by Mia Pride
He looked at her imploringly, willing her to trust his words as the truth. And, she did. “I believe you,” she whispered. “And, I forgive you.” Suddenly, all the weight that had been pulling her down with self-doubt and anger lifted from her heart.
A smile spread across his lips and he took her hand in his, placing it on his swollen manhood against his trousers. “This is evidence of my desire for you, Ceara. It is all for you, from this day forward.” She held him in her palm, uncertain of what to do with it. She gripped him tighter and he pushed his hips into her hand, groaning as she began to drag her hand up and down his length. “Aye, just like that,” he groaned.
Ceara looked at his body, fully clothed, while she lay bare to him. She pouted and gripped him tighter, knowing he would groan again. She felt her need to pleasure him grow, as did her confidence. “Why are you still clothed?” she complained.
Garreth hopped off the bed like a man on fire, ripping his tunic off over his head frantically. His abdominal muscles flexed with his movements and glistened in the low burn of the tallow candle. Her heart fluttered and she felt herself flushing. There must never have been a more well-made man. He was truly a warrior and he had muscles sculpting every inch of him to prove it.
Untying his trousers, he wasted no time in pushing them down his hips. He stood up and faced her proudly, as did what lay between his legs. “Dear gods,” she whispered. She had no idea what one looked like before now. It was a strange appendage and her eyes grew wide as he stepped closer to her.
“Have you never seen one before?” he asked, clearly seeing the look of shock on her face. She seemed to have lost her ability to speak. Staring at the protruding rod of flesh, she shook her head and shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “Touch it,” he offered.
She reached out to touch him, then hesitated. “What are you going to do with it?” She felt ridiculous having to ask such a question, but she truly had no idea how his male flesh worked, or how it was supposed to create a child.
He sent her a look that eased her embarrassment. He seemed pleased with her innocence. Men were that way, she knew. It was one thing for him to have seen handfuls of unclothed lassies, but had she ever seen one unclothed man, she was certain he would have a fit of jealousy.
“I will show you, lass,” he said softly as he stepped forward and gently pushed her back onto the bed. She lay there with her legs crossed, trying to keep some semblance of modesty, but knew it was futile. He leaned over her and uncrossed her legs, exposing the very place she had been trying to cover. Gently cupping her between her thighs, in the same place he had touched moments before, he looked at her with intensity in his gaze. “I will put it here.”
“Put it there?”
“Do you trust me, Ceara?” She looked up at him as he shifted over her body, centering his hard length between her legs. Suddenly, she was thankful he had the experience he had. She could not understand how it would work, but she did trust him. She nodded and he began to press in. She felt herself stretching, but it did not hurt as she had heard it would by so many other lassies in the village.
He sank into her slowly, taking the time she needed to adjust and process how their bodies joined. He seemed to reach an invisible barrier and he stopped, hesitating as he looked from their joined bodies to her eyes. “Are you ready?” he asked. Ready? Were they already not joined? What was she supposed to be ready for?
Giving him a tentative nod, she regretted it immediately as he pushed into her forcefully. Something snapped inside her, sending a painful stinging sensation through her center. She cried out and a tear leaked out of her eye. “Get off me!” she cried.
He did not get off, but he did not move. He stayed still inside her, looking at her with concern. “That is the worst of it.”
“Worst of it? I thought this was supposed to be pleasurable?” she whined, shifting beneath him.
Without saying a word, he began to move inside her again. She was about to protest, but soon realized the pain had completely disappeared. Now all she felt was a sweet pulling inside her body as he grew more confident and thrust in and out of her more freely.
He grunted as he picked up the pace and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing him deeper as she gained her rhythm. Their skin grew slick with sweat as they slid against one another and his strong musky scent filled her senses. He was all-consuming. The weight of him on her body, the feel of him moving inside her. She gripped his chest, feeling the coarse hairs beneath her fingertips as he moved.
Now she understood why this was making love, for something inside of her blossomed and bloomed, like a new flower opening to the sun for the very first time. He was beautiful. This was beautiful. He filled her body, mind, and heart with all of him.
She groaned beneath him as she allowed herself to get lost in the connection of their bodies, the way her hips seemed to know just how to arch to better meet his. Her body sang for his and his worked hard for hers. They were building something together, something that would bind them together forever.
His body shuddered and he tensed, just as she felt a molten heat fill her body and burst forth from her with violent spasms. She shouted out from the intensity of it and gripped onto him tighter, as if he may dissolve before her eyes, nothing more than a wondrous dream.
But he was no dream. He was Garreth Mac Cecht. Her husband. Her lover.
“Ceara!” he cried as they drifted toward the light together, then went limp, both their bodies finding their final release at the same time. He rolled her over onto her side, molding his body into hers. She could feel his heart beating against her back and his warm breath on her damp neck. The tallow candle was nearly out now and she realized they were being consumed by the darkness of the room. But he was all the light she needed and she nuzzled herself deeper into his embrace, a feeling of completeness threatened to pull her into a deep slumber.
“I told you I would cry only your name into the night, wife,” he whispered playfully in her ear, reminding her of his ridiculous vow.
She laughed and turned in his arms, feeling his hot breath against her mouth. “So you did, husband,” she giggled and put her lips on his, letting him give her one long, lingering kiss before she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 7
HER scent surrounded him. Ceara lay peacefully limp in his arms, her steady, rhythmic breaths whispering to the room as she slumbered after their lovemaking. He had lain with many lassies, but this was the first time he had truly made love. The connection between them was intense, all-consuming.
Even as he lay in the pitch black of the room, almost an hour after joining with her, he felt his entire body thrumming. By the gods, her innocence was more than he could bear. Explaining how to make love to her was enough to make him lose all control. Never had he lain with a less experienced lass, and yet, it was that lack of experience that made it all the sweeter. Knowing he had been the first man, and would be the last, to ever know her body created a possessiveness deep within him. He reveled in being the only man allowed to have her.
The thought of spending the rest of his life with only one woman had been one of the major reasons he avoided her for so long. But, as he held her nude form against his in their marriage bed, the rise and fall of her breasts against his arm, he knew that waking up every day next to Ceara, and bedding her as often as either of them pleased, was the true reward of life. To know one woman’s body so intimately for the rest of his life would be no hard task, especially when Ceara was that woman.
She shifted in his arms and he sighed, knowing that they had serious business to tend to before the day was done. They had just married, aye, but his father needed to have a wake and burial. They could not celebrate their marriage until his father was at peace. “Ceara?” he gently shook her shoulder and she groaned awake. He could not see her in the now completely dark room, but he could feel her hair brush against his chest. The day was still young and he could not spend it curled up in bed with his new wife, as much as he lon
ged to do just that.
He felt her sit up and she reached a hand out, seeking him in the darkness. Her hand found his cheek and she cupped his jaw, running her thumb over his short beard. “Garreth.” Her voice was soft, yet held a hint of doubt. He knew she was still processing all that had happened between them on this day.
“Aye, Ceara,” he responded, grabbing her hand in his. “I am sorry. I know this is not the wedding night you deserve, but we must get up and make arrangements for my father. We cannot feast or celebrate.”
His voice came out gruff as he choked back his dueling grief and guilt. Grief over the loss of his father and guilt over rushing Ceara into their marriage, knowing he was not able to properly celebrate. She made a shushing noise into the dark, as if sensing his internal battle. “Let me handle everything, Garreth.” He began to protest, but he felt her hand squeeze his tighter. “Tis my place as your wife to handle all matters of the family. Your father is mine now. I wish to do this, Garreth.”
His heart fluttered in his chest. He did not deserve this woman and her kindness after his years of ill-treatment of her. Her bare legs slid across his as she shifted closer to him and he felt himself stir to life once more. What he would not do for a full day and night to lay in bed with her and teach her all the many ways he could love her body. But he had to push those thoughts away before they consumed him. He would shove them aside for now, let them be his motivation for getting through the next several days.
Fortunately, Ceara seemed completely unaware of his renewed desire as she slid off the bed. “Where is my dress?” she asked. He imagined her searching in his dark bedchamber for her clothing and he jumped off the bed, ready to help her maneuver the dark. He reached out to find her and felt soft flesh graze his palm. She gasped and froze, and he suddenly realized that her breast was nestled in his palm.
He should pull away. They had things to do. But when his wife’s full, round, breast found its way into his palm in a dark room, how could he resist? Garreth felt the hard peak of her nipple harden as his thumb brushed across its tip. She moaned and he felt encouraged to continue. How had he neglected these perfect mounds while making love to her earlier? He had been so caught up in her innocence, in teaching her the pleasures of their connecting bodies that he had had no time to further explore.
Finding her other breast, he tested their weight in his palms, then lightly squeezed them, feeling her body push closer to his. How he wished he could see her in that moment, so he could memorize her face as she relished in his touch. Tilting his head, he ran his tongue over the tip of her breast and felt her body tense, heard her breath hitch. “Ceara,” he breathed against her flesh, taking her into his mouth and lightly sucking until she groaned. He released her breast and moved to the other, plying it with the same affections.
He felt her hips pull toward him and he knew she wanted him just as badly. Aye, he was a busy man, but he was a man. A hot-blooded, married man. And he could find the time to pleasure his new wife.
GARRETH HAD NOT SEEN much of Ceara over the three days that followed. She stood by her word and had taken care of every last detail of King Connor’s wake. At first, Garreth felt guilty. She should not have to plan all of this for him. But she seemed to relish playing the role of a wife. He had to admit, it was a relief to have time to just grieve and prepare emotionally and mentally for his inauguration, which the rest of the tuath prepared for while Ceara busied herself with her own duties.
At night, their bodies were like colliding stars, calling to one another and incapable of resisting the pull, but once the sun was up, Ceara was out the door in one direction and he in another. He knew this was how life worked. Every person in a family played a role and she played hers well. The difference was that, unlike most marriages, theirs was not a love match and they had not been able to enjoy their time together as a newly wedded couple, as was customary. The physical bond only grew with every dusk. But by dawn, Garreth could not help but feel like Ceara was avoiding him, sinking herself into her tasks of the day and avoiding him at all cost.
He would not care. He should not care. And yet, he found that he cared deeply. He loved her. It was a truth that scared him beyond measure. He wanted her open affection around the tuath. He wanted the village to see that she was proud to be his wife, that their connection extended outside the bedchamber. Or did it? Perhaps this fluttering in his chest every time he thought of her was only one-sided? The niggling fear that Ceara would ever regret marrying him ate away at his gut and was not helped by his already all-consuming grief over his father’s loss.
Walking around the tuath, he scanned the crowds for her familiar shock of wild red waves, but was disappointed that he, once again, was unable to locate his busy wife. It was better this way, he decided. He had warriors to train and disputes to resolve. He walked toward the front gates to gather some warriors for an impromptu sparring match when he heard the commotion.
“Garreth!” The sound of people running and screaming through the village suddenly brought his thoughts back to the present. One of his warriors was calling him from the front gate and he suddenly felt the earth beneath him shaking and the sound of several horses approaching growing louder. “Garreth!” His warrior puffed as he reached his side. “Tis the chief of Erdini! He and his warriors approach!”
Blood began to boil in Garreth’s veins and his ears rang loudly while overwhelming hatred consumed him. King Aonghus Ó’Néill of Erdini was a dead man. Why he would show up here only days after slaying his father, Garreth could not fathom, nor did he care. His grief was still a gaping hole in his heart and he would fill it with vengeance.
Unsheathing the sword at his hip, Garreth relished the sound of his iron weapon being released. It was a familiar sound, one he had heard hundreds of times in his life, but there was something more than satisfying about it today, knowing that he would soon be driving his sword through the heart of his enemy.
Garreth held up his sword and ran forward shouting commands. “Follow me through the gates then bar them shut! Keep our women and children locked inside!” He ran through the gates, knowing at least a dozen men followed behind him, but he had no intention of starting another war. Nay, today was about him and his relentless desire to slay King Aonghus of Erdini. No other blood need be shed.
Looking ahead, he saw a score of armed men on horses. Most wore horned helms and clearly were prepared for a fight. Leading the group was the young and large King Aonghus, who ruled his people with force, using his size to overpower and his cunning to manipulate. Garreth loathed men like Aonghus who were incapable of gaining respect through any other means than violence.
The birds chirped loudly above in the oak trees and he could hear the stream just to the west of his village calmly gurgling in the distance. The silence grew as the men stopped and sized one another up, waiting for the other to speak first. Garreth narrowed his gaze and shut out the rest of the world. Nothing else mattered but him and the huge red-bearded man whose shoulders were piled with animal pelts as he sat astride his large black steed. The horses of the Erdini warriors shifted nervously while their riders awaited a command, but none came.
“Aonghus!” Garreth growled as he moved his sword from hand to hand in anticipation of his pending justice. “Come here to die?” Garreth tightened his hold on his weapon and shifted his stance. “Do you truly need a score of warriors to do your fighting? You are as intelligent as they say, for you know you will never win against me man to man.”
He was goading Aonghus, using the man’s well-known pride against him. If the man had any weakness, it was that he was easily insulted and prone to rash decisions in his anger. Let the man come. Garreth would flay him. He could feel the bloodlust roaring in his ears.
“Nay, King Garreth,” Aonghus replied. Garreth did not miss Aonghus’s emphasis on the word “king.” It was an open reminder that his father, the previous king, had been slain, but Garreth refused to flinch. “I heard you have taken a wife. How very thoughtless of yo
u not to invite your neighbors to the festivities. I also hear she is a wee bonny thing. I was hoping to meet this bride of yours. I have a wedding gift to offer her.”
Garreth saw the twinkle of mischief in Aonghus’s eyes and knew whatever it was Aonghus had come to offer his wife, it was meant to be a direct insult to her honor. He hesitated to ask but knew he must in order to move this conversation forward and get to the part where he destroyed Aonghus. “Aye? And what gift is that?” Garreth asked warily, knowing he would not like the answer.
He watched as Aonghus grinned widely and dismounted his horse. Good. The man was letting his arrogance take over as usual, putting himself directly in harm’s way. “Show me this gift,” Garreth goaded and lowered his sword. He was not truly fooled, nor was he putting his guard down. But Aonghus was too caught up in his own games to see through the trap.
As Garreth had hoped, Aonghus took a few steps closer to him, but remained a safe distance away. With a low chuckle, Aonghus grabbed his crotch and thrust his hips forward, making a grunting sound. “I bring her the seed of a real man, laddie!” he roared and all his warriors laughed behind him, clearly impressed by their chieftain’s crude behavior.
Aonghus must have come here to goad Garreth into a rash decision as well, hoping to take out two kings in one sennight. But Garreth had something Aonghus did not. He had the ability to stay calm on the exterior while in battle, even though every part of his body was screaming to drive his blade through the man’s guts. But he would not. Not yet.
“Is that so, Aonghus? I thank you for your concern over my wife, but I assure you she has been well taken care of. What is it you truly came for? Did you wish to attend the wake of my father and pay your respects?” Garreth clenched his teeth and gripped the hilt of his sword harder. He knew the cursed man had come only to ruffle his feathers enough to knock him off kilter. But with so much at stake, the lives of his people, the honor of his father, and the safety of his wife who would become a target should Garreth fail, he had no choice but to stay calm and alert.
