Stuart, Elizabeth (48 page)

He
slipped his hands about her waist as he brought his mouth down over hers, hard
with a passion he had bridled too long. His arms tightened around her, drawing
her hips against the naked heat of his. Lord, she felt good! He'd been a fool
to deny himself so long.

Elen
remained rigid in his arms. Richard was her husband, she told herself woodenly.
He had the right. He had the right to do this to her. And if she admitted the
truth, she wanted to love him. But the vision of that bloody field would give
her no peace. Could she truly love a man but hate what he had done, hate all he
fought for? Could she love Richard, knowing she would fight Edward's armies
with her last breath?

Richard's
hands, roughened from his hours with sword and lance, slid over her lovingly.
She didn't struggle as he pressed her backward onto the bed. His hands caught
in her hair, tilting her head back as he sensuously shaped her lips to his,
kissing, sucking, stroking her tongue with his in wordless invitation to the
passionate kisses they had shared in the garden.

She
lay unresponsive in his arms, the thought of Enion a torment. This should have
been him. How she wished she had let him love her just once. Perhaps she wouldn't
feel such guilt at the pleasure of Richard's touch, at the knowledge that she
longed to be his wife in every way.

Richard's
fingers cupped her jaw, then slipped downward, fondling her bare breasts,
caressing their dusky crests in a way that woke a swift stirring of excitement
she fought to ignore. She moved restlessly in his arms, fearing to yield
completely, knowing somehow Enion would be gone forever if she did.

Richard
drew her closer, his hand moving to stroke her waist, her belly, the velvet skin
of her inner thighs. His mouth dipped to her breast, worshiping the creamy
mounds his hands had just explored, seizing a budding nipple, alternately
sucking and kissing until her desire smoldered and caught fire, a fire no guilt
could quench.

She
caught his head, holding him away. "Don't," she whispered
desperately. "You're tearing me apart. Don't make me love you, Richard.
Leave me something of myself!"

Richard
hesitated, Elen's words giving him hope. He knew what she was fighting, knew
suddenly he could win. "I don't ask for the loyalty you gave your family,
the love you gave your betrothed," he said gently. "Only give us a
chance, Elen. We're here... together now. That other is a past that will never
return no matter how you wish it."

He
moved over her, sliding his knee between hers, gently forcing her into
position. Ignoring his own need, he kissed her, stroked her, calling on all the
experience of his years of pleasuring women.

His
fingers slid through the soft coil of hair between her thighs, gently exploring
the softest, most private part of her. With a tiny moan of pleasure, Elen
twisted beneath him, the sound and the movement driving him wild with wanting.
His mouth sought hers, his tongue thrusting and withdrawing until hers joined
the sensual dance, joined with an eagerness that tore a ragged groan from deep
in his throat.

He
couldn't hold back much longer—he'd been aching for her all day. His fingers
resumed their stroking while he trailed hot kisses over her shoulder, her
breast, his tongue moving in slow, building rhythm in time with his hands.

Elen's
body tightened with excitement, desire flaming up suddenly, powerfully, inside
her.

She
caught at Richard's shoulders, arched against his hips, forgetting everything
but the aching need inside her. "Richard... oh Richard, love me!" she
cried out. "Help me forget."

Richard
stared down at the incredible beauty of the woman in his bed—the woman who was
now his wife. Her hair swept the pillows in a tumultuous cascade of fiery silk,
her slanted blue eyes narrowed with passion. God he wanted her, but there was
more this time—so much more than with any other woman.

"Elen,
before God, I do love you," he whispered. "This isn't a first for
either of us, but I'll make you forget the past. I swear it!" He bent and
brushed her lips. "We'll begin again. Tonight."

This
isn't a first...

His
soft words registered. Elen's eyes snapped open. Holy Mary, Mother of God,
she'd forgotten Rhys—the ridiculous tale of Rhys! She tried to jerk upright but
Richard's weight pressed her down. His mouth took hers once more and she felt
the taut readiness of his body against her own.

She
twisted her head away. "Richard! Richard, wait," she gasped. "I
must tell you... I'm not—"

Richard's
mouth pressed on hers, abruptly silencing her protest. He had no thought now
for conversation. Elen's frantic twisting was driving him wild with the need
for release. He felt for the soft core of her. She was damp and ready.

Drawing
back, he thrust deeply inside her, meeting a resistance that cut through the
haze of passion clouding his brain.
Christ,
she was a virgin!

He
tried to stop, tried to slow the convulsive thrusting of his body, but it was
too late. He had waited too long and now the hot bursting pleasure of release
filled his world to the exclusion of all else. He thrust into her, again and
again and again, until he finally collapsed, shuddering, against her painfully
stiff body.

Beneath
him, Elen didn't move. Slowly the spiraling world stilled around him and he
registered what had happened. Elen was a virgin, a virgin, for God's sake! But
if she hadn't been Rhys ap Iwan's mistress, everything she had told him from
the beginning was false.

A
surge of anger and hurt washed over him. He loved a woman who was the opposite
of all he held honorable, a woman who lied as easily as she drew breath. And
he'd just had the incredible stupidity to tell her so. Love? Holy Christ, he
was as much a fool as his father had ever been!

He
raised his head, staring at her contemptuously. "Is there nothing about
you that is not a lie?" he bit out.

Elen
struggled to breathe beneath the crush of Richard's weight. He held her pinned
beneath him, his eyes glittering dangerously in the light of the burning
tapers. Their bodies were still joined, the hurt between her thighs still
throbbing. She felt vulnerable and alone and, for the first time with
Richard... afraid. "Richard, please. You're hurting me," she murmured
thickly.

He
rolled away from her in disgust.

Elen
drew her knees up protectively against her stomach. She twisted to one side,
closing her eyes against his scorn.

Richard
caught her shoulders, jerking her upright so roughly her head snapped back.
"Look at me. How many more lies must I discover? How many more times will
you play me for a fool? By the rood, you've made it a cursed habit!"

She
stared at him in dismay. She'd expected anger when he learned her deceit, but
not this black rage. And it was all the more painful after thinking they had a
chance... after hearing him say he loved her. The tears she'd fought all
evening suddenly filled her eyes. She turned her head away, but he grasped her
chin, holding her face toward him.

"Look
at me," he bit out. "I want to see your face when you lie to me
again!"

"I...
I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen. You wouldn't stop. I wanted to
tell you at the last but—"

"Tell
me now," Richard interrupted, his voice frigid with mistrust.

Elen
sniffed and shoved the hair out of her eyes, struggling for some measure of
poise. She didn't want to lie to Richard, she didn't want to deceive him ever
again. But what could she say that wouldn't endanger Owain? "There is
nothing more I can tell you. I was not Rhys's mistress, but you know that
already."

His
eyes raked her shrewdly. "Is there a Rhys or is he, too, a lie?"

The
question sent a chill through her. There was nothing kind or gentle about
Richard now. God help Owain if Richard guessed the truth. She fought to gather
her scattered wits. "Of course there's a Rhys. Do you think you fight a
ghost?"

Richard's
hand rose with his sudden urge to strike her. She didn't flinch.

"Damnation!"
Dropping his hand, Richard flung himself from the bed. He stalked across the
room, catching up his empty goblet to pour a generous amount of wine. Elen was
his wife—how dare she defy him? He could beat her into submission with the full
approbation of Church and law.

He
tossed off several deep swallows, glaring at her over the rim of the goblet.
She sat where he left her, sitting painfully still in his bed. But her chin was
up, her jaw set determinedly. And something in her expression reminded him of
that night they'd first met, the way they'd faced each other over drawn steel.

Despite
his anger, a hint of admiration stirred. He had a feeling he could beat Elen
till doomsday and she would be more defiant than ever. No, he would never force
her to change. He would just have to resolve himself to the bitter fact that
she couldn't be trusted... ever.

"Would
you have us still enemies?" he asked shortly. "It is not what I
wish."

She
tugged the sheet up about her, staring uncomfortably at her hands. "Nor
I."

"Then
by the mercy of God, cease these tales you tell more readily than
breathing!" he stormed. "I'll not have a liar in my household nor in
my garrison, and most certainly not in my bed!"

Elen
kept herself very still. Honor and truth were everything to Richard. How could
she make him understand the divided loyalty she felt, the emotions that were
tearing her apart even now? Choices were so simple to him. "I'll lie to
you in naught else, Richard. My deceit brings more pain to me than you. I'm
torn in a hundred ways you'll never even know."

She
hesitated, gathering strength for the words that might close the door between
them forever. "But ask me nothing about the Welsh Fox. My loyalty was
given to him long before you. I'll not help you trap him nor say aught to help
you mark his place. And I warn you—if you force me, in this I will lie."

Richard
sighed and put down his wine. At least Elen was being very plain where her
loyalties lay. And now that the first surge of rage had ebbed, he felt a
glimmer of understanding. If the situation were reversed, he would certainly
not betray Edward.

But
he wasn't accustomed to such fierce loyalty in one of her sex. Yes, she was
different, he reminded himself. That's why he loved her.

He
stared thoughtfully at his wife. Obviously the Fox— whoever the bastard
was—hadn't been her lover. Nor had her betrothed. His heart lightened
considerably at the thought. And she had tried to tell him something at the
last. If he'd been more patient, let her have her say, perhaps she would have
told him the truth. It wouldn't have stopped his anger, but it would have
lessened the shock at least. "I've your word you'll lie in naught
else?" he asked warily.

Elen
nodded, scarcely daring to hope.

"Swear
it."

"I'll
speak truth to you in everything, Richard. Everything save what I know of the
Fox. I swear it."

"Peace,
then," he said, moving back to the bed. "Selective truth," he
muttered, easing down beside her. "I never thought it acceptable
before."

"You've
never wed an enemy before either."

Richard's
eyes lifted to hers. Tears glittered behind the heavy sweep of her lashes. As
he watched, one slipped from the shadowy fringe, making its way down her cheek.
He stroked it away with his thumb. It was rare to see her cry. He hadn't meant
to cause it. "Am I an enemy?"

The
return of Richard's gentleness near broke Elen's resolve. She took a shaky
breath. "No."

To
her surprise, a slow smile warmed his face. He pushed the hair back from her
face, his hand resting gently against the nape of her neck. "I'm sorry I
hurt you just now. I'd no wish for that."

She
dropped her eyes. She'd felt more fear than hurt. "It was only a
little."

"I
could have spared you much had I known you'd not been with a man." He
leaned forward and brushed her lips with his. "I regret I didn't listen...
or that you didn't speak earlier." He grinned. "Learn now—a man in
that condition is little given to rational thought."

Richard's
smile was enchanting. Here was the man she had ridden with and laughed with and
climbed down a cliff in the dark with. Here was the Richard she knew, the man
who had become her friend. Gone was the cold, unnatural feeling that had
lingered from the stark marriage and bedding ceremony, the sudden fear at his
rage.

Taking
her courage in hand, Elen stared back at him, their gazes locked in the
candlelight. He'd said he loved her, she reminded herself wonderingly. He'd
said he loved her and she hadn't returned the words. "Richard, you may not
believe me. And I wouldn't blame you now if you didn't." She reached out
and touched his face, her heart in her eyes for him to see. "But I do love
you. I've tried not to, but I do."

Richard
caught her hand, lifting it to press a lingering kiss against her palm.
"Of course I believe you. Didn't you swear just now to tell the
truth?"