The Conquering Prince — Gardner Francis Fox

He ruled by the sword -- She by her caresses

His sword for love-
Out of the grandeur and pageantry of 14th-Century England, a master storyteller weaves this powerful tale of a lonely titan and the woman who loved him. Men spoke in awe of The Black Prince, the greatest swordsman of his day women whispered in wonder of the man who could claim the thrones of England and France, but who would trade both for one forbidden night in the arms of a raven-haired goddess.

Love Has A Wild Cry
The Black Prince lay staring vacantly upward at the tent pole.
"Broth,” the gypsy whispered. "Take it away; I don't want food," he said.
Then as he turned his gaze toward the girl, he came up on an elbow, eyes wide.
“Rosette -- ”
Through thin trousers of black lace, her skin gleamed like bronze. About her throat were copper necklaces, sparkling with pink rubies. Her full breasts glistened in the candlelight.
"This is how the harem women dress, back in the Mongol lands from which my people come. It is a very warm country, you see."
Then Edward's arms went around her, his mouth burning on her soft skin. She slipped away easily, circling him, her eyes glowing hungrily as he followed. She kissed and touched, always eluding him, mocking him tenderly, holding him off.
"You must not, my Prince. You are a sick man."
He trapped her against the tent pole, and his hands roamed her velvet skin.
"Am I a sick man now, Rosette?"
“Ah, no! No!”
For a time the tent was silent, save for the guttering candles. Then, high and keening as a mountain wind, came the wild cry of a frenzied woman.