His Captive Princess (9 page)

Mayhap it was wrong of her to want what she did, but she could not help longing for more of what she’d just experienced with Warren. And unless she was sorely wrong, he’d taken pleasure from her, as well.

And why not?

The hard part would be letting him go at the end of their journey. Giving him up, handing him over to someone else. Her father.

He was a good choice. Whether Warren wanted it or not, he would be cared for there. And live, of course.

Then she would have to return to Owain’s people—hers now—to her rightful place as their princess.

Warren stirred and pressed his lips to her forehead. His sex hardened beneath her.

Even now, sated, she felt herself aching to be filled by him again.

If it was wrong of her to feel such desires for a man, an enemy, she wasn’t sure she cared. Shouldn’t she do as she pleased? Slake her lust and enjoy her captive, as he quenched his own needs with her.

A few days more. What harm could come from a few days more?

Chapter Nine

Warren held Eleri’s hands as he guided her backwards through the open entrance to the stables. After spending the past few nights in secrecy in her bedchamber, he wanted to bring her elsewhere today during daylight, to walk with her by his side. To give her a chance to see what her life would be like if they wedded. Living as equals, they would enjoy the freedom of being together in his Devon home, a quiet, peaceful life on an English farm where they would want for nothing. To secure his king’s trust, his family’s future, and perhaps even his own happiness, he needed to convince her he was more than a mercenary—in fact, a man who would stand by her side. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe her when she’d uttered that she belonged to him in the throes of passion, but he had no reason to doubt her affection, despite the skirmishes they’d had in the beginning.

Unfortunately, this morning she followed his directions about as well as she ever did, which was not at all, and peeked over her shoulder to see where he was taking her.

He squeezed her hands. “Not yet.”

She laughed, turning around to face him. Her eyes narrowed with feigned disgust. “I cannot walk backwards anymore! I’m too afraid you’ll run me into something.”

He released one of her hands and reached around her, to cup her firm behind. “Trust me. I’d never risk hurting your backside.”

She gasped, bracing a hand on his shoulder, but she stepped closer and rubbed against his groin before pushing back out of his embrace. “I’m still recovering from your debauchery last night.”

He groaned at the double-edged sword of his current arousal combined with revived memories of riding her for hours of mutual satisfaction. “Oh, sweet lady, let’s not remind me here or else I’ll have you in the hay…”

Her arms went around his neck this time, stopping him. “I never said I would be opposed to that.” Her voice was breathy and seductive.

He chuckled. “Don’t tempt me. The lay brothers are always afoot in the stables, tending the livestock. Most are Welsh. Apparently they’re not as leery of me as the priests are.”

She tsked. “Everyone is at mass. Why
did
you bring me here, then?”

Her saucy glare was irresistible. He kissed her, then retreated before he was too spellbound to refrain from stealing more tastes of her. “To show you Timothy.”

When her brows rose in question, he turned her around, pointing her in the direction of the lamb’s stall where the tiny white animal sat watching.

“Ohh!” Without waiting for an invitation, Eleri vaulted over the stall door to drop on her knees beside the creature. “’Tis just a baby. Hellooo,” she crooned, rubbing the little fellow’s forehead where a patch of black grew, marring the snowy wool.

Warren leaned against the stall and grinned. “The brothers said he was a runt and brought him here where the other sheep wouldn’t pick on him.”

She nuzzled her cheek against his head. “He’s adorable. You know, my father has a large herd of mountain sheep. I sneaked off to play with them when I was naughty.” Her eyes grew serious as she regarded him over the top of Timothy’s head. “My father sometimes grants his lands…and titles…to those who fight for him.”

His chest constricted. He sighed. “Does he? My cousin does the same…and strips them of those who disobey him.”

Her brow furrowed. “Would that be so awful, being disavowed by a king you dislike?”

“Nay, but as I’ve told you before, my family would share the disgrace. I would never allow them to suffer for my failings again.”

Her lips parted to speak, but the sound of the door creaking on its hinges brought Warren’s head around. Abbot Gerald stood in the entrance with the daylight at his back.

“Your Highness?” The priest’s wary gaze flitted between them. “I thought I heard a man.”

Warren touched his sword in a timeworn habit before correcting himself. He made his body relax.

Eleri stood. “Nay, we’re alone. Yorath was just showing me one of your animals. Perhaps you heard the lamb. He’s rather noisy,” she lied smoothly. “You’ve done wonderful work with the abbey these past two years, Father Abbot.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, eyeing Warren. He glided closer. “We’ve had many contributions from Lord Bramber when he visits his keep in Buellt, not far from here. Do you know William de Braose?”

Warren’s pulse quickened. What was the man insinuating? If he recognized him as Norman, why did he not just say it?

“I have no dealings with the thieves.” The princess spat over her shoulder, illustrating her distaste. “The
Gorthwr
may be generous to your Savigniac Order but they do nothing for my people.”

The abbot’s stare pierced Warren before he turned to offer Eleri a curt bow. “My apologies, Princess. I respect your point of view. And my deepest condolences for Prince Owain. The Welsh praise him highly. I know you grieve for your husband. I, too, have suffered loss this year, though not the great loss of a spouse, but as the subject of a respected ruler and benefactor of our Order—King Henry. These times of the Anarchy are difficult for us all.”

Eleri glanced at Warren, a question in her eyes.

The abbot backed toward the exit. “I came to see how you were faring, and now I must be on my way.” He smiled faintly. “Let the brothers know if you wish to have lamb roast, and it shall be yours.”

Eleri’s hands balled in fists, and Warren feared she might launch herself at the priest to defend the baby sheep.

With a nod, the abbot turned and left them.

Warren followed, watching from the door as Abbot Gerald crossed the yard. When he was certain the priest was no longer within hearing range, he turned back into the stables.

Eleri shut the stall door behind her, leaving the lamb swaying on his feet, already pining after her with sorrowful bleats.

Her hand slid into Warren’s. “He knew ’twas you he heard.”

“Aye.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m afraid so.”

Her eyes were round with worry. “But surely he doesn’t know you’re Norman. I mean, how could he?”

Warren grimaced. “Like he said, my father was a fervent supporter, and I bear some resemblance. I’m sure the abbot knows every bastard Henry Beauclerc has acknowledged, as well as some even I don’t know.”

“Are you in danger?” Her fingers twined with his, making his chest constrict.

“Not the kind you might think. I feel certain he’ll send word to De Braose that I’m here.”

She frowned. “Why would he expose you? If he knows you’re the king’s son, would he not wish to aid you?”

“In his thinking, he is aiding me. After all, I’m with two Welsh rebels. But…as I’ve told you before, I’m disliked by many.”

Recognizing more curiosity in her eyes, he winced. There was naught for it. He must tell her. She would learn sooner or later.

He pulled free of her hand. A great weight settled across his shoulders, the same as it always had when he revived his ghosts. “Stephen is on the throne because of me. William Adelin, the true male heir and my half-brother, perished in the wreck of the White Ship, and everyone thinks it should have…nay,
wishes
…it had been me instead.”

Eleri crossed her arms over her middle where nausea began to pool. Talk of death again made her sick, but she refused to submit to weakness. Not now when she had so many questions for Warren. “I’ve heard of the ship’s sinking. Wasn’t there a reckless captain? And all but two of its passengers were lost at sea? Everyone mourned for the poor young prince—even some of my countrymen. I was a child at the time. When was it? Ten years ago or more?”

“Five and ten.” He stared at the ground, seemingly lost in his memories.

“But how could that be any fault of yours? You were a youth yourself, and of all the king’s offspring, why would you be at fault?”

“Because I took William’s place on another vessel to be with my father. The court was in France. The captain offered the White Ship to my father for our return to England, but we had other arrangements. The prince was to travel with Father, but I, in my envy, wished to have Henry to myself. I encouraged William to sail on the White Ship.” He paused, scraping the toe of his boot in the hay. His jaw tightened, then he resumed his story. “The captain had bragged about its speed and assured us they would be able to keep up and even overtake the royal entourage. I’d said to William they would be able to drink, too, without the watchful eye of our father. Being young and rebellious like myself, the prince needed no other encouragement.”

“So you and the king sailed first.”

“Aye, leaving them to follow. They say after the White Ship went down, William climbed aboard a small vessel and would have lived had he not gone back to try to rescue our half-sister, who was also on board. The drunken, drowning crew swamped his boat, killing them all. I don’t know if that account is true or not, but Henry chose to think so. In his mind, William was a valiant hero.” He glanced up and twisted his lips into a poor semblance of a smile, though his eyes were dark and distant. “One I could never replace.”

His pain and self-loathing thickened the air around them.

She ached at his feelings of guilt. “It’s still not your fault, no matter what you might’ve felt. Even if you had wanted to take your brother’s place as heir, his drowning was an accident. You weren’t there. You didn’t plot to kill him, Warren.”

“Did I not?” he ground out, his voice suddenly full of heat. He held her gaze in a grip that reached straight into her chest and twisted her heart. “‘Vengeance is mine, thus saith the Lord?’ Well,
my
vindictiveness brought about William’s death. I would’ve done anything to steal Father from him. When there is something I want, I want it with all my being. I’m a very possessive man, Eleri. Once jealous or spurned, I do everything in my power to take back what I feel is mine.”

A chill ran through her, seeing this angry, dark side of him she’d never encountered before. Even though he seemed adamant, she could not believe him for a moment. He’d been a Templar knight, and she knew his heart was good. Knew it with every fiber of her being.

“Alas, all I managed to do was force my sire further from me forever. Not even my service in the Templars bridged the distance between us. He hated me.” He lifted a shoulder, affecting a nonchalance that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Being loyal to King Stephen won’t mend things with your father.” She touched his shoulder lightly, wishing with all her heart she could grant him the moment he’d mentioned before. A chance to speak with his sire one last time.

“For certes. But I cannot throw in with Empress Matilda either. ’Twould be suicide for what’s left of my family. So this sorry knight,” his tone softened as he combed his fingers tenderly through the side of her hair, “wishes to redeem himself by marrying a princess. But…I suppose now I’ve given you even more reason to decline my suit.”

Though his voice was lighthearted, the shoulder muscle beneath her hand tightened. His gaze bore into hers, and she longed to…

Oh, how could she! Could it be possible she wanted to agree?

Suddenly torn, she took a step back, but she also wished to move closer to him, to hold his face to hers, to kiss him and insist he was every bit the brave, caring man he hoped to be.

But she could not lie to him, nor mislead him to expect what could not happen.

Or could it?

If Gwrach no longer predicted Lew’s death…

She stood on her toes and impulsively put her mouth to his. When she drew back, he stared at her, blinking in surprise. “I will consider your offer, Warren. Just give me some time to think.”

His brows smoothed and a smile lit his face. “Of course.”

The monks were filing into the church for matins when Eleri slipped out of her cell that night. Swathed in her cloak and hood, moving with the stealth of a hunter, she dissolved into each shadow, passing unnoticed until she reached the gate. Finding it unguarded, she opened it and squeezed through, closing it behind her.

The nearest source of flowing water was the spring, which fed the lake a short hike away. Her footsteps were quick with restless hope and anticipation. She breached the distance in no time at all.

Silence
, she prayed as she pushed through the tall sedge that bordered the spring.
Please
let Gwrach leave me in peace tonight
.

If Lew was safe, she would marry Warren. The Deheubarth would be unhappy, but she was a princess. She could do as she wished, and right now, the only thing that could please her was Warren with his attentiveness, his thoughtful lovemaking and noble heart.

In marriage, her lover would be relieved to know he wouldn’t disappoint his king, but best of all, he’d be hers.

Climbing through the parted weeds, she spotted a form beside the moonlit water.

Expecting Gwrach, she sickened. But relief soon swept her as the form rose, turning to face her.

“Warren?”

His stance relaxed, recognizing her voice, but his reply was wary. “I knew you would come.”

She went to him but stopped shy of embracing him. His reception was cool. “What’s wrong? I thought we were meeting in my room later.”

“I wanted to see if it was true. The old woman has been here already. You just missed her. You
were
meeting her, weren’t you?” His voice was curious, not angry.

“You saw her? The
cyhyraeth?
” No one ever saw Gwrach. No one in her lifetime, at least.

“If you mean the old woman who’s been following us, aye.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Who is she, Eleri? Why do you meet her in secret?” he demanded calmly.

He didn’t know. Tears welled in her eyes. To share the burden meant so much…to have someone who might understand…someone whom she could turn to when the awful portents came. But how was it possible? He wasn’t of her blood, not Welsh. So few had seen her. And if he didn’t know…

“We don’t meet. She just…goes wherever I go. What did she say?”

“Damned if I know. She won’t respond to me. Just keeps rambling the same words in your language. What’s going on, Eleri?” His hands cupped her face and his thumbs brushed her cheeks with aching tenderness.