, to tell him what she felt. But her body remained motionless, frozen in place, while her mind raced, searching for ways to avoid exposing herself to the pain of rejection.

She prayed he would come to her, wrap his arms around her, tell her everything would be all right again. But his footsteps didn’t advance. They retreated.

---

Richard leaned against the wall of the passage. He put his hand to his side and winced. It was nothing compared to the pain he felt inside.

What had he done? Why had he told her about Elizabeth?

After a moment, he shoved away and strode to the hall. If Gwen had ever thought she loved him, he’d certainly killed it now.

And it was best that way. He cared too much for her. It had to stop before she abandoned him to face it alone.

“Jesú, Richard, you should not be up yet,” Owain scolded, bringing him up short. The Welshman’s expression grew wary. “What has happened?”

“Nothing, Ewythr. Nothing at all,” Richard said smoothly, though his throat ached.

Owain’s eyes darted around the room. “What is the matter with you?” he hissed.

Richard was not in a cautious mood. The only person within earshot was one of the knights in Anne’s household and it was highly improbable he understood Welsh. “Leave me be, old man.”

Owain’s face reddened. “I don’t know what is going on between you and your wife, but there is one thing I do know.”

“And what is that, pray tell?” Richard asked, more out of obligation than interest.

“You are a bloody, arrogant fool.”

Richard walked away. He didn’t need this right now. But Owain followed. “Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

Richard stopped and turned around. “How would you know what I feel?”

Owain stuck a finger in Richard’s chest. “Because I’ve been with you since you were a babe! Just tell her you love her and get it over with.”

“I do not love her. I cannot,” he growled.

Owain snorted. “Stupid whelp! How many chances do you think you get, boy? Take it while you got it.”

“You overstep your bounds, Ewythr.”

Owain’s grey eyes glittered. “Not nearly enough, Nai, not nearly enough.”

Richard started to walk away.

“And one other thing,” Owain called. “I’m going with you to London.”

Richard stopped, incredulous. “You vowed you would never go there! Why now?”

Owain flushed. “Because I want to, that’s why! And don’t think to try and stop me either.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Richard said dryly.

Owain gave him a curt nod. “I must see to my duties, my lord.”

“Of course.”

Richard’s hand strayed to his sword and he suddenly remembered he had forgotten to put it on. Jesú, what was his life coming to?

---

In just a few days the household was packed and on the way to London. The earl of Dunsmore took servants enough for a large house. Wagons of supplies rolled along half full, though they would be overflowing on the return journey with items only obtainable in a great port city like London.

Gwen patted her mare’s neck absently. Her eyes sought Richard. He rode ahead with his knights, laughing and talking about whatever it was men discussed at times like this. She worried over him, but he seemed fine. If his wound pained him, he didn’t show it.

She’d not been alone with him in a fortnight. The inns were too crowded to obtain a private room. Richard could have commandeered an entire inn, being a high-ranking nobleman, but he had not done so. Gwen was thankful he didn’t kick people from their lodgings even if it did mean she’d had to share with Anne.

Gwen cast a glance at Alys. She’d begun to notice the woman seemed preoccupied, especially when Owain was around. It was hard to miss the way the two stared at each other.

Gwen hid a smile behind her hand. At least Alys’s love life seemed in order. Hopefully hers would be too, once she and Richard were finally alone and could talk.

She hoped he would talk. She’d wanted to approach him more than once, but the timing was never right. There were always servants or knights or someone else hanging about. It didn’t seem appropriate to try to discuss their lives while riding horses.

A short time later, they emerged from the forest road. Gwen’s jaw dropped. “Jesú,” she breathed. In the distance, London stretched across the landscape like a huge spider, tentacles gripping the hills with the firm tenacity of a creature that would not be moved.

“Is it what you expected?” Richard asked.

Gwen started. She’d not realized he’d dropped back beside her. “It’s huge!”

He smiled, and her heart lurched. It was far too long since he’d smiled at her. “Aye, and full of every privilege and decadence you can imagine. Thirty thousand people live in London year-round. ”Tis crowded and dirty in many places. There are whole streets named after the tradesmen who line them: Chandler, Tailor, Wine, Cloth, Milk, Honey—it goes on forever.”

“Elinor told me that people actually live on London Bridge. Is it true?”

Richard nodded. “Aye, ’tis true. London Bridge is packed with houses and shops. ’Tis easier to solve the problems of water supply and sewage when one lives over a river.”

Gwen was much too excited by the sprawling city to catch the humor in his reply. She’d heard her father talk of London and she’d been unable to believe the things he’d said. It was impossible to imagine thousands of people living in a place, and yet it was true.

She turned to say something to Richard, but the words died on her lips. His expression was so intense, so hot, that a thrill coursed down her spine. There was no mistaking he wanted her.

“I want to make love to you,” he said softly. “For hours—nay, days. Days, Gwen…”

“Weeks,” she whispered, her heart soaring.

“Years,” he countered, his eyes traveling over her face, down the thick folds of her velvet cloak, then back up again. “I have missed you.”

“I ache for you,” she said.

His eyes darkened. “Soon, wench. Very soon…”

She shivered. Talking could wait.

They did not enter the city of London, crossing instead over the Tyburn Brook to Thorney Isle and the burough of Westminster.

The snow had been cleared to the side and the horses’ hooves clicked on the cobblestones. People in bright cloaks hurried past, barely noticing the arrival of yet another nobleman and his household though none hesitated to get out of the way once they looked up and saw the crimson and black livery coming their way.

Gwen gazed at her surroundings with wide eyes. Nothing Elinor or her father had ever said prepared her for this. The houses and shops were packed together tightly, stone and timber buildings rising three and four stories above the street. The dirtiness Richard spoke of was not at all apparent here.

As they rode farther into the burough, the houses became larger—sprawling stone buildings surrounded by walls that enclosed vast courtyards and grand gardens. Houses of the nobility.

Westminster Palace rose above the Thames in the distance. They rode toward it, then turned onto a street that Richard said was called the Strand.

Anne Ashford’s party didn’t turn with them, continuing toward the palace instead. Gwen breathed a sigh of relief. She’d hoped the woman wouldn’t try to insinuate herself at Dunsmore House, but she’d fully expected it.

Dunsmore House was one of the grander residences, or palaces as they were sometimes called. Set against the flowing Thames, its white walls and intricate gardens were enhanced by the great sheets of costly glass adorning the windows. It took great wealth to indulge in such an extravagance. Gwen swallowed. She’d had no idea Richard was so wealthy. Why did a baron with the power and status he carried risk his life riding the borders?

Servants in the Dunsmore livery hurried to greet them. Richard swung down off Sirocco and came to help Gwen. Gripping her hand firmly, he turned to Owain, who was still wide-eyed from the ride through the city.

“The steward here is Sir Charles. Find him and see to the unloading. Do not disturb me unless it’s important.”

Owain’s gaze trailed to their linked hands. A broad smile creased his face, and he bowed. “As you command, my lord.”

Gwen didn’t mind that Richard pulled her through the house before she got a good look at the marble columns, the spacious hall with its gilded walls, the floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the rooms in light. She didn’t care because she was as singularly minded as he at the moment.

She could see it later. Everything could wait until later. Everything but the wild heat that begged for release.

He sent her up the stairs in front of him. When she was halfway up, she turned and put her arms around his neck. Even standing on the stair below, he was taller than she.

Hungrily, they fused their mouths together. Gwen clung to him, pressed against him until she felt his hard manhood like a pillar between them.

He cupped her breasts and she whimpered. God, it was so long since they’d made love that she was extra sensitive.

Nearly mindless with need, Gwen sank backwards onto the stairs. Richard came down on top of her. Her hands slipped beneath his tunic and he shuddered as she caressed bare skin.

“Gwen, ah Christ, Gwen…” His lips moved down her throat, licking, kissing, rediscovering. “We must get upstairs before I take you here and now,” he said thickly.

“I care not,” she breathed.

“We must, cariad.”

He picked her up and started to carry her to the master chamber. “The stitches!” she cried. “You will hurt yourself!”

Richard laughed. “Jesú, wench, you are too light to injure me. I strain it more when I pull myself into the saddle than I do when holding you.”

He set her down and kicked the door closed. Gwen threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down. His lips on hers were firm and strong and devouring.

His fingers worked her laces until he could push her surcoat and chemise open. Then he bent to seize a nipple. Gwen cried out.

His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close while he suckled her breasts with heartstopping precision. Gwen kneaded his shoulders like a kitten.

He groaned when she cupped his manhood in both hands. Somehow, they found their way to the bed. Richard pressed her onto the mattress, shoving her skirts up while she worked to free his chausses.

“I want to be inside you, Gwen. I want to feel you hot and tight and clinging. I want to hear you cry my name while I’m thrusting into you,” he said huskily. “I’ve wanted it for weeks.”

“Yes, Richard, yes. I want it too…”

Someone rapped on the door. They ignored it. It came again, louder. Richard swore. “Go away!”

“Milord? Milord?”

“Later!”

Gwen almost had him free. Another minute and they would be joined. She kissed him. His tongue plunged into her mouth with the same dark rhythm his body would soon imitate.

“Milord! A message from the king, milord!”

Richard’s head snapped up.

“No!” Gwen cried, trying to pull him back down. “Can’t it wait?”

“Nay.” He went to the door and opened it a crack. Gwen sat up. She couldn’t hear what was said, but she knew as soon as he closed it he was leaving.

He walked back to the bed, straightening his clothes. Gwen tugged her skirts in place. “Please stay,” she said.

He shook his head. “I cannot.”

“We need to talk, Richard.”

His expression softened. “Aye, I know. When I return, I promise.” He snatched his mantle off the floor. “Why don’t you take a hot bath and get some rest? We’ll have all night for talking… and other things.”

He winked before he slipped out the door.

---

Richard strode through the corridors of Westminster, anxious to get this meeting over with and return to Gwen.

His body still throbbed with the memory of his arousal. He’d been so hard he thought he might explode the instant she touched him.

He’d missed her. At first he was able to ignore it, thinking it would pass soon enough. But instead of going away it had only gotten worse.

She was a fever in his blood. He needed her. For weeks he’d fantasized about the kinds of things he wanted to do to her body.

He refused to believe it was anything beyond a physical connection. She was just so beautiful and passionate that he desired her above all others.

He would not deny himself any longer.

When he reached the king’s solar, a youth stepped inside to announce him. The boy returned and held the door open, bowing as he swept past.

“Richard! Jesú, but you are prompt,” Edward said, rising and clapping his friend on the back. “Fetch some wine. Gascon, I think,” he said to a servant.

At Edward’s bidding, Richard sank into an ornately carved and cushioned chair. The room was richly appointed with velvet hangings and sendal tapestries. The golden-lion banner draped across one wall. The ceiling was green, spangled in gold, and over the fireplace the wall was wainscoted and painted with scenes of the strange animals in the royal menagerie.

Richard knew, because he knew Edward, that the room had not changed since the days of Henry III, Edward’s father. Henry had loved magnificence and opulence whereas his son barely took heed of it at all. Edward was a soldier at heart. His energies would more likely be directed at strengthening a keep’s defences than decorating its chambers.

“So where’s the little wife?” Edward asked. “Leave her at home so you could play?”

Richard grinned. Ned was always thinking with his prick. “Nay, she’s at Dunsmore House.”

“Ah. Pregnant yet?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Jesú, I thought you’d have planted your seed deep by now.”

Richard shrugged. “She is Llywelyn’s daughter. Mayhap it takes longer than with other women. ’Tis not from lack of trying, I can assure you.”

Edward laughed, his eyes twinkling. “I knew you’d not have a problem. That lass could get a rise out of a corpse, I’ll warrant.”

Richard shifted uncomfortably, remembering the rise she’d given him not too long ago. He changed the subject before he got it again. “Has the queen given birth yet?”

“Aye,” Edward said, his eyes lighting. “’Tis another daughter, but she’s beautiful. The next one will be a son.”

Richard smiled. Ned needed an heir. The last one had died years ago, but the king never failed to rejoice over the birth of a daughter. England didn’t much worry over it either. She still had Edmund and his sons if it ever came down to it.

But Edward was young yet, barely in his forties, and he had the cool confidence of a man who knew he’d give England her next king eventually.

The servant returned and poured wine into two golden goblets. When he took his leave, Edward fingered the rim of his cup and said, “The pope wants me to lead another crusade.”

Richard’s heart dropped to his feet. “When?”

“Sometime next year.”

Richard took a drink, let it bathe his suddenly dry throat. The last crusade had taken four years.

His palms slipped on the goblet and he gripped it tighter. Ned could not require him to go. All he had to do was pay the scutage and send the knights he owed the crown. That would be enough.

His free hand strayed to his sword. He had to go with his king! Honor demanded it. He had sworn to always support Ned’s causes, no matter what, no matter where. It was his duty.

Richard tossed back the wine and reached for the flagon to pour another.

“We’ll have to call a council to discuss it, of course. Perhaps in the spring. What do you think?”

“Aye,” Richard said.

Edward’s face lit with excitement. “’Twill be like old times, eh Richard?”

The king continued to speak but Richard did not hear. He downed a third goblet of wine, then poured another. Why did life suddenly seem meaningless?