Chapter 16 #2
She knew she would always smile when people asked her if it was true that Welshmen were wild. Because, in the right circumstances, they were.
In the best possible way.
“I love you, Siaspar.”
“I know you do. Show me how much. Come for me.”
At the order, Katherine’s body began to pulse and she could do nothing but let Siaspar take over. She had no breath left, no strength to do anything but lie there and let him fill her over and over again while she seized and contracted around him.
“More,” he said through gritted teeth. “Again. I need to feel you squeeze me when I come.”
He took one of her legs and placed it over his shoulder. The change in angle catapulted her into a second, even fiercer release. Neck arched, Katherine thought she screamed, but no sound came out.
Only once he’d felt her spasms subside did Siaspar allow himself to unleash his own pleasure. Burying himself to the hilt, he placed his mouth at her throat, nipped at her flesh—and emptied himself deep inside her.
Once he’d stopped trembling, Katherine tried to laugh, but could only snort.
“Are you trying to mark me as yours?” She made to brush the place where he had suckled her, and could not even lift her arm. There was not an ounce of energy left in her body. “No need. We both know I am.”
“Yes.” He rolled to the side and drew her against his flank. “You’re mine. Forever. And soon, everyone will know it.”
Three days later, armed with the parchment stating the annulment of his union to Lady Malpas, Siaspar paid a visit to the priest of the village church to make the necessary arrangements for their union.
He and Katherine were married the following week, in the presence of her family, Master Owain and Gwyn, who did not even try to hide their joy at seeing his master rid of his shrewish first wife and happy with his second.
The simple ceremony was followed by a feast on the main square where all the villagers were invited.
Siaspar surprised the guests by tapping the cask of ale with expert gestures and serving them himself.
“Now, this is a son-in-law you can be proud of, Matthew,” the weaver told Katherine’s father, accepting the first cup.
“Indeed. I predict the little brewer has a bright future ahead of him.”
This sally was met with raucous laughter. But Siaspar could only agree. The brightest future was awaiting him. Six months after deciding he needed an English wife, he had one. Not a stranger chosen for advancement, but one he loved, a woman who had saved his life in more ways than one.
The only awkward moment of the day came when a young man called Walter offered his congratulations to the newlyweds. His face was bright red and he could barely string more than two words together.
Looking rather flushed herself, Katherine explained in his ear that once, the lad had entertained hopes of marrying her and was no doubt distraught to see her wed to someone else.
Siaspar sympathized with poor Walter, but he could not regret her decision to marry him instead.
She was the only woman for him, he was certain of it, and he knew she felt the same way about him.
They left for Wales the following Sunday, after an emotional parting.
“We will come back soon,” Siaspar promised his wife, as they brought their mounts back down to a walk. She had launched her horse into a frenzied gallop as soon as they had waved their last goodbyes, as if to put an end to the painful moment as quickly as possible.
“I know.” She gave the panting mare, Aur, a pat on the neck, as if to comfort herself. “But that was hard.”
Yes, it had been hard, even for him. The Robertsons, with their easy acceptance of him and their obvious affection for one another, had quickly become something of a second family. He already knew he would want to see them as often as could be arranged.
“By the way, did I ever tell you why I chose this particular horse for you to ride?” he asked Katherine, as they reached a bubbling stream.
“No.” Her back tensed slightly, betraying her interest. Good. He’d hoped to distract her from the pain of leaving her family and it seemed he had said the right thing. “Why did you choose her?”
“My stallion is called Arian. I trust that you remember what it means?”
This was not a real question. He knew she was a natural at learning his language, which was something else he loved about her. Teaching her would provide him with an endless source of satisfaction in the years to come.
“Yes,” she confirmed, “it means Silver.”
“Da iawn. Now guess what Aur means.”
Her eyes widened as if she had known all along but had not made the link. “Gold,” she whispered, looking from the shimmering mare to the gray stallion. “Of course. It’s as if they were made to go together.”
“Yes. Just like us. Made to go together.”
The smile she threw him reached all the way to his heart.
“Now guess what Ystlum, which is the mare I chose for Lady Helen, means. She’s in fact called Cwmwl, ‘cloud’ but everyone has taken to calling her Ystlum on account of her coloring—and her temper.”
Siaspar saw Katherine bite her bottom lip to stifle a laugh. Ah, so she knew the word… Excellent news.
“I actually do know that one,” she admitted. “Master Owain told me, one day, while we rode to England. It means ‘bat.’ He said that he could not believe how well-suited mare and rider were. But I knew it was no coincidence.” She threw him a mischievous glance. “You could not resist, could you?”
“No. And unfortunately, we have no mare called ‘churlish mule,’ so Lady Malpas was riding on Perl.”
“Pearl. You rotten, devious thing.”
“Rotten, devious brute. That’s me.”
“Yes, but you’re my brute.”
Siaspar sent his throaty laugh to the skies.
How odd life could be.
Six weeks ago, he had left Castell y Ddraig with an English wife by his side and he’d been miserable as sin. Today, he was coming back home with another English wife and he was happier than he had ever been.