Michelle Willingham - Lionheart’s Bride

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King Richard and Princess Berengaria, 1191

Princess Berengaria’s lady-in-waiting, Adriana, takes her duty to the future Queen of England seriously—she will defend her to the death! When their sea voyage to the Holy Land ends up in shipwreck and capture Adriana knows her only hope lies with the mysterious Irishman, Liam MacEgan.

Liam escapes to reach Richard the Lionheart and together they plan a rescue mission. Nothing will stop these warriors from succeeding—their future brides are captive on Cyprus and they’ll raise hell to claim them!

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Author Note

About the Author

Pamplona, the Kingdom of Navarre, 1187

‘I didn’t know if you would come,’ Richard said, reaching for her hand. He had removed the chain-mail armour he’d worn earlier and wore a blue silk tunic trimmed with fur. His dark mantle rested over his shoulders, and even in the moonlight, Berengaria could see the cool grey of his eyes and the reddish glint of his hair.

‘What choice did I have?’ she accused. ‘You stole my ring at the tournament when you kissed my hand.’ Holding out her palm, she sent him a warning look. ‘I want it back.’

‘I wanted an excuse to see you again.’ He sent her a slow smile that quickened her pulse. Opening his hand, he revealed the emerald and gold ring. ‘Is this what you want?’

When she tried to seize it, he curled his fingers over his palm. ‘Come closer, and you shall have it.’

‘Do not play games, Your Grace. I’ve no interest in them.’

‘If that were true, you wouldn’t have come. You’d have sent a servant for the ring.’

‘And you’d have refused to return it.’

He drew closer, pressing the ring into her hands. ‘Do you think me such a villain?’

‘I don’t know who you are.’ Though her hands were gloved, she could feel the heat of his skin. Something about this man intrigued her, slipping past her defences like the warrior he was.

Don’t stay, Berengaria warned herself. Leave now. Her father, King Sancho, would be furious if she knew she was standing in the garden with the Duke of Aquitaine, the son of King Henry Plantagenet of England.

‘I want to know you,’ Richard said slowly. ‘No woman has ever dared to speak to me in the way that you do.’

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘You aren’t my betrothed husband and never will be.’

‘You’re right.’ His hand moved up to her cheek, and when she tried to move away, he held her in place. ‘Berengaria, you remind me of Eve. You tempt me with the tartness of your tongue. The flashing of your dark eyes.’

She shivered slightly, and her mind warned her again to move away. But his voice held her captive, while his thumb edged her cheekbone. ‘I admire your spirit.’

Richard tipped her face up to look at him. Then he leaned in closer, resting his forehead against hers. ‘You should know that this is your last chance to walk away untouched. If you stay, I’m going to claim a kiss.’ He released her and stood motionless, waiting for her decision.

Her mind cried out for her to flee, even as her feet remained rooted in place. Richard was not a man who was free to court her. He was already betrothed to another woman.

But she wanted to experience the forbidden taste of a kiss from a man who wanted her. Not her kingdom, nor her wealth, for he could have neither. Richard knew what it was to be caught in a world full of rules, a world in which they had no freedom.

His lips covered hers, and at the first moment of the kiss, she forgot all the reasons why this was never meant to happen. Richard rested his hands upon her hips, drawing her body nearer. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said softly. ‘You’re not a princess anymore. And I am not a duke.’

She obeyed, and the barriers seemed to vanish between them. Against her mouth he murmured, ‘If you were my betrothed wife, I’d steal away from my duties to seize moments like this. And you’d never tell false compliments to me, would you?’

‘Your arrogance is great enough, my lord.’

‘Richard,’ he corrected. This time, he captured her lips like a ruthless invader. There was nothing kind or polite about the kiss. She opened her mouth, shocked at the wild feelings that coursed through her. He trapped her face between his hands, kissing her as though he wanted to shred all of her defences and find the woman beneath.

Though inwardly she knew that he had an insatiable need to win, to conquer, she hardly cared. The rush of need provoked a tremulous response inside her. She couldn’t catch her breath as he plundered her mouth. And when she began to kiss him back, he softened the intensity. Warm and wet, his tongue slid inside her mouth. He drew her hips against him, and she could feel the hot length of his arousal against the folds of her skirts. The knowledge, that he wanted to claim her body, made her tremble. She clung to him, so afraid of the feelings that ran untamed within her.

‘Innocent,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘I knew it when first I saw you.’

She caught her breath as his mouth travelled over her cheek. ‘I must go now.’

‘You should.’ But he didn’t release her from his embrace, and she wondered what he intended. His palms moved up her spine, and when he kissed her again, she sensed that this was farewell.

But now, she had a memory to call her own. One that her father could not govern or take away from her. And as she kissed him for the last time, Berengaria thought to herself, I’m glad it was Richard.

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