The Heart of a Queen (A Historical Romance)

Chapter 38

Llewellyn shook his head wildly, as if now that he had let himself go, he couldn't reign it back in. He grabbed her and pulled her into him, holding her head to his chest with one arm, and she could feel his heart pounding through the shirt. "God, don't marry him."

"Why? And don't tell me it is for the good of Wales or Ireland," she said, a smile lighting over her face like dawn.

"For my own sake. For the sake of my selfish, undeniable need for you," he said into the top of her head.

She drew back so she raise her face to look at him.

"Kiss me," she demanded. "Claim me as your own."

Llewellyn couldn't help but grin at her boldness.

"Before I do, the stakes are these: I will have to marry you," he said.

"Of course," Brienna acknowledged.

"You'll be going against the wishes of your own family, insulting the prince and heir of Leinster, shattering every alliance our three kingdoms have ever forged, which will result in inevitable strife between us, leaving us vulnerable to the English forces who want nothing less than to make Wales and Ireland their own," he finished, playful but a little hesitant, as if any of what he said might actually convince her to refuse him.

Brienna was unmoved. "Yes, forsake it all, kiss me," she breathed.

Llewellyn paused, his eyes drinking her in as if he wanted to forever remember this instant before their relationship changed, when their longing for each other still hung in a sweet balance of anticipation.

Then, he curled his fingers around the back of her neck and tilted her head back, bending so his lips could meet her own. As soon as they did, all efforts at gentleness, at restraint, drained from his touch and his mouth fed on hers hungrily. Brienna learned the curve of his lips with her own, searched out the soft pleasure of his tongue, became drunk on his breath as the kiss went on and on, insatiable.

Her first real kiss. Brienna felt a lump in her throat, the ecstasy of the moment overwhelming her with relief that Llewellyn was hers, finally, and she his, and that nothing could tear their love asunder.

With a crash, the door to the tower room slammed back on its hinges. Brienna jumped in Llewellyn's arms, but he was gripping her tightly and didn't let go as they both whipped around to see who had interrupted them.

Donnall stood in the doorway, two of his soldiers and Ruarc standing breathless behind him. He surged into the room with his entourage as if he had every right to be there. As soon as he saw them, a thin smile crawled over his face that chilled Brienna to the bone. Ruarc, at his shoulder, looked at first worried, but then, seeing Brienna in Llewellyn's arms, his look turned to one of confusion.

"Sister," he panted, "I feared you had been kidnapped out from under my watch." His eyes slid between her and the king, hand on the hilt of his sword. "Are you—are you being ravaged?"

Brienna laughed. "No, nothing of the sort."

"What sort of bride laughs when she is discovered the morning of her wedding day in the arms of another man?" Donnall sneered.

She knew that if she quailed at his anger—if she shrunk, cowered, or begged for forgiveness—then she might placate him. But she could not.

"I cannot marry you, Donnall. My love belongs to someone else," she told him.

Donnall advanced on her, his face growing a livid red in reaction to her words. He took her by the arm and attempted to tear her out of Llewellyn's grip, but though he was tall, the king was stronger and managed to hold onto her and draw his sword at the same time.

"To arms!" Donnall called to his soldiers, who sprang past Ruarc and bore down on Llewellyn.

Llewellyn had to let go of Brienna to defend himself from their charging steel. The clash of their weapons rang loud against the stone walls of the tower, but were abruptly overpowered by Brienna's scream as Donnall grabbed her from behind and held her, captive.

She watched Llewellyn fight Donnall's two men, terrified to see that they had gained the advantage and backed him against the window, his body leaning dangerously over the sill. One wrong move and he could lose his footing, plummeting to the courtyard below. Realizing this, Llewellyn was forced to lower his sword, outnumbered and cornered.

"Hand me his weapon," Donnall ordered.

One of his men took Llewellyn's sword and placed it in his master's hand. Donnall held it aloft, beaming with unearned triumph. Brienna knew without a doubt that if it had been Donnall facing Llewellyn himself, he would be slashed to ribbons by now. Then she remembered her dagger.