The feasting of the Long Night passed with agonizing slowness. Although the food was delicious—including the apple and prune pudding served with thick cream that was served as a sweet—Galan had no appetite for it.
All he could think about was Tea.
He had not been exaggerating earlier—she had truly never looked lovelier than tonight. She wore a simple, high-necked tunic of jade green, edged in gold thread, and that same heavy circlet about her throat that she had worn for their handfasting. The tunic showed off the full swell of her breasts. It left her long, shapely arms bare, and upon her left bicep she wore a golden arm ring. Her hair, which she usually wore braided, she had brushed out before piling it high on her head, the drualus woven amongst it. This hair-style showed off the long column of her neck, including her nape.
Galan had ached to kiss her there all night.
Once the feasters had eaten their fill, more spiced cider was mulled and a harpist began to play. Men and women rose to their feet, pushed two of the tables to one side and began to dance.
Watching them, Galan was aware only of the feel of Tea’s thigh against his. Struggling to calm his breathing, he reached over and took her hand in his. Her skin was warm, her fingers slender and strong. Wordlessly, he laced his fingers through hers before stroking her palm with the pad of his thumb. He heard Tea’s sharp intake of breath next to him and felt a thrill of victory.
He was beginning to think he was the only one who was suffering, that she was sitting next to him in cool oblivion. However, that gasp told him it was not so.
Galan looked over at her, their gazes meeting. As always, he drowned in the storm-blue of her eyes.
Around them, the crowd of revelers cheered as a man with a bone whistle joined the harpist. An exuberant tune echoed high into the rafters, accompanied by laughter as one of the men dancing spun his woman around, her hair flying like a flag behind her.
Galan was oblivious to it all. His thumb continued its gentle caress across Tea’s palm as he watched her. He watched Tea part her lips slightly, a gentle sigh escaping her. Suddenly, it was as if they were alone in the cavernous space. She too paid the dancers and revelers no heed.
“Galan,” she murmured his name like a caress.
He tried to smile and failed. His longing for her felt like a blade in his groin. His heart thundered like a galloping pony.
“Yes, Tea.”
She swallowed, the smooth skin of her cheeks burnished by the flames of the hearth, mulled cider and arousal. “I don’t want to fight this anymore … I can’t.”
Her words made his breathing still, made hope flare in his breast. They were the words he had been waiting for since their handfasting. To hear them made the wait worth it. He would not let this moment pass unnoticed—he had to act now before she changed her mind.
“Come,” he murmured, rising to his feet.
Tea glanced at him, her gaze widening. “But the dancing?”
His gaze held hers. “No one will care if we leave.”
It was true, the crowd were too busy clapping and cheering for the dancers. Few of them—save Ruith, who missed nothing—noticed the chieftain rise to his feet and lead his wife away from the table.
Tea’s body felt molten, her limbs boneless, as she stepped into the chieftain’s alcove. Galan stepped in behind her, the heavy fur hanging swishing shut. Beyond, the music and cheering echoed through the fort, yet she barely noticed it.
Instead, she turned and reached for her husband.
Two steps brought her hard up against him, and then her arms were locked around his neck, her mouth attacking his.
Galan gave a deep groan, pulling her hard against him. His hands were everywhere. He unfastened her hair so it fell in heavy waves around her shoulders, and tore at the flimsy material of her tunic so that it fell from her body, pooling around her ankles. Likewise, Tea ripped at his clothing, untying the leather vest and tearing it from him, her hands fumbling with the laces on his doe-skin breeches.
She pushed the breeches down over his hips, his shaft springing free. She stroked the length of him, before she wrapped her fingers around his girth. Tea’s breathing caught in her throat.
He’s magnificent, beautiful.
His mouth still devouring hers, Galan scooped her up against him and closed the gap between the edge of the alcove and the pile of furs—the place where they had lain side-by-side night after night without touching.
Tonight, all that would change.
They collapsed on the furs, limbs and tongues tangling. Galan tore his mouth from hers, only to kiss and lick his way down the length of her body. Tea gasped at the heat of his mouth, the aching pleasure as he took each of her swollen nipples into his mouth and suckled her. Her hands raked over his skin, marveling at its velvet softness over the hardness of muscle. How long had she longed for this? How long had she fought that longing?
“Tea,” he groaned as he parted her thighs. “I’m going to spend all night showing you how beautiful you are—but right now I can’t wait. I have to be inside you.”
Her breathing caught in her throat. She wanted him so much, she could not bear to wait a moment longer. In answer, she spread her legs wide and wrapped them around his hips, angling herself up to him.
Galan entered her in one smooth, deep thrust; so big and hard that she cried out. Her body started to shudder uncontrollably. Waves of pleasure crashed over her. Tea started to sob and gasp his name.
In response, he grabbed hold of her wrists, pinned them together and held them over her head so that her breasts thrust up to him. Then he plowed her, slow and hard.
Tea felt as if she was flying, as if together they had had left the mortal world behind, and were soaring like falcons high above the earth. Nothing mattered but this moment—the past and future ceased to exist.
Rearing over her, his skin flushed with pleasure, his lips swollen from the violence of their kisses, Galan threw back his head and let out a low, throaty groan. In response, Tea dug her heels into his buttocks and thrust her hips up to meet him.
His groan turned into a hoarse cry, and she watched him give himself up to her.
***
Galan propped himself up on an elbow and stared down at Tea. Unspeaking, he drank her in.
She looked up at him, her dark-blue eyes wide, her face soft. The light from the cressets that burned on the walls caressed her nakedness, and Galan found his gaze slipping from her face, down her long, smooth limbs, over the flare and curve of her hips to the lushness of those delicious breasts.
He would never tire of admiring his wife’s body—she was divine.
When his gaze travelled back up to meet Tea’s he found she was smiling.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she replied gently. “I’m just thinking, that’s all.”
He reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Thinking about what?”
“About how things change.” Her gaze flicked away. “I don’t know what I believe in anymore.”
Galan stared down at her for a moment before replying. “Believe in us,” he murmured.
Tea’s eyes glittered with emotion. “I’m sorry for being so foul toward you—I’m surprised you didn’t beat me for my insolence?”
He grinned. “I don’t think I’d dare ever try.”
“I mean it—you are a good man, only you never bargained on getting a shrew.”
Galan shook his head. “I didn’t—I got a proud, beautiful woman whose trust I needed to win.” He reached down and took her hand in his, cupping it tenderly.
“I wish to believe that my father is innocent of killing your mother,” he said after a few moments, “but I have to accept that it could have happened. It’s not something that’s easy to bear.” He gently squeezed her hand. “Please believe me when I tell you that I and my brothers had nothing to do with her death. None of us would ever stoop so low. I would never harm you or yours.”
Tea nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I realize that now.”