The first days of June were splendid. The sun commanded the sky, standing bright and pure in a sea of blue. Woolly clouds sailed across the horizon, their shapes fantastical and ordinary at the same time.

The castle gardens were ablaze with color: roses, violets, herbs, pears, apples, and a variety of vegetables grew in profusion. Along one wall, grapevines twisted and trailed, stretching emerald-hued leaves to the sun.

Gwen and Alys lounged on a blanket thrown across a shady patch of grass. A light repast of cold meat and fruit sat to one side, and a flagon of wine cooled in a bucket of water.

William crawled between the women, giggling and gurgling. Gwen thought her baby resembled his father more and more each day. He had downy-soft skin, wide green eyes fringed with thick lashes, and a head of unruly black ringlets.

Already big for his eight and a half months, he promised to be tall and broad, just like Richard. He was a happy baby, though mayhap a bit spoiled. He was always ready with a saucy smile, only crying when he didn’t get his way.

Gwen sighed. Unfortunately, he was rarely denied. She just couldn’t bring herself to refuse him when he turned those wide eyes and that smile that was so much like his father’s on her. And she wasn’t the only one.

Owain strode down the path toward them, clutching a ball Alys had made by sewing stout wool together and stuffing it with straw.

“I found it,” he said, dropping onto the blanket beside Alys. He gave her a quick peck. “William, lookee what Uncle Owain has.”

William held out his chubby little hand and said as imperiously as possible for a baby, “Geem.”

Owain rolled the ball, shaking his head when William latched onto it and wouldn’t let go. “Just like his father, he is. Demanding, even before he understands the meaning of the word.”

Gwen laughed, though inside she ached. She’d thought it would grow duller as time passed, but it had not.

Seven months ago, Richard had kissed her and left her on the road to Claiborne. She’d had occasional messages from him, and she’d sent him dozens, but they were a poor substitute for being with him.

A mist of tears clouded her vision as she watched her son play with Owain. Richard had missed so much, so much.

The first few weeks without him had been hard. She’d kept expecting him to return at any time, but as the days wore on she’d given up.

Rhys was gone too. Shortly after their arrival, he’d gone to Lydford manor to be Richard’s castellan. He visited occasionally, but the last time was over a month ago. He seemed happy enough, though sometimes he was wistful when they talked of her father.

Alys popped a piece of cold venison in her mouth and Gwen smiled to herself. The woman had been so thin when they’d returned. She’d worn herself down with worry, and it had taken a long time for her to regain her appetite. Fortunately, she had her plump figure back.

Owain was devoted to her, and she to him. Since Owain’s return, the love they shared was out in the open. Owain wanted to marry Alys, but they had decided to wait for Richard. They felt it only fair he share in the happiness as well.

William crawled into Alys’s lap. She hugged him, though he protested when it lasted too long. Owain picked him up and held him high above his head. William screamed with delight.

A bee buzzed past Gwen’s ear. She swatted at it absently, her gaze drifting across the garden. She caught a flash of crimson and silver through the trees, but she dismissed it as fancy. She wanted Richard home so much that she was imagining armored men walking through the garden.

It could not be him, however, because they’d had no message he was returning. But then she saw him. He stopped at the end of the path and watched the little group on the blanket. Her heart began to pound until she felt too weak to move.

“Richard…” she whispered. He strode toward them, larger than life, more magnificent than ever.

Owain’s face split in a grin. Alys’s eyes widened as she took William from him. “You knew, you sly devil!”

Owain stood. “Aye, sweetling, I knew he was here. He wouldn’t let me tell you.”

“You have done well, uncle,” Richard said, his eyes on Gwen. She found the strength to stand, though she could not move her feet once she’d done so.

He was handsomer than she remembered. Taller too. His broad shoulders and chest were covered in chainmail, but his coif was pushed back to reveal midnight hair. It was longer than she recalled, curling at his nape, and she ached to run her fingers through its silkiness.

He stopped in front of Alys, who had stood and was holding William. His jaw slackened as he stared at his son, and Gwen knew he was thinking what she had thought only moments ago.

The baby’s eyes were wide, his head tilting back at an uncomfortable-looking angle as he stared up at his father. After studying the metal-clad giant for a long moment, he stretched out his arm and said, “Geem.”

Gwen, Alys, and Owain laughed. Richard looked at Gwen, his brows drawn together, his beautiful mouth curved in a half-smile. He seemed confused and, if she dared say it, a little frightened. “What does he want?”

Gwen picked up the forgotten ball and held it out. “Give him this,” she said softly.

Richard took it, his fingers brushing hers. Tendrils of fire blazed to life within her. Already, she burned for him. Oh God, how she burned for him!

He gave the ball to his son, who clutched it happily. Richard’s finger caressed William’s tiny cheek while the baby tried to chew his prize. He promptly dropped the ball and clamped onto the large hand in front of him.

Richard looked surprised at first. A broad smile spread across his features as William started chewing his finger. “He is perfect,” he murmured.

William promptly tired of his father’s finger and grabbed Alys’s tunic instead. Richard touched the black curls of his son’s hair, his eyes straying back to Gwen.

She heard Owain clear his throat, heard Alys mumble something about taking William in for his nap. When they were gone, she just stood, staring at her husband.

“I have missed you,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears of happiness and relief.

“Show me,” he replied, his voice husky as he held out his hand. Gwen took it. Such a light contact, yet it burned through her, scorched her to the depths of her soul. With a little cry, she threw herself into his embrace, winding her arms around his neck, meeting the fierce hunger of his mouth.

He broke the kiss with a groan. “Jesú, Gwen, ‘tis been so long, so long…” His hand strayed to her headcovering. He tugged gently, loosing her hair from its confinement. “’Tis plaited,” he said in disbelief.

She laughed. “Aye, ’tis impossible to wear it loose with a baby around. He likes to pull it.” Her fingers tangled in his nape. “Yours is longer than it used to be.”

“Yes,” he said, his mouth dipping to hers once again.

Gwen sighed. Dear God, it was like suddenly finding the way home again after being lost for untold ages. She was powerless to stop the tears slipping down her cheeks.

He lowered her to the blanket, then propped himself on an elbow, his finger tracing her kiss-swollen lips. “Why do you cry, Gwen?”

She wound her arms around his neck and pushed him back until she was lying full length on top of him. “Because I missed you, you wool-headed lout!” She framed his face between her hands and kissed him hungrily.

When they’d caught their breath, he said, “Careful, love. Such flattery might swell my head, make me insufferable.”

“You are already that,” Gwen teased.

Richard laughed. “Jesú, wench, can you not humor me a bit? Tell me how wonderful I am, how you have craved my company these months past?”

Gwen stroked his jaw, her eyes filling with fresh tears. “You cannot know how much I craved you, what I would have given to be with you again.”

Richard rolled her onto her back and cupped the soft swell of a breast. “Can I not?” he asked softly.

Gwen’s breath caught as his fingers brushed her nipple through the fabric.

“Are you hot for me?” he whispered, his hand sliding under her skirts. “Do you need me as much as I need you?”

Gwen whimpered when his fingers found the wet evidence of her need for him. She met his smoldering gaze, gasping as he stroked her. “Richard . . .”

“Sweet heaven, you are lucky I am armored,” he said fervently. “I have never been so long without a woman in my life.”

His fingers slid over her, then in and out of her body so quickly she couldn’t think, much less speak. She clutched him, crying out as the tension built and shattered. He kissed her brow, her cheeks, her lips.

“I will die if I do not see you,” he said, untying the laces of her gown.

She grabbed his hand. “Nay! We are outside! Anyone could come out here and see us.”

“Think you there is a soul in that castle who knows not what the lord and lady do in the garden? None will disturb us, I assure you.”

“You are outrageous,” Gwen said, loosening her grip.

He smiled. “Keep flattering me, my love.”

She wasn’t really afraid anyone would see them. She was afraid he would not like what he saw. She’d regained her slender figure almost immediately, but the small scars across her midsection had not disappeared. They weren’t very noticeable usually, but in this light they would be unmistakable.

She held her breath when he lifted off her chemise.

“Oh God,” he said, closing his eyes.

Gwen snatched the garment from his hands, hurt and anger like a dagger to her heart. “I am sorry if I do not please you anymore, my lord.”

“What?” he said distractedly.

She clutched the chemise to her, hiding her flawed body from his hot stare. When he tried to tug it away, she held tight. “Nay, I would not have you suffer to look at me again.”

“I am fine now,” he said. “The sight just caught me by surprise.”

“You are such a beast!” Gwen cried. God, were all men so insensitive? The most infuriating part was that he had to be so brutally honest. And he wanted her to flatter him! She wanted to box his ears.

“Huh?”

“Turn around so I can dress.”

“But I just undressed you.” He grabbed the chemise and yanked it away.

Gwen tilted her chin up. “Can you stand it this time, my lord?”

He swallowed. “Aye.” He met her gaze and smiled. “’Tis been many, many years since the sight of a woman threatened to make me spill myself. Not since I was an untried boy…”

“You do not find me repulsive?”

“Repulsive? Have you gone daft, woman?” he demanded.

Gwen laughed with sudden relief. “I thought you could not look at me because my scars repelled you.”

“What scars?”

“These,” she said, splaying her fingers across her middle.

He bent closer. “You call those scars?” He shook his head. “Leave it to a woman to exaggerate the tiniest thing.”

Gwen kissed him. “You are impossible.”

“And you are beautiful.” He picked up the end of her braid and removed the thong. When he’d unbraided her hair, he ran his fingers through it, separating the silken strands until they fell to her hips. “Lie down.”

Gwen lay back on the blanket and planted her feet against his mailclad chest. She felt deliciously wicked with the summer breeze wafting over her skin and the man she loved staring at her so hotly.

He lifted one of her legs, pressing his lips to the soft flesh of her inner calf. Gwen closed her eyes and moaned. He worked his way down, spreading her legs and lowering himself until her knees rested on his shoulders.

“Richard,” she breathed, lifting her hips.

“Is this what you want, love?” He kissed her fiery thatch of curls.

“Yes, yes…”

“Then look at me. Watch me while I love you this way.”

Gwen did as he commanded. It was exciting, erotic, to see his dark head between her legs.

“I have missed you,” he said. “The scent of you, the taste of you…”

Gwen shuddered. The things he did to her, the way he made her quiver inside! Lord God, she would do anything for this man, anything at all.

He pleasured her with his mouth, slowly, exquisitely. She watched him, crying out “I love you!” at the height of her climax.

He straightened. “Help me out of this armor before I explode.”

Gwen fumbled with the buckles and straps, frantic to release him. His fingers were no surer than hers, and it took an interminable amount of time to get him out of the hauberk and leggings.

Gwen pulled his gambeson and tunic off while he tugged at the laces to his braies. He didn’t take the time to pull them off, just shoved them down and pushed her back on the blanket.

“I cannot wait any longer,” he said, his gaze locking with hers as he positioned himself between her legs. Despite the urgency of his tone, he entered her slowly.

Gwen held her breath, reveling in the feel of him. He was so huge and so hard, filling her in a way she’d craved for all the months they’d been apart.

“I am afraid,” he said, gritting his teeth. “’Tis been so long and I am afraid of hurting you. I want you too much to be gentle.”

“I do not want gentleness,” Gwen said. “I want you. Do not hold back, Richard.”

Her words freed him. Richard thrust into her, hard, deep. He couldn’t stop himself now if he wanted. “I have dreamed of you, of this moment,” he said in her ear. “You did not have to make me vow to be faithful, cariad. I want no one but you.”

“I love you,” she cried.

The last of his control shredded, and he found himself driving into her so hard they sprawled off the blanket and into the grass.

When release finally came, he collapsed on her, shuddering.

She smoothed his sweat-dampened hair from his forehead, sighing contentedly. When he found the energy, he rolled onto his back and threw his arm across his brow. “You have killed me,” he said.

Her warm lips nuzzled his chest, trailed down his abdomen. His manhood stirred. “Nay, you are not dead yet,” she said against his skin, cupping the growing length of him. “You are very much alive, I would say.”

Richard groaned. “The rest of my body disagrees.”

But he had to admit being within her again was worth the effort it would take. He pulled her on top of him. “I cannot stop you from taking advantage of me,” he said.

Strangely enough, his energy surged anew. When her inner muscles spasmed, he tumbled over the edge with her, shooting his seed into her with such force he knew he would not be able to move for quite some time.

But as she lay on top of him, kissing his neck, her sheath quivering around him, he hardened. She lifted her head, her eyes widening. “Again?”

Richard grinned. “Oh yes, again. I cannot get enough of you. I will never get enough of you.”

Her legs wrapped around him and he pressed his lips to her throat, professing his undying love over and over.

When he had made love to her for a fourth time, he lay on top of her, catching his breath and glorying in the feel of her. He had to leave again in a fortnight, this time to Shrewsbury for Dafydd’s trial. But he would not tell her just yet.

“I believe I will have some of that wine now, cariad. Do you want some?”

She mumbled something unintelligible and he lifted up to look at her. Her lashes fanned across her pale skin. Her mouth, ripe and swollen from his kisses, was soft in sleep. She turned her face to the side and he kissed her temple and cheek, then gently nibbled her earlobe.

She swatted at him. He laughed softly, then left her and went to get the wine. When he returned, he gathered her against him, his hands roaming over her body of their own accord before sleep claimed him as well.

---

William’s laughter reached the solar before his father’s footsteps. Gwen was helping Alys to embroider her wedding gown when she heard it. She looked up as Richard ducked through the doorway, a giggling child clinging to him.

“Richard! ’Tis too high up!” she cried. “You will make him sick.”

William perched on Richard’s shoulders, hands firmly entwined in his father’s hair. Both of her men looked at her like she had lost her wits.

“’Tis not, Gwen. Besides, he loves it.” Richard smiled. Gwen heaved a sigh. It didn’t matter which of them it was—all either of them had to do was smile and she was as malleable as dough.

They were a handsome pair. Looking at them together, it was hard to believe Richard had been so wary of his son at first. William had taken to his father immediately, but Richard had been afraid to even hold him.

It was over a sennight since Richard had come home. After he’d made love to her in the garden that day, they’d retired to their chamber and spent time with their son. He wouldn’t hold the baby when Gwen urged him and she’d finally gotten him to admit his fear.

It still brought a smile to her lips. Her big, powerful, warrior husband had been frightened of a tiny babe. No longer, though.

He walked to the windowseat and bent over, depositing William on the cushions. Alys and Gwen exchanged a look as Richard fussed over his son.

Alys covered a smile. “Sometimes ’tis harder to decide which of them is more adorable,” she whispered.

Gwen nodded, biting her lip to hide her own smile.

Alys cleared her throat. “I believe I forgot to do something, my lady. If you will excuse me.”

“Of course, Alys.”

The old woman winked as she gathered her dress and left the room.

Gwen crossed to the windowseat. Richard sat on the floor while William crawled over the cushions. She stood beside Richard, entwining her fingers in his hair. He looked up and smiled. “Sometimes I look at him and I cannot believe we made him.”

“Aye, ’tis the same for me,” she said softly.

He pulled her into his lap and kissed her. William screamed. Richard broke away. “What is wrong with him?”

Gwen frowned. “He likes to be the center of attention.”

“You have spoiled him.”

It was true, but Gwen was indignant anyway. “And you have not?”

“I have not been home long enough!”

“Yes, well who is it who carries him on their shoulders? Or took him for a ride on Sirocco? Which I might add I did not approve of!”

“And who let him sleep with us when he awoke crying?” Richard demanded.

“It was only once!”

As if on cue, William started crying. Gwen stood and picked him up. He cried harder. “Now see what you have done?”

“I have not done anything!”

William stretched his arms toward his father. Gwen walked away, rocking him, soothing him with soft words. His chubby face was red, his screams growing louder.

“Give him to me,” Richard said softly.

She turned and William reached for his father. She let him go. The baby quieted almost instantly, his screams turning to hiccoughs. He sniffled and buried his face against Richard’s surcoat.

Gwen viewed the whole exchange with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she felt as if her son didn’t need her. On the other, she was more than pleased he needed his father.

Richard sank into the windowseat and lay back, settling William on his chest. Within minutes, the baby fell asleep, his thumb in his mouth while Richard rubbed his back.

“You are right,” Gwen said. “I have spoiled him. I do not know how to say him nay.”

Richard took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “I am no better. I have no right to judge you when I’ve not been here very long.”

Gwen dropped to her knees and cupped his cheek. “Nay! You have every right. He is your son, too. ’Tis not your fault you were not here.”

He looked at the baby on his chest, then back to her. “I have to go to Shrewsbury, Gwen. Dafydd’s trial begins soon.”

Gwen’s breath caught. They’d not spoken of Dafydd’s capture, the Welsh defeat, her father’s death, the future of Wales—nothing. She had not wanted to let it intrude on their lives yet and she sensed he did not either, so she’d not asked any questions.

“When?”

“The end of the week.”

She stared at William’s face, so much like his father’s. “How long this time?”

“Not very long. A fortnight mayhap. No more than a month, surely.”

“Oh.”

He stood very carefully. William shifted, but didn’t wake. “Come. Let us put him in his cradle.”

Gwen followed him to their adjoining chamber. He put William down and covered him. Gwen stood beside him and they watched the child they had made together sleep.

At last, Richard pulled her into his arms. She didn’t hesitate when he kissed her, and she was used to his urgency by now as he started to undress her. It was an urgency she still felt as well.

There was no room for words as they fell to the bed. To keep from waking the baby, he covered her mouth with his. Gwen couldn’t get enough of him. She bucked against him, her own pleasure strangely elusive for once.

He stilled. As he began to understand, a slow smile curved his lips. “I know what you need, cariad,” he whispered. He pulled her legs up and rested her calves against his shoulders. When he thrust into her again, he was so deep, so hard, stretching her almost to breaking.

It was exactly what she wanted. He joined his mouth to hers again, his tongue imitating his body, until she was completely mindless.

Later, when she was so sated she could hardly move, she heard him get up to check on William. He crawled back in bed beside her, and she pushed herself off her stomach to lie against his side.

“What will they do to Dafydd?”

“He will hang, more than likely.”

She bit her lip, not wanting to ask the next question, but needing to all the same. “What of William?”

He stiffened. “Gwen, do not begin this nonsense about him being the Prince of Wales. ’Tis impossible.”

Gwen fumed. How dare he dismiss everything Welsh as unimportant! “He will be prince. My father wanted it!”

Richard gripped her arms and pushed her up until they were both sitting. “Nay! He will not, Gwen! He is my son, he will be earl in my place.”

“You are hurting me.”

His grip eased, his expression softening. “You have to understand, sweet. Edward is the king of England and Wales. There will be no more princes. I am sorry, but ’tis true.”

Gwen shrugged away from him. “You are Welsh. How can you allow your son’s birthright to be taken from him? You and the king are friends. He would do it if you asked him. It was one of the conditions of our marriage.”

“That was before your father rebelled,” he said evenly. “And I am not Welsh. I am an Englishman, and so is our son. That is the end of this discussion.”

Gwen gritted her teeth. She wanted to rail at him, but she knew he meant it when he said it was over. Stubborn swine!

She left the bed and yanked her clothes on. When she went to the cradle, William’s eyes were open. He smiled when he saw her, and her heart swelled with love. She picked him up, cooing as he hugged her. She only wanted to protect him, wanted him to have all that was his.

Her anger dissipated the longer she held him. It was ironic really. She had once thought Richard coveted Wales for their unborn son, but now she was the one who was letting it come between them. And what had being prince ever brought her father?

Grief, strife, and death.

She thought of London, of the grand city with its amazing sights, of London Bridge and the heads rotting over its gates, of the Tower where her father’s head now reigned supreme over the walls.

She squeezed William tighter. Nay, she did not want him to have it, not any of it. England had won and life for Wales would never be the same again. King Edward’s new castles would ensure domination and his laws would ensure assimilation. It was over.

A sob escaped her, and she pressed her face to William’s neck.

“Cariad,” Richard whispered, his hands soft on her shoulders as he turned her to face him. She hadn’t even heard him get up.

“You are right,” she said, looking from him to William through a misty veil. “He will not be the prince of Wales, he will not follow in my father’s footsteps. ’Tis over, ’tis lost . . .”

“I am sorry, Gwen. In time, you will see ’tis best this way,” he said, hugging both her and William.

She smoothed her free hand over Richard’s bare chest. He rested his chin on top of her head. “Shrewsbury is but a day’s ride. Would you like to come with me?”

Gwen tilted her head back. “And William too?”

Richard smiled then. “Aye, William too. I do not wish to be parted from either of you.”