Part 27 (1/2)
He looked down at her, tilting her face up, his gaze searching hers. The fact remained that she was still keeping things from him, and he realized that though he might have vanquished her body, he did not possess her heart.
Nor her complete trust.
The crush of it almost made him confess his sins, clear the rubble of his past before it could butcher the relations.h.i.+p building between them. Almost. He could not risk losing her to the truth. Not now. Not when the thought of being without her made him want to die. He'd been alone all his life, and now that he knew there was another life he could lead, he could not bear the loneliness again. She was his wife, his mate, for eternity, and his need to mark her, brand her his in every way possible, surged through him.
He ducked and kissed her, devouring and strong, pus.h.i.+ng his tongue between her lips, his knee between her thighs. His hands charged a wild ride over her bare body, enfolding her b.u.t.tocks and pulling her hard against his groin. She strained for more and the heat of her s.e.x moistened his thigh, the scent of her commanding him, driving him.
He twisted, pressing her back against the stone wall, his kiss ravenous, desperate. He shaped her body, rubbed and dipped, tasted her on his fingertips and ceased his a.s.sault long enough to step out of his braies. Then he nudged her thighs wider, stroking her wetly, teasing her with the tip of his erection until she was reaching for him, until she whimpered and arched and clawed for him to fill her.
Then he did, lifting her legs around his hips and shoving himself inside her with a force that mashed her to the wall.
She gasped in pleasure, clamping her arms around his neck, rocking.
He imprisoned her hips to the wall, his thickness pleasuring her in smooth deliberation, his dark eyes watching her, smoldering with an almost sinister obsession.
”You are mine, Siobhan,” he murmured into the curve of her ear, his hands palming her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, circling her nipples. ”Mine.”
Siobhan could not wonder over the desperation in his voice, the rough texture of it. But his motions spoke more, his touch, his taste of her frenzied, anxious, his every move designed to thrill and excite beyond her limits.
In the darkness of the chamber he possessed her, bodies undulating in rhythmic cadence, skin slick with sweat and desire. He drank in her pants and sobs of rapture and then when she could take no more, begging he cease, he refused, greedily delivering her into a summit of mindless pa.s.sion and leaving her dangling over the edge.
He was tender with patience, then at once, savage and erotic, bringing her to a shattering climax before the looking gla.s.s with only the touch of his hand. Her wild response drove him insane with l.u.s.t, her ecstasy spinning through his being and penetrating deep into the hollows of his corrupt soul. He tried to take her into himself, smother doubts, win her heart so firmly naught could shatter them apart. Yet near the witching hour, when they sank into the soft bedding in a seductive tangle of arms and legs, Gaelan realized the demon he chased lay within, and even in the comfort of her soft arms, he could not fight it.
Standing in the inner ward, Gaelan brushed his mouth over Siobhan's, the memory of the evening before, of the love play they shared, blossoming in the kiss. She was an inventive creature, making their nights more interesting than he thought possible.
Gaelan felt the sting on his shoulder and drew back, turning sharply in time to see Connal dart into the barns, his lamb a bit slower and giving clear evidence to his presence. What did the child think to accomplish with this daily attack?
”I apologize, my lord.”
”'Tis mischief.” And he does it only with his mother near.
”'Tis meanness.” She started after him, but he stayed her, then strode calmly after the child to the barns. After a quick scan, Gaelan noticed the haystack moving and stepped closer, digging to the timothy and pulling the child free. The lamb bahhed, working its head through the stack.
Gaelan held out his hand.
Connal scowled and slapped the slingshot in his palm.
Leaving the barn, he strode to his wife, depositing the boy at her feet.
Siobhan tried not to laugh at the look of horror on Connal's young face as her husband crushed the slingshot in his fist. Connal wailed.
”Silence.”
The boy's lips quivered and he looked to his mother for support. Siobhan simply folded her arms, frowning disappointedly down at him.
”When you learn that I am not the enemy, you may construct another.” Gaelan looked up, searching the inner yard, then calling out to a dairy maid. ”Connal will a.s.sist you today. Report to me his behavior.”
The maid blinked, her gaze s.h.i.+fting quickly between lord and lady, then to the boy. She bobbed a curtsey, inclining her head to the milkhouse. Connal trudged off to the duty, a little smile curving his lips as he pulled another slingshot from inside his tunic.
Gaelan frowned at the gaunt man, suspicion breeding through him. Several carpenters and masoners moved in and out of the castle whilst the construction continued, and though he'd come to know the closest villagers, at least by face, this man had not lent a hand. Only a coward did not come forth, yet the man's looks bore an unquestionable hatred. He strode toward him and the thin man straightened, meeting his gaze.
”Who are you and what are you doing in my castle?”
”I've come for you, PenDragon.” Disgust thickened his voice.
Gaelan, his hands on his sword hilt, studied the man. ”I have seen you afore.”
”I am the only one who survived.”
Recognition dawned, and Gaelan's heart slammed to his gut. Tigheran's man. He was at the field when he slew the Irish king. The ramifications of his presence swelled through him, fueling anger, stripping his compa.s.sion.
”You should have died with your betraying master.”
The Irishman, slim and undernourished, straightened. ”Prepare to die, Lord Donegal,” he spat, drawing his sword.
Gaelan s.n.a.t.c.hed his wrist, twisting the blade away from his chest. The fragile bones snapped under his grip, yet the proud man did not show a flicker of pain. Soldiers and guards rushed forward, but Gaelan waved them back, his gaze on the Irishman.
”Lay down your weapons and I will spare you. As his retainer, you should have paid the price with your treasonous king.”
”And what is your price, PenDragon, for warring on Ireland?”
”I war only for Donegal now. For my wife and my folk. You may join us or leave, but speak no ill of me and mine here or you will die.” He thrust him back, tormented with the thought of Siobhan learning his sins from gossip. He glanced at a nearby soldier. ”Alert Driscoll of this man's presence, but first escort him to the kitchen, see that he has all he wants to eat and a bed for the night. Do not harm him, Markus.”
The soldier nodded, impressed his lord knew his name, and walked alongside the thin man. Gaelan watched his retreat, proud that Markus tried to talk with him. Mayhaps some wounds will heal, he thought, and be stronger for it.
”My lord?”
Gaelan jerked around, his chest clenching at the sight of his wife. Oh G.o.d.
Siobhan's gaze slipped past him to the Irish soldier, her frown deepening. ”Who was that? He is familiar.”
He sighed heavily, the weight of his misdeeds crus.h.i.+ng him. Denying now would only delay the pain. ”He is-was Tigheran's retainer.”
She hastened toward the Irishman, but her husband caught her. She met his gaze.
”Nay, wife. Do not talk with him.”
Her brow knitted delicately. ”Why not? I wish to know what happened. A detail, at least.”
It took every ounce of his will to say, ”I can tell you that.” Her expression filled with trepidation, her voice but a whisper as she said, ”How-how can you?”
”Because, love-” He swallowed, his Adam's apple grating like stones in his throat. ”Tigheran died by my hand.”