Irish: The Irish Princess Part 23

"Siobhan. Siobhan, nay, la.s.s." He pleaded, even as she bent to him, taking him into her mouth. He flinched violently, curling up to watch and feel and absorb this woman unleashing her pa.s.sion on him. His heart thundered so hard he swore she could hear it, his body bleeding with fiery sensations, demanding that he toss her to the ground and pound into her. But her pleasure, the feel of her flesh brushing over his, was a prize he would savor and cherish, her surrender a step to winning her trust.

Her mouth played. He thickened and hardened, and he called her name over and over, begging her to cease and let him pleasure her. But she refused, her tongue sliding, her lips pulling until he was too near exploding to care, yet he did. He wanted her, her, and caught her beneath the arms, dragging her over him, thrilling at the feel of every inch of her laid bare to his touch.

Her skin was on fire, pure heat against the cool air.

His broad hands mapped her contours, hands coa.r.s.e with calluses, fashioned to wield a sword and crossbow, an ax and a javelin-hard, unyielding. Yet when he held her, the sensations of war turned to vapor and he knew he held a woman, ripely shaped, soft, with skin of silk and tasting of honey. His life was battle, survival and conquer, yet here she was the victor, leaving him vanquished and weak.

And he cherished it, wanted more of it, a willing prisoner to her power.

No woman had ever touched him as she did. No woman gave of herself in a single kiss, in a tiny stroke of his flesh, and Gaelan knew he would do aught to keep this woman his, close and private and in possession of his soul.

In the seclusion of a tiny dale, she abandoned the cloak of her position. Hidden beneath the shade of trees, the wall of shrubbery still thin from the winter's cold, she spread her thighs, toeing his braies further down with an eagerness that stirred him to explosion. When she rose up, sliding, slicking him, Gaelan could stand no more.

He sat up sharply, grinning at her started look, his arousal pushing between her thighs, seeking the warm nest, and he reached between their bodies, his gaze never leaving hers as he guided himself deeper into her. He filled her, loving the flare of her eyes, the way her tongue pa.s.sed over her lips, the breathy pants ... and the feminine muscles flexing wetly around him.

"Oh-oh-husband," she repeated over and over and threw her head back, gripping his shoulders and he shoved upward, sheathing himself to the hilt. Gaelan groaned, his body quaking.

Suddenly he pulled her hard against him, chest to breast, taking her mouth with all the heat and raw desire grinding through him. Her arms wrapped his neck and he gave her hips sweet motion, lifting her and lowering her, obliging the impatient whimpers of his bride. He could feel her body pawing his. He heard her whispers of encouragement, the telltale signs he was just beginning to know; a tuck of her hips, a fractured breath.

Then she spoke, whispering how delicious he felt inside her, that she could feel him throbbing, his blood pulsing, her words bold and meant to drive him mad. And they did.

He yanked her legs around his hips and pushed her to her back on the soft mossy earth, bracing his weight on his arms. He shoved and withdrew, his mouth whispering an apology, yet she gripped his hips and demanded more of his long torturous strokes. Her heels dug into the cushiony ground, her hips rising to greet his. The cadence buffeted, smooth motion, and Gaelan gazed into her eyes, watching her rapture climb to a peak.

Her eyes never closed, looking over him, watching his body disappear into hers. And each time, she bit her lower lip to hold back a cry.

"Let me hear you, princess."

She did, her gasps coloring the air, her emotions cresting with the tightness peeling through her undulating body. Delicate muscles gripped him.

Gaelan plunged, taking her mouth, wanting to taste her pleasure on his lips.

"My lord!"

He chuckled and she pounded his shoulders, then cupped his b.u.t.tocks and drove him deeper. He retreated and plunged, tight and hard and spearing.

Gaelan conquered, only here, only now.

Siobhan surrendered, receiving him, skin to bare skin.

Carved bronze against ivory silk.

Seeking, seeking, hastening toward the prize.

Then they found it, the clash shattering, swelling.

He drove her across the earth and touched her soul, and she arched, bowing beautifully beneath him, her fingertips digging into his chest as he slammed into her, once twice, and she cried out, scattering birds from the trees and begging for more. Gaelan gave, unable to contain even a shred of restraint and threw his head back, pleasure roaring through him like a caged beast set free.

Siobhan felt his climax skip through her, every cell breaking, his throbbing arousal elongating to spill his seed into her. The hard base of him pressed and rubbed, sending exquisite convulsions down to her toes and she flinched over and over, taking all he had and finding her rapture in his release. She held his gaze, watching it, the flutter of his lashes, the softening of his creased features, the blaze in his eyes as she held him vulnerable inside her.

Suspended on the edge, Gaelan couldn't move, wracked with tremors trapping him in the grip of desire. He stared at her, his chest heaving for air, sweat rolling down his temples and the center of his chest as he took in every detail of her. A vapor simmered over her hot skin, her red hair spread in a halo around her exquisite face. G.o.d above, she was beautiful, headstrong, rebellious, yet here, in his arms, beneath him in loving, she was a magnificent savage, her release as untamed as she was, as if capped for too long.

Then she reached, playing with his nipple, outlining the contours of his breast before her fingers curved his neck to bring him down to her mouth. Her kiss was probing and turbulent, stirring him deeper than before, and with a groan, he sank onto her, rolling to his side and taking her with him. Her calf rubbed over his, her fingertips drawing patterns on his damp back.

He was still lodged inside her and her hips pushed deliciously to his.

"Did I hurt you?" He'd never pounded into a woman with such ferocity before.

"You did not hear me complainin', did you now?"

He grinned. "So then, you are still hungry for the dragon?" he teased, stroking her hair from her face as she tipped her head to look at him.

"You would deny me the pleasure now?"

He chuckled, kissing her again. "I would indulge you all day, but we will be discovered soon." His gaze swept meaningfully to the lowering sun.

"I do not care."

He scoffed, running his hand over her slender back, enjoying the peace and the feel of her skin. "You will when the entire keep sees your bare behind." He patted the tender area. "I am surprised Driscoll did not come a'running to see if I was killing you, your cries were so loud." Her gaze snapped to his, searching for the admonishment, but found only a tender humor.

"My cries?"

He arched a brow.

She shoved at his chest. "Oh, do not look at me as if you were not roaring like a beast too long in a pen."

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You opened the cage, woman, and let the dragon out."

Her gaze lowered briefly to where their bodies joined. "When one knocks long and hard enough," she said with a moan, thrusting softly against him, "one must answer the door."

Suddenly Gaelan rolled her to her back, plunging deeply and gazing into her eyes. "Knock, knock."

Siobhan watched him walk from the stream, his naked body glistening with water like fairy dust. The sight of him made her heart skip, and she tipped her head as he neared. Truly a beautiful man, she thought, proud he was hers. Their marriage was unbreakable now, sealed before G.o.d, and Siobhan did not have a single regret. She had kept them from being truly husband and wife. She had drawn a battleline between them, and the needs of her body and her heart had melted into one and she recognized hours ago that if she wanted a new life, she had to break from her own rebellion and give into the sweep of it. There had been no question that she'd wanted to be physically loved by him. 'Twas a pleasure she would never forget, a pleasure that would be remembered with a look and a touch. Her gaze followed him as he dressed, constantly astonished at the power he harnessed for her this afternoon. Muscles rippled and flexed as he stepped into his braies, then pulled on a poorly made lawn shirt, the cuffs and sides gathered. She could not take her eyes off him as he laced the boot thongs over his thighs and fastened the leather, unadorned codpiece over his manhood. Even flaccid, 'twas substantial, she thought, desire for him stirring through her again.

"Siobhan," he warned. "That look is dangerous. Want to find yourself on your back?"

"I would prefer my knees," she said tartly, and his head shot up, his eyes flying wide. She nibbled on a cube of cheese, looking at him through a curtain of hair. "I have shocked you, I see."

"Aye," he admitted.

"Forgive me."

Squatting, he reached, tipping her face up, frowning softly. "Spare naught from me."

Her brow knitted and she shoved the cheese into her mouth, then studied the samplings. "Tigheran was unfaithful," she blurted. "To him bedding was a weapon. No matter how I tried, he saw me as a cruel second to Devorgilla. The enemy's niece." She scoffed rudely. "He did not believe a woman should have any desires."

Gaelan dropped to his knees before her, then s.n.a.t.c.hed up a bite of food. "I am most glad you have them."

She glanced up, her smile slow, trembling a bit. He could not know what his tenderness, his coaxing and the freedom she felt in his arms meant to her. Her eyes burned for the giant of a man who hid this side of himself and gave it only to her, for letting her be herself and discover all she'd suppressed. Making love with him was new, fresh, and she felt almost virtuous. He gave her more than she gave him. And she knew she'd denied them both these past days for the mark Tigheran left on her, for the hateful words he'd say to her when she so much as patted his arm. But this Cornish knight craved her touch, and when she gave it, he wanted more. Siobhan was most willing to deliver.

"So am I, my lord."

He sank down beside her, cupping her delicate jaw, his thumb rasping over her lovely lips. The glossy look in her eyes nearly destroyed his composure. O'Rourke was mad to turn her away, he thought. "Touch me when you wish, Siobhan. Call to me and I will come to you." His gaze darkened, smoldering velvet and filled with promise. "Know you by now I would rather be touching you than eating, drinking, sleeping, riding, fighting, building..."

Her mouth moved lightly over his as she said, "Yer saying you be thinking of getting beneath me skirts a good deal, then?"

He groaned, his hand sliding under the aforementioned skirt and stroking her bare thighs. "Aye."

She caught his hand, stopping him. "Think on it a bit longer then. Write," she said, with a wave at the quill and parchment. With a look that was almost childlike in disappointment, he took up the quill. Lying on his stomach, he practiced whilst she hovered over the cloth laden with food, popping piece after piece into her mouth.

"Worked up an appet.i.te, have you?"

She looked up sharply, eyed him, her cheeks full as she chewed, then swallowed. "Nay, you did it."

He grinned, smug and itching to roar, then focused on his writing. They dined, he wrote and Siobhan fed him the picnic meal, correcting his work, tasting his mouth in reward.

"We've been gone a bit," she said with a glance at the sky as they gathered the items and wrapped up the uneaten portions.

"I will simply tell them that you stripped to your bare b.u.t.t and threw yourself at my feet, begging to be had."

"Oh!" she gasped, then laughed, shoving the basket at his chest as she mounted the horse. He lashed the basket to the saddle and she waited until he climbed up behind her before wiggling into his groin. He groaned softly, his body responding with amazing swiftness. "Now we will see who'll be doing the beggin', my lord."

"Sorceress," he said on a grin.

"Nay, that's Rhiannon."

He scowled.

Her brow knitted a touch and she looked surprised. "I thought Driscoll would have told you." His expression said otherwise. "She is not a conjuring one, but a seer. She can ... feel things," she said with a shrug. "I advise you not to let her touch you too long, if you be having a secret to keep."

"I won't."

Gaelan kissed her suddenly, his arm around her waist, her body tight to his front. His mouth molded, the reminder, his sudden fear of losing her driving him to put all his mastery in the single kiss. Grayfalk shifted beneath them. Siobhan whimpered, the little sound of eagerness he recognized as she twisted in the saddle, diving her hands beneath his shirt and stroking his warm flesh. She was breathless and panting when he drew back.

"Oh, my lord," she moaned on a rush of air, sinking into his embrace.

Gaelan curled her to him, her head resting beneath his chin, her arms around his waist. They rode slowly toward Donegal castle, sated in body, hearts wishing for more and both fearing their past would destroy the feelings budding like spring heather on the moors.

Every head turned, a thousand pairs of eyes watching as the lord and lady of Donegal rode between the gates. Their ease with each other was apparent, and Raymond DeClare folded his arms over his chest and awaited their approach. A maid rushed to take the basket, her expression warring between a frown and a smile. Gaelan swung down, then turned for his wife, and Raymond could not help but notice the look on her face when he let her slide down his body. Gaelan touched her hair lightly, tipped her chin and kissed her, murmuring unheard words. She nodded and, with a lingering stroke to his chest, moved past him. Raymond followed her retreat, the way she kept looking back at Gaelan, smiling, and he did not need any clearer an image.

"The work is going well, my lord."

Gaelan dragged his gaze from Siobhan's sweet behind and glanced at the walls. "'Tis getting dark; cease for the day."

He nodded. "Did my lord have a good time at the creek?"

Gaelan slid him a glance. "You've a comment to make, make it, DeClare."

His gray eyes widened. "Me? Abhor the thought. Although..." Gaelan eyed him, waiting. "The knights are already speculating on the arrival of your first child..."

"I will wager you will be a father afore me, DeClare."

Raymond paled.

"Watch yourself." Bidding to see him at the evening meal, Gaelan headed toward the keep, his steps quick.

Driscoll moved up beside him, watching Gaelan for a moment. "Think you he's impatient for the day to end so he can be alone with her?"

Raymond's glaze slid to the side. "You noticed that, eh?"

"Everyone has. Makes him seem a bit more human, that he sniffs after the princess-her ladyship"-he said with a sour look-"like a panting boar."

"I think he is falling in love with her."

Driscoll glanced, his brows high, doubt in the look. He knew the princess better than most and she never gave herself such a luxury. "And you are an expert at love?"

"I've been in love many times"-he grinned-"though briefly."

"Aye, as long as it takes to bed a wench. 'Tis five of the dairy maids, last I heard."

Raymond reddened. "Great Scot."

"Nay, sir, lovely Irish la.s.ses." He patted his chest dramatically. "Steal a man's heart right out from under him." He chuckled at DeClare's not-me look and strode toward the stables. Raymond looked back at the workers, calling an end to the day and ordering the guards to seal the gates at sundown.

A figure caught his attention, the setting sun glinting off a cloud of light red hair, and he recognized Rhiannon as she moved across the outer ward toward the chapel, ignoring everyone, her head down. Now that one was cold as the Irish wind, he thought, for although he'd tried to get to know her, she would not bestow even a smile on him. She was beautiful; golden red hair, fresh face and comely as any other. Yet there was something odd about her, a supremacy he could not get beyond, even in casual conversation, and though he would love to see if her lips tasted as glorious as they looked, her recent behavior made him suspicious. She was constantly looking over her shoulder, searching the crowd as if she waited for someone to appear and name her a killer or aught as ridiculous.

Raymond watched as a figure came forward, cloaked in monk's robes and blocking her path. When Rhiannon tried to step around, the person followed. She stopped, her hand on her hips, her impatience for him to move aside ringing from her slim body. The figure-Raymond could not tell if the body housed b.r.e.a.s.t.s or not-stepped closer to her, and yet the sudden fear on her face sent the knight rushing forward.

"My lady," he called, his hand on his sword.

Her head snapped around, her eyes flaring wide. "Nay. I am well," she said with a staying hand, then spoke sharply to the intruder before turning about and heading back to the keep.

Raymond watched her, frowning and when he looked back to the monk, he was gone. He spun, his gaze raking over the area. d.a.m.n. There was no place to hide, not that quickly, he thought, looking to the gates. He strode to the tower, calling out and asking after the visitor. The guards reported no one in robes entering or leaving the keep today. Raymond sighed and turned back to his duties, reminding himself to inform Gaelan of his sister-in-law's strange behavior.

Chapter 18.