At the first brush of his lips, a fierce wave of heat surged through her. Gwen swayed into him.

“My lord,” came a soft voice. “Is that you, my lord?”

As quickly as it started, it was over. Richard stepped away, and Gwen was left leaning against the wall, dazed and disappointed.

A woman strolled up to him and placed a possessive hand on his arm. She wore a tightly laced gown of shocking red, and a sheer white wimple covered her head. Her blue gaze raked over Gwen, traveling contemptuously up and down her form.

“I expected to find you in the hall, Anne,” Richard said, irritation evident in his tone.

“I have been looking for you, my lord,” she replied, sidling closer to him.

Gwen felt a sharp prickle run over her spine.

“Well, I see you have managed to find a leman since we last met,” she said, tossing a glance at Anne.

“I decided I prefer English women,” he drawled.

Gwen drew herself up stiffly, embarrassment seeping into her bones. She’d been witless in his arms and he knew it. And now he was laughing at her.

“If you will excuse me,” she said, sweeping them both with a haughty stare before she turned and marched back toward the gathering in the Great Hall. Her heart thumped and her eyes stung, but she refused to let anyone see just how rattled she was. Before she entered the hall, she threw a glance over her shoulder. Richard was still watching her.

Gwen tipped her chin up and glared at him, though inside she trembled from his touch. No more.

She swept into the room like a queen, leaving Richard and his leman behind. Damn all Englishmen, especially tall ones with black hair and silver eyes!

---

Anne smoothed her hand down Richard’s arm. “Come to bed and let me take care of you, my lord.”

“Aye, wench, I could use a pleasant diversion,” he replied, frustration hammering through him. He’d been so close! And the way she’d touched him had set his blood on fire. Even now, he could still feel her slender hands caressing his chest. His skin burned with the memory.

Although it angered him, there was no doubt she was experienced. But what had he expected? The Welsh were known for their lack of morals, as he’d so often been told.

When they reached Anne’s chamber, she flung herself at him, her hands working feverishly at the knots and buckles of his clothing as he pushed the door shut. He allowed her to undress him, and when she sauntered to the bed, leering at him hungrily, he snuffed out the candles before joining her.

It was an odd thing for him to do, but he knew if he had to look at her, he’d never be able to go through with it. All he wanted was to forget about Gwen.

He joined Anne on the bed, pulling her against him, his mouth finding her parted lips. She whimpered as his hands trailed down her body, his fingers slipping between her folds to caress the sensitive bud within.

“Now… take me now,” she panted.

He rolled onto her, pressing her deep into the mattress, his fingers tangling in her soft hair. In his mind, it wasn’t pale, but the color of desert fire.

Anne soon cried out, shuddering beneath him, and he followed her over the brink.

She tried to hold him, but he rolled away and sat up. She sat up behind him, caressing his back, kissing his shoulder.

“Mmm, that was wonderful,” she said, tracing his ear with her finger.

Richard jerked away. For reasons he didn’t understand, he had to get out. He picked a rush off the floor, walked to the hearth and thrust the tip into the glowing embers to light it, then fumbled about for the candles.

Anne watched him curiously. The tangled strands of her hair fell over her naked breasts as she lay back on the pillows.

Richard began to dress.

Anne bolted upright. “Where are you going?”

“Go to sleep, Anne. I’m not coming back tonight.”

He finished dressing and belted his sword into place, then left without another word.

Anne picked up his pillow and threw it. Womanizing bastard! She’d wanted to strangle him when she found him seducing that Welsh bitch, but there was nothing she could do about it.

If she wanted to be the next Countess of Dunsmore, she had to keep quiet and turn a blind eye while he dallied with other women.

She’d been trying to make Richard take her to wife for a year now, since her husband died, but he wasn’t as easily convinced as most men.

She was going to be a countess if it killed her! Her looks opened many a door that would have otherwise been closed to the daughter of a burgher.

She had all the things men desired: blonde hair, blue eyes, slender figure, skin the color of new snow. She’d managed to marry a knight in Richard’s service, one with a manor of his own. It mattered not at all that he had been several years older than she.

Being known as Lady Ashford was plenty of compensation for bedding an old man and bearing him an heir.

Since Thomas’s death, Anne had set her sights even higher. She wanted to be a countess.

And she wanted to be the Countess of Dunsmore because Richard de Claiborne was not only handsome and skillful in bed, but he was also rich and powerful.

Anne yawned. Her body still tingled from the violence of his lovemaking. He was a devastating man.

Mayhap she was just a tiny bit in love with him. But he was too dark, too moody. He needed no one. To love him, truly love him, was to end up with a shattered heart.

Fortunately, Anne loved the money more than the man.

---

King Edward watched the happenings in the hall with great interest. Why had he not noticed how beautiful Llywelyn’s daughter was before now?

He kissed his wife’s hand, then patted it absently.

Yes, Gwenllian was lovely, and it seemed as if she had the attention of half the noblemen of England turned on her tonight.

Edward shifted his gaze to the Welsh prince and his new wife. God, how happy they looked. Mayhap Llywelyn would be so besotted with her that he wouldn’t plague the English for a while.

Edward chuckled. Wishful thinking, that. The Welsh were contrary to a man and Llywelyn was one of the contrariest. Nay, he still needed a check on the prince. Something to ensure his loyalty.

Edward turned his gaze back to Gwenllian. How old was she now? Sixteen, mayhap? Old enough to be married.

Edward straightened. Married. Jesú, that was it! Marry the Welsh princess to an Englishman and tie Llywelyn up even further.

Smiling, Edward drained his goblet and stood. The entire gathering quieted, waiting for their king to speak. He bade them continue without him for a while, kissed his wife on the forehead, and motioned for a page.

---

“My Lord de Claiborne?”

“Aye?” Richard stopped as the page hurried toward him. Despite the autumn chill, trickles of sweat ran down the boy’s skin, staining the neck of his tunic.

“My lord, the king requires you to attend him in his solar.”

Richard nodded, following the youth silently. There was to be no hope of avoiding a confrontation with Ned this night.

“Where have you been?” Edward demanded as soon as the page left them. “I’ve had him searching for you half the night it seems!”

Richard shrugged, taking the seat the king waved at distractedly. He smoothed the crimson fabric of his surcoat before meeting Edward’s gaze.

“I was not in my chambers, my liege.”

Edward grunted. “In the arms of that wanton, Lady Anne Ashford, no doubt.”

“Ah, you know me too well, Ned,” Richard said, grinning.

“Well, I cannot blame you. She is a pretty piece and most eager to please too. ’Tis lucky for you that Eleanor is not heavy with child or you would have to share the charms of Lady Ashford with your king.”

Richard bowed his head. “What is mine is yours, my liege.”

Edward began to pace the spacious solar. A servant came in, pouring them each a goblet of fine Gascon wine, before scurrying out the door.

“I did not see you at the wedding, or in the hall,” Edward said, stopping to fix Richard with a penetrating stare.

Richard laughed bitterly. Why did he have to explain to Ned of all people? “I could not be in the same room with that man again for a single moment, much less an entire evening, without crossing swords with him.”

“God’s blood, Richard! I am the King of England, not you. I’ve made peace with Llywelyn and I expect you to do the same. I must turn my attentions elsewhere. England’s laws are in bad need of reform, and I intend to regain my rightful holdings in France. I need you to help me.”

Richard gripped the arms of the chair, the carved wood biting into his flesh. “I will do anything for you, Ned, but I will not pretend Llywelyn is not my enemy.”

Edward tossed his crown on the table. It hit with a resounding metallic thud. “Then you leave me no choice. His daughter is of an age to marry. You will take her to wife.”

“No!” Richard jumped to his feet, his steely eyes meeting Edward’s hard blue ones. The two men glared at each other for a long moment.

“’Tis high time you took another wife anyway,” Edward said.

“I do not want another wife, Ned, especially a Welsh one.”

“Jesú, I am giving you a princess! Your wife has been dead for two years. You have to think about getting an heir.”

Richard closed his eyes as a wave of guilt swept over him. He would not think of Elizabeth and the child that died with her.

He had only wanted to bed Gwen, not marry her. She was Llywelyn’s daughter for God’s sake!

“Llywelyn is responsible for my father’s death. I cannot forget that. Ever.”

Edward sighed and rubbed a hand across his brow, sweeping at the dark blond hair that fell in his face. One eye drooped lazily. He had inherited that from his father, but none were stupid enough to believe it signaled weakness in this king.

“The matter of Wales is final. The people will learn to obey English laws and we will move on. I want Llywelyn yoked strongly to my side once and for all.”

Richard fingered his sword. “Why me, Ned? There are at least a half a dozen others you could choose from.”

Edward waved a beringed hand. “You make the most sense. Llywelyn fears you more than anyone. I don’t want any trouble out of him the minute my back is turned, and he will remain biddable if you control his daughter and more of his lands. Besides, she is his only child. If my fair cousin fails to bear him any children, then Gwenllian’s sons will inherit his throne. She is still a princess, despite her bastard birth, and I want her sons to be half English.”

Richard stiffened. “This is not a good idea, Ned. I’ll remarry if you wish it, but give me an Englishwoman for God’s sake! What makes you think I will even be able to touch the girl?”

Edward laughed. “God’s bones, Richard! You forget how well I know you. Once you see her, you’ll not fear that ever again. She is most pleasing to look upon.”

Richard raked a hand through his hair. He would be able to touch her all right, but he’d rather do it without marrying her.

“Think of the beauty of it. Llywelyn is not known for his ability to sire children. What better way to chafe our Welsh prince than to marry his only daughter and put Black Hawk de Claiborne’s sons in line for his throne? I should think that would make you happy, knowing how distressed he will be.”

“Aye, but he will not agree to it, Ned.”

“’Tis my divine right as his sovereign overlord. He has no choice in the matter.” Edward smiled, and Richard heard the implied and neither do you as if it had been spoken aloud. “I am the king and he will learn that my edict applies not only in England, but in Wales as well.”

Richard expelled a frustrated breath. A king could not force a vassal to marry, but Richard did not need to be forced. Even were it against all he wanted, he would do as he had always done, as he had sworn beside a deathbed in the Holy Land to always do. “As you command me, Majesty.”

Edward nodded. “I can always count on you, can’t I, Richard?”

“Aye, Ned, you can always count on me,” Richard echoed flatly.

“Good. Tomorrow, we will break the news to Llywelyn.” Edward lifted his goblet. “Together,” he added, ignoring Richard’s scowl as he tilted the cup back.