Chapter 20 #3
“But—oh, you did! You suggested—”
“I merely said that there might have been good reason for you to turn to your Viking kin for help. The man Ewan killed claimed that Daro was responsible. I’ve no proof of that, nor can I believe it so easily.
Perhaps someone believes that I will be quick to accuse you, and Daro.
And perhaps even wage war against Daro—and my own wife. ”
She exhaled on a long breath, amazed. She trembled, relieved by his words, yet still angry that he had tested her so.
Yet she knew that her words of affection for Ewan, spoken so passionately, had angered him.
Not that there had been secrets between them.
But because she had said what she had in front of others, and perhaps, even, because of the emotion in her voice when she had agreed to marriage with him—and all its terms.
And when it had seemed that there might even be happiness in that marriage.
“Don’t wage war against me!” she pleaded softly. “I have not betrayed you. I swear it.”
“Tell me, why would you no longer fight me?”
“I married you.”
“Aye?”
“I promised to love, honor, and obey.”
He laughed suddenly. “My dear, I don’t think you’re familiar with the meaning of the word obey.”
“I agreed to the marriage,” she said softly.
“And …”
She swallowed hard. There was only so much she dared admit when it seemed that someone, somewhere, was working against her.
“I am resigned.”
“That’s all? Resigned?”
“I’m finding marriage to be … more than palatable.”
“I’ve made it to palatable, and now I must leave.”
He was speaking lightly, teasing her, but she was suddenly afraid, and miserable. “Yet, if there is any fear … shouldn’t you stay here? If the isle is in danger, can’t the English wait? If you were to go later—”
“I must go today.”
“If you could just wait … a few days. Time will tell quickly with Ewan. Perhaps, in very little time, I could come.”
“I don’t have time.”
She lowered her head again. He cradled her skull with his palm, holding her to his chest. “I have to go, and you have to stay. So tell me good-bye.”
She was silent. He lifted her chin again. Her eyes met his. “Good-bye,” she said painfully. “Godspeed.”
He smiled, fingers gentle as they moved down her cheek. “I’m glad that you would have God with me. But I’d wanted something a bit more memorable in the manner of a good-bye. Especially since I’ve gone from being not entirely repulsive to actually palatable.”
She was amazed to realize that she could smile through her tears.
And more, she was amazed to find herself on her toes, delicately, with a whisper, brushing her lips against his.
Then she threw her arms around him, and the kiss she gave next was anything but delicate.
Her body pressed to his, she teased his mouth open with her tongue.
Passionate, hungry, angry, afraid and trying to hold on, she slipped her hands beneath the linen shirt he wore beneath his wool, running her fingers along his flesh.
She kissed and teased, stroked boldly with her tongue.
In seconds, his shirt was open, and she worked down his body, her fingertips brushing flesh, her lips and tongue feathering after.
He hastily began ripping clothing from his body, and hers, and while linen and wool were strewn, she scarcely missed a brush, a taste, a touch.
The fire burned very low, the dawn just crept into being.
She tended each scar upon him with a stroke of her tongue, the brush of a kiss.
She lowered herself against him. Stroked him, cradled him, took him into her mouth.
His fingers curled into her hair, hoarse cries escaped him.
He came down to his knees before her, captured her lips in a kiss, found her throat, shoulders, breasts …
They lay before the low-burning fire upon the soft furs.
And he kissed her and tasted her, caressed her, touched her, imprinting sensation upon his mind.
The dawn came inexorably, light filtered through arrow slits in crimson and mauve, subtly changing, playing upon their flesh in shades that slowly changed to gold and yellow …
He made love to her, she rose atop him. No matter how hard she tried to hold on to the moments, they slipped away.
She could not be passionate enough, fierce enough, tender enough.
She had never been so aggressive, so hungry, so desperate.
She ached to reach the promised pinnacle, and she drew back each time it threatened.
His eyes touched hers, his rich dark hair brushed her flesh, his skin was fire, his arms were all powerful, holding her, he moved like lightning, like the wind, like thunder, with all the sweet promise and violence of a storm at sea.
Then it seemed that the world itself was ripped asunder, climax seized her in a final, wild tempest, and she lay with him drenched and shivering upon the furs, and realizing that the fire had died, and that dawn was breaking to the full light of day.