Impulsively, he pulled her to her feet and lifted her gorgeous naked body in his arms.
“Is something wrong? Was I not pleasing you, Breandán?”
He gazed into her confused eyes. “You were pleasing me too much. I was not going to last much longer. And this night is about you and me. Together.”
He carried her past the warm fire to the double wooden doors of her bedchamber, staring inside. His next steps of carrying her over the threshold to the place where they would unite as husband and wife would be significant ones. There, he would find a splendid heaven in which he’d lie night after blessed night with her, for the rest of his life.
But as he took in the sight of the intricately carved boxbed, he noticed the crimson bedding was absent. In its place was an embroidered masterpiece of blue and violet, a stunning blanket of woven patterns and pictures. Standing out among the designs were three persons, hand in hand, and he could only assume they were meant to represent Lochlann, Mara, and himself.
“This is not the bed I remember lying in.”
He saw Mara’s apprehensive look. “’Twas a gift from Thordia and Lillemor. They thought it more suitable for you than the one Dægan and I had lain upon.”
“Shh…” he soothed. “You have no need to explain. I know his gifts mean a great deal to you. And they should. I am also not so naïve to have forgotten the love you and he once shared. The last thing I expect is for you to forget or rid this longhouse of his memory. Everything you and Dægan have shared is precious.”
Mara leaned her head against his shoulder and he cradled her, kissing the top of her head, letting his lips linger.
“May I ask you what you did with Dægan’s blanket?”
“I stored it away,” she confessed. “I thought perhaps one day Lochlann would favor it for his wedding night.”
Breandán smiled at her consideration. She was a wonderful mother and he grew excited knowing she would one day be the mother of his many children, running in and out of this longhouse, their tiny laughter filling the entire home.
“Do you not like the blanket?”
She misread his silence. “On the contrary, a thaisce. ‘Tis beautiful bedding indeed, but ‘twill be even more beautiful when our children are added to it.”
When he was able to draw a smile from her, he entered the bedchamber and laid her upon the large boxbed, her long thick hair cascading around her. His eyes washed over her again, the firelight from the main room casting soft shadows across her smooth alabaster skin.
He wanted to reach out and touch her. But he didn’t.
He was so consumed by the sheer sight of her that he was completely content. To get his fill of her immaculate bare body, the sensual curves of her hips, the abrupt rise of her firm breasts, and the little eye-catching navel in between. No woman in the world could come close to her beauty.
And she was his.
He heeled his ankle boots off and threw his arms over his shoulders, pulling his tunic over his head. He loved the way her eyes immediately fell to his arousal, his heavily veined appendage jutting from his body. As she spread her legs, encouraging him to join her, it bucked in response.
Incited by her tantalizing invitation, he lowered himself upon her—slowly, gently—reveling in the feel of her naked softness beneath him. With his elbows on either side of her, he gazed into her eyes for a brief moment. His erection pressed between them, the softness of her body cradling the rigid length of his arousal. Her eyes burned through him, the heat of her lustful gaze fueled the inferno already consuming him.
He moved against her, rocking his hips upward, directing himself into her narrow entrance. The slight intrusion brought a sudden gasp to her lips.
With her mouth erotically parted, he bent down and covered her luscious lips. His tongue sought hers, tasting her, savoring the sweetness of the wine she had drunk earlier and the richness of her kiss.
She was eager, opening her mouth wider, her hands sliding over his shoulders and up the back of his neck. Her hands pulled him to her, her hips rising slightly, enticing him.
His hand slid down her body, his thumb grazing passed the swell of her breasts. His blood hammered through his veins at the feel of her feminine curves beneath his palm. He dragged his hand over her hips and cupped her bottom, allowing him to guide her leg around his back.
Following the curve of her round bottom, he pulled her thigh closer, his knuckles brushing her sex. She was so wet for him, her tender flesh swollen with need.
Carefully, he urged himself into her. She shifted from the subtle invasion and another gasp erupting from her lips. His eyes roamed across her beautiful face, taking in her reaction. He loved seeing her lashes flutter and hearing the sensual whimpers she tried to hide in his shoulder.
He smiled at her restlessness, for it brought him the satisfaction of knowing she truly yearned for him. He enjoyed the way she moved, the way she sought his touch on other places of her body, rising to meet the caress of his exploratory hands.
And he was not about to deny her.
Dipping his head, he opened his mouth to her breast and licked across her deprived erect nipple. He heard her moan, a sound which nearly undid him. All he could think of was being deeper inside her, feeling her writhe against him as he pulled her hips toward his.
He swept his tongue over the taut peak again and sucked it further into his mouth, laving it with firmer strokes. He breathed her in, the scent of her oils sending his head spinning. She smelled so good. He wanted to savor her, to wallow in the fragrance of her body in hopes he’d walk away smelling exactly like her. That’s how deep he wanted to go, how close he wanted to be with her.
Upon hearing his name upon her blessed lips, he glanced up from her bosom, locking eyes with her. He could feel her body trembling beneath him, her hips grinding against him to be wholly united.
Lazily, he nuzzled his way up to the crevice of her lovely neck, trailing a path of kisses along her skin as he went. He reclaimed his spot atop her, finding her mouth and taking it. In tasting her supple lips, he curled his arms around her and pulled her to him, his demand stronger than his will to be gentle.
A new fire lit within him and it spread with each breath he took. The more he tried to hold himself back, the more the urge retaliated. He was helpless to the rapid beat of his heart and the surge of hot, viscous blood convening at the base of his manhood. The intensity of his blazing desire went beyond containment and the only way to put it out was to smother it within her.
He rocked against her and felt his straining shaft slide all the way into her. He shuddered, burying his face in the crevice of her neck. Every sensation in his body had heightened, and he fought to be the tender lover. He struggled not to grip her bottom and drive himself further.
Weakened by the dominance of his own desire, he withdrew from her slightly, only to be compelled to thrust again. Her body was so warm around him, soft and alluring as he continued to move within her. But contrary to what his body screamed to do, he took his time. Pleasing her. Seducing her…
Closing his eyes, he joined his forehead with hers, reveling in the feel of their slow sensual love-making, their bodies meeting each other, thrust for thrust, in a seductive, deliberate dance. He took her lips and kissed her softly. The long sweeps of his tongue matched the rhythm of his pelvis. When he’d feel her try to increase the pace, he’d grasp her hips and slow her down.
There was no way he was going to rush through this night. This moment. This ever so heavenly dream. In truth, he found it hard to believe this was actually happening. For so long he had imagined being with Mara, sharing her bed, and touching her to his heart’s content. And now he was free to love her for the rest of his life.
“I love you,” he whispered against her lips.
She clasped his face in her hands. “And I love you, Breandán Mac Liam.”
Her words shot straight through his heart. It was the first time she had ever said those words to him and they sounded so amazing. Her
profession of love was like a bird’s song on a warm summer’s morn.
“Breathe, husband…” he heard her say.
He smiled, not realizing he held his breath. “Oh my sweet, Mara…you have given me every reason to breathe.”
“And you have given me a reason to smile. I admit, I fought to love you. But it proved useless. I needed you, and you came. You stayed by my side, even when you had every reason to run.”
He snatched her wrists and pinned them above her head, his eyes staring down into hers. “There is not a man on this earth who could have made me run from you. My heart and soul are within you. Had I left, I would be naught but an empty man.”
He bent down and took her lips, sealing his words in a long passionate kiss. He gathered her in his arms and cradled her body against his, making love to her the way it was meant to be. The way God intended a man to join with a woman in a blessed marital union.
He’d never forget this night, her words, or the way he saw her fly into ecstasy seconds before he surrendered himself to her. His thoughts played over those last few moments, branding them in his mind as he recalled the massive tension and heat leaving his body in a forceful wave of brilliant bliss. And how grand it was to feel the ripples of her release shuddering through her thereafter.
Together, they laid in each others arms, spent, their bodies entangled. He heard her precious heartbeat and it sounded beautiful. It was comforting to know he would hear this rhythmic thrumming and feel this luscious body against his every night. In her embrace, he soothed her with long strokes of his hand. And within minutes, she was fast asleep.
Without waking her, he rolled to his side and pulled her close in the swath of his arms.
There he found his long-awaited heaven.
His treasure.
A place where he belonged.
He closed his eyes and welcomed the beginning of new dreams.
Chapter Thirty-three
Festivities for the union between Mara and Breandán carried long into the week and extended to the first of August, which commemorated the feast of Lughnasadh. This was a special time for the Irish to celebrate the beginning of the harvest season where the first fruits of the land were consumed and enjoyed. And Gustaf was pleased he was able to partake in the feast with his family and his new-found Irish friends.
In most of his adult life, he had never had the opportunity to enjoy such leisures. But now, with his task of avenging his father complete, there was nothing he wanted more than to spend the last few days with his kin.
As he stood looking out at the vast blue ocean, the morning light dawned a new day. He recalled the joyful laughter of his nephews when he had fallen off his horse and into muddied ground during one of the traditional horse races. He had lost to Tait, who had much practice in the past years, and despite his mild humiliation, he was right where he wanted to be—in the middle of it all.
If it were up to him, he’d not leave. But with Havelock’s ships loaded and ready, he knew his men were anxious to return home to their own families. And he would not slight them of their wishes. His men had been loyal and steadfast for more years than he cared to think of. For that, he would carry them as swiftly as the longships would sail.
Upon hearing their approach, he turned and saw everyone gathered along the shoreline, the bright morning sun promising the island guests a safe journey home.
He looked at each one and took in their faces. He was proud of them and the life they found in this otherwise wretched world. He had Dægan to thank for that. And for Tait who continued to lead in Dægan’s absence. It was a great feeling to know his family was safe and to know he had a place to come home to. A place he, too, could settle down and raise a family.
He thought of Æsa, and the way he had left her behind in the Faroes. He wondered if she was still waiting for him. Wondered if she trusted him to come back to her. He felt his heart twitch, an aching that suddenly crept into his chest. The only thing he could hold onto was her words. I will wait for you as long as it takes.
Breathing in deeply, he comforted himself with the notion of being in her arms again within a few short days. Right now, he had to get through saying goodbye to his loved ones. Though it was only temporary, it was still painful.
His first farewell was to Tait. He embraced him soundly and beat his sentiments on his back.
“I hate to see you leave, Gustaf.”
“Worry not,” he stated. “I will return here as soon as I can.”
“What is her name,” Breandán asked, a sly smile splitting his lips.
Gustaf laughed at the Irishman whose perception took him by surprise. “You are certainly keen to when a man has lost his virility to a woman’s wiles, my friend. And her name is Æsa. To protect her, I left her behind.” Nervously, he looked around him. “But if ‘tis all right with everyone here, I would like to bring her back with me.”
Mara stepped forward, hugging him around the neck. “Of course ‘tis all right. You are family. And it would be an honor to meet the woman who has tamed another son of Rælik.”
“I am grateful, my lady.” He looked at Nevan now. “And to you, I give my deepest appreciation for allowing my family to live on this isle. Dægan was very fortunate to find a man such as yourself, to secure an alliance with a great king. Your immeasurable generosity warms my heart.”
Nevan reached out and took his forearm. “You have proved yourself to be a man of honor. And I am grateful for the sacrifices you have made on my daughter’s behalf. I speak for the entire isle when I say we are indebted to you and your men for your bravery. You are always welcome here.”
Gustaf nodded humbly and turned to face his other family members, his sisters-in-law, nephews, and Tait’s tiny newborn daughter. He embraced each one and spoke his farewells, pausing lastly at Lochlann.
He looked down at the boy, his face somber as he gazed over a weapon laid across his forearms. “What do you have there?”
Lochlann looked up at him, his eyes wide and drawn like a sad puppy. “This is my father’s sword. The one his father gave to him. And I know if my father were here, he would want you to have it.” He paused a moment. “I want you to have it. Because I want not for you to forget me.”
Gustaf knelt before him, deeply touched by the lad’s feelings. “I could never forget you, Lochlann. You are my nephew. My brother’s son. And I need not a sword by which to remember you.” He glanced down at the polished weapon, its ruby-colored gems sparkling under the beaming sun. “I remember the day my father brought this home. ‘Tis a great sword, indeed, and I deserve not a gift this grand.”
Lochlann extended his arms, holding out the heavy weapon. “But, I want you to have it.”
Gustaf smiled at the boy, knowing he would only hurt the lad if he protested any further. “I will accept your gift. But only if you will accept mine.” He stood up and unsheathed his sword from the scabbard at his hip, holding it before the boy. “Trade?”
Lochlann’s face lit up as he eyed the fine piece of weaponry. Without waiting, he made the trade and hugged his uncle. “Stay not away long, Uncle. Please.”
“I promise I will return. And perhaps then we can accompany Breandán on his hunting trip for hare on the mainland. I could use a new cloak,” he said with a wink. “Much like the one you have, Lochlann.”
Lochlann smiled proudly as he readjusted his father’s bear cloak at his chin. “Tait could use a new cloak too,” the boy added.
“I am not certain Breandán would want me to come along,” Tait said, a slight hitch in his grin. “He may fear I will only best him in snaring more hare.”
“Is that so?” Breandán replied, a chuckle escaping his lips.
Tait crossed his arms daringly. “Would you care to make it interesting?”
Everyone’s attention turned toward the two competitive men, wondering what the stakes were going to be.
“If I snare more than you, Breandán…then I get an opportunity to wrestle with you again. Make good on my
lost dignity, if you will.”
“That is quite a wager, Northman,” Marcas chimed in from beside Lillemor. “Apparently you have never seen Breandán hunt.”
“I am not afraid,” Tait concluded.
Breandán crossed his arms as well, accepting Tait’s challenge. “And if I snare more?”
Tait thought for a moment, his eyes scanning over the many engrossed people awaiting his answer. “My horse. I shall give you my steed.”
Breandán’s eyes fell on Mara.
“Aye, she told me,” Tait confessed, “how you fancied my Norwegian nag of a beast. If you win this wager, I will bestow him unto you.”
Breandán pondered the bargain. “Agreed.”
Gustaf leaned forward toward Mara. “Now this, I want to see.”
Marcas scoffed and boldly wrapped his arms around Lillemor. “You and me both, Gustaf.”
“Listen here, Marcas,” Tait jibed, pointing at the Irishman making advancements on his family. “Do not think I will merely stand by and watch while you court Lillemor. Your time is coming and you shall have to earn her hand my way before this is all finished.”
Joyous laughter filled the beach and Gustaf gave his last partings to the group, wading through the water to reach Havelock’s ships. With brisk steps, he neared the side and leapt over the gunwale, waving to those on shore.
There was no way he was not going to return. No matter what his journey brought him, he would come back.
****
After Breandán saw to his family’s departure, he and Mara rode up to the cliff. It was, as he had once said, one of the most beautiful places in all of Ireland, and he was honored to be standing with her, hand in hand, on its edge.
He averted his gaze from the resplendent waters, the afternoon sun glistening on the surface, and looked at Mara. “Are you happy?”
She nestled closer to him, her head resting on his chest. “Of course I am. How could I not be? I have a husband who loves me and a son who adores him. What more could I ask for?”
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