Stuart, Elizabeth (49 page)

He
believed her. After everything she'd done, he was offering the gift of trust.
God in heaven, she didn't deserve this man!

Richard's
lips traced the veins in her wrist, moving slowly along her bare arm to nuzzle
the sensitive skin at the bend of her elbow. "And I swear to give you a
hundred reasons to continue to do so," he whispered. "I would have
you know more of loveplay than the pain I just gave you. A man can find
pleasure even on an unwilling woman. I take no joy in the fact that I gave you
nothing in return for mine."

Elen
shook her head, her breath quickening as pleasant sensations rippled along her
arm. "I wasn't really unwilling. But everything is so... so hopelessly
tangled. And you seemed strange this evening—so different. I feared I didn't
know you."

His
lips left her arm, trailing slowly along her shoulder to press against her
throat. "Do I seem strange now?"

A
delicious quiver of expectation raced through her. "No."

One
hand cupped her breast, his other slipping behind her back to ease her down
into the pillows. He stretched his muscular length alongside hers, his hands
sliding over her, gently molding her against his side.

"Richard...
are you... are you still angry?"

"No."

She
took a deep breath, glancing away. "You frightened me."

Richard
frowned. "No man likes to be played the fool. Especially by the woman he's
just confessed to loving."

"Oh."
Elen digested the information. All at once she wondered just how many women
Richard had loved—not with his body, but with his heart. Perhaps he said the
words easily. Perhaps they meant little to him. She didn't wish to be a fool
either. "And does that happen often?"

His
lips twitched upward. "What? Being played for a fool?"

"You
know what I mean."

He
bent over her. His mouth brushed the crest of her breast, making her tremble
against him. "No, Elen. It doesn't happen often at all. I'm new to this
game of love. Forgive me if I play it poorly for I've never known the
emotion... never even wanted to know it before. It leaves me feeling unsure and
terribly foolish. I'll admit that to you now in the hope you'll forgive my
behavior."

Elen
closed her eyes tightly. No, she didn't deserve Richard. He'd been attacked,
deceived, humiliated and near ruined because of her. And he loved her, trusted
her enough to speak honestly of his feelings in a way few men would dare.

She
drew his head down to hers. "Oh, Richard, I'm sorry," she whispered,
perilously near tears again. "I'm sorry I had to lie. I swear I want to be
a good wife to you, but everything is so complicated between us."

His
hands continued their sweet torment. "I know, love, I know."

He
rolled her onto her back, his mouth sensually teasing and toying with hers, his
tongue plunging slowly, deliberately into her mouth, sending delicious waves of
wanting spiraling through her body. His hands sought her breasts, gently
kneading and stroking, reawakening her desire with an ease that surprised her.

Her
arms twined around his neck, then shifted restlessly over his back. She pressed
against him, instinctively seeking the pleasure she had come so near to
tasting.

Recognizing
her growing ardor, Richard lightly stroked her body, his mouth tracing a heated
pathway between her breasts to her abdomen and back. He knew what she was
seeking. He planned to give it to her... and more.

His
fingers probed gently through the silky triangle of hair between her thighs,
expertly discovering and caressing the places that sent her near mindless with
wanting. She arched against him, her hands reaching for him, moving over his
body in an uninhibited manner that would have shocked her had she realized what
she was about. She called his name, but whatever it was she meant to say was
drowned in the rising tide of desire engulfing her.

Richard's
breathing quickened and he was surprised to find he was already eager for Elen
again. He felt he would never get enough of loving her, of enjoying her
exquisite body.

He
eased her legs apart, fitting his body against the melting heat of hers.
"I won't hurt you this time, Elen," he whispered. "This time it
will be good."

Elen
strained up against him, instinctively seeking to fill the emptiness inside
her. She had no fear of him, no conscious memory of the brief pain of his
earlier penetration. She gave herself to him wholly, holding nothing back. The
ghosts were gone, the punishing guilt at bay.

Richard's
hands continued their tormenting caresses; his mouth seized hers for a kiss of
increasing urgency. She felt the probing of his manhood against her and rose up
to meet him, crying out with relief as he slid into her, deep and hot.

For
a moment Richard didn't move. Then his slow, rhythmic thrusting began and she
clutched his shoulders, as an explosive force began gathering inside her and
she couldn't think at all. "Richard," she groaned. "Oh Richard..."

She
gasped for air, for something even more important than air. Then, just when she
could stand it no longer, the force within exploded, shattering her being into
a thousand separate threads of sensation, fusing and blending into one great
cry of pleasure Richard echoed with his own.

A
distant pounding intruded slowly into Elen's consciousness. Her eyelids
fluttered and she snuggled closer to the warm body pressing against hers, a
delicious feeling of languorous contentment weighting down her limbs.

"What,
Richard, do you lie abed all day? The dawn's far spent—the sun high in the
sky!"

The
form beside her stiffened and jerked upright. Elen opened her eyes, blinking in
surprise as the grinning face of the English king swam into focus. With a gasp
of surprise, she caught the sheet to her chest, rising quickly to a sitting
position as her mind grappled for order amid the confusion of her thoughts.

Richard
brushed the sleep-tousled hair from his eyes, his arm catching Elen to him
reassuringly. "By God's ten toes, Edward, don't startle me so!" He
grinned. "You had me thinking myself asleep on the field without my
sword."

Edward
glanced pointedly at the bed. "I'd say 'tis a battlefield more dangerous than
most. But you appeared to have a weapon worthy of the fight—at least last
night. And by the look of things this morn, the battle was satisfactory. I take
it there's no need to send Burnell to Rome for an annulment."

Elen
felt her cheeks flame. She was accustomed to bawdy jesting. If anything, her
people were more unrestrained than the English concerning beddings and
birthings. But she felt at a distinct disadvantage wrapped in nothing but a
sheet before the king. And the bond between her and Richard was still too
fragile, too tenuous for the royal wit.

Richard
grinned again, pleased with himself, the king, the whole world this morning.
"No need at all, Your Grace." He glanced at Elen, his eyes warm.
"If I'd my way I would, indeed, lie abed all day. And I doubt you'd find a
man in the kingdom to blame me."

"So
I thought. It's just as well I came to wake you then. My baggage is loaded and
even Eleanor ready to ride. Dress yourself and walk with me below."

Richard
slipped out of bed and began fumbling into his clothing. Elen bit her lip,
undecided what to do. She wanted to dress and thank the queen for her kindness,
but she was uncomfortable in her nakedness with Edward in the bedchamber.
"Your Grace," she murmured, forcing herself to speak respectfully.
"Do you really leave at once?"

Edward
glanced back at her, eyebrows lifting quizzically. "We do."

"I...
I wished to see the queen. To thank her for everything. She's been most
kind."

"Kinder
than myself, naturally."

Elen
held her tongue, uncertain what to say. But there was no malice in the king's
tone, just a high good humor that showed he was pleased with himself this
morning. "I will relay your thanks," he said graciously, "and I
hope you'll acquit me now of wishing you ill, Madame."

Elen
glanced at Richard, the tenderness of the long night between them coming back
to her. They had slept and awakened and slept again, loving and talking
foolishly together as lovers will. She was amazed she could so readily
relinquish her fear and guilt to the friendly darkness and the warm haven of
his arms. No, in this marriage, at least, the king had done her no ill. "I
do, Your Grace."

Richard
was watching anxiously, half fearing what she might say. His expression
lightened considerably at her words. He tugged on his boots and moved toward
Edward. "I'll be back, Elen. I wish to leave for Gwenlyn today."

Edward
strode through the door, Richard hurrying in his wake. "The
Falcon's
captain
holds himself at your command. There's no need to take him at sword point this
voyage."

"No,
Your Grace," Richard remarked, keeping his face suitably grave.

"Keep
an ear toward the doings of Hugh de Veasy. You've made a bitter enemy there.
You've told me little enough, but your lady filled the queen's ear with the
happenings at Ambersly."

"I
can handle de Veasy."

"Yes,
you'll have to," Edward remarked. He frowned thoughtfully. "There's
little I can do, I fear, save levy a heavy fine. It would be your word against
his that he actually meant you ill. Vespain would swear they both sought only
to save Lady Elen for the Church, and with her letter as evidence, you'd never
prove a thing—especially with the court packed in de Veasy's favor as the
bishop could insure.

"But
I doubt he'll move against you openly," Edward continued, sending Richard
a wicked grin. "From what Lady Elen recounted, he won't wish an account of
this recent feuding made public. Christ, I'd give much to have seen him trussed
like a pig for roasting in his own keep!"

Richard
smiled. "It was a sight well worth a few bruises," he admitted.
"But I'll warn Elen to hold her tongue. 'Twould do no good for that tale
to get about."

Edward
nodded. "I'll have my men watch and listen, but they don't see all. It
will be good to observe his behavior toward you at the Shrewsbury Parliament.
I'll send word when all is arranged."

Richard
glanced up in dismay. Summer was spent, the hard work of harvesting close upon
them. He was needed to oversee things at Gwenlyn else the winter would be lean.
"When will you call the meeting?"

"Not
till Michaelmas or after." Edward's eyes narrowed and his voice took on a
harsher note. "We'll have a bit of entertainment after the work of
harvest. Dafydd ap Gruffydd will be tried and punished—a traitor to the Welsh
when he crawled to me to betray his brother and a traitor to me many times over
when he and Llywelyn were reconciled. He'll have a sentence to fit his crimes
and I wish all who fought him to see it."

They
moved down the stairs into the open bailey. At sight of the king, riders swung
onto horses and an expectant ripple of movement went through the waiting crowd.

Richard
paused beside Eleanor's white palfrey. "Good morning to you, Your
Grace."

"And
is it a good morning?" she inquired, a quizzical tilt to her eyebrows.

"It
is indeed. I've much to thank you for, I've no doubt."

She
smiled at him in response. "Me? Why, I've done nothing at all."

Richard
grinned. "I've a notion this stew was one of your making. It bears all the
marks."

Her
eyes twinkled mischievously as she held out her hand. Richard carried it to his
lips. "Don't be hesitant to speak your mind openly next time," she
whispered, bending toward him. "I near had you in the wrong pot."

Richard
squeezed her fingers and stepped away from her horse. "Godspeed, Your
Grace."

Edward
motioned to a waiting groomsman. Taking the reins of his fretting stallion, he
swung into the saddle. For a moment, he sat staring at Richard as if searching
for words. "Love matches can be dangerous, Richard. A woman who holds a
man's heart in her hand may rule him in a thousand little ways. Take care, lest
you be so ruled." He glanced at the window fronting the chamber Richard
and Elen had shared. "I've a hunch that woman would castrate a lesser
man."

"You've
seen only the worst in her, Your Majesty, the part I saw in the beginning. Elen
has another side. I've seen it and rest content in my choice."

"So
Eleanor says," Edward responded doubtfully. "Just remember the girl
has other loyalties. The Welsh oft turn on each other to rend and tear, but
when it comes to fighting an outsider these northerners usually back their own.
Don't force her to a choice, for you might not like her choosing."

Richard
nodded, last night's argument still fresh in his mind.

Edward
gazed at him searchingly. "Have a care, Richard. I wish you joy in
possessing the wench, but I pray I've done you no disservice with this match. A
man may love too well."

"You've
done me no disservice," Richard responded, smiling. "You've made me
the happiest man in Christendom."