In the days following the Long Night the snow finally melted away and the earth thawed. The oaken log in the hearth smoldered for the following twelve days, until finally nothing but embers and ash remained. Once the snow had cleared, leaving the earth soft and muddy, a chill mist settled over The Winged Isle.
Mists like this were commonplace, especially in the winter. Tea knew this weather well, although she, like most folk, disliked it when the mantle of mist descended, as it would linger for many days, obscuring the friendly face of the sun and chilling all to the bone.
Yet the mist did not bother Tea this year. Tempests could have raged, and she would have hardly noticed—such was her newfound joy with Galan.
Since Mid-Winter Fire, a warmth burned within her that had nothing to do with the festivities. She and Galan spent much time together. They would rise late from their furs, often waking early but lingering in the warmth of their bed together, pleasuring each other. After that, they would talk while the rest of the household roused the peat in the great hearth and warmed the cavernous space.
Some mornings, they would often ride out with Galan’s men to secure the south and eastern borders of The Eagle territory. The People of The Boar, their closest neighbors, had been seen hunting in the vales to the east earlier in the year, and Galan wanted to make sure they were not taking further liberties. However, their scouting parties found nothing suspicious. Other mornings, they would spar together with swords or staffs, oversee the repairs on the defensive walls, or take Lann out for a hunt so that the falcon could stretch his wings.
In the afternoons, more often than not, Galan would come looking for her and together they would ride out alone upon their two stallions: his black, hers chestnut.
The thick mist made visibility difficult, but Galan knew this landscape very well, and he led the way over the hills, or along the edge of the loch, with confidence. They rode side-by-side, their knees almost touching.
These were magical days for Tea. She slowly let her guard down. Galan was patient with her; he did not question her about her family and did not bring up the wounds of the past that could risk driving a wedge between them. Their trust was still fragile, still too new, and they both understood that they had to tread carefully or risk destroying the bridge that they had built.
One afternoon, Tea and Galan left the walls of Dun Ringill and headed west along the shore of Loch Slapin. The mist had cleared slightly, leaving long, slender wisps, like crone’s hair, drifting along the tops of the green hills.
To the north, rose the dark shadows of the Black Cuillins, those mountains that would forever remind Tea of her wedding day. Only now that she and Galan had formed a bond, she no longer looked upon that night with shame or anger, but instead recognized it for it was—the first step on the path to a new life.
They reached the coast—the point where the waters of the lake met the sea—where surf crashed against the rocks below, sending up a thick spindrift. Under the lee of a hill, they climbed down from their ponies and perched upon a rocky outcrop. The wind raked through their hair, and the cry of gulls echoed down the cliff-face from where they wheeled overhead. It was a lonely spot, but a beautiful one to be alone with her husband.
The afternoon was chill, but neither of them cared nor noticed as Tea perched on Galan’s lap and wrapped her arms about his neck. The pair gazed out to sea, enjoying the solitude and the closeness.
“I’ve never been this happy,” Galan whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her skin. “I knew the moment I saw you that there could be no other woman.”
She glanced down, expecting to see a teasing smile, but instead saw that he was serious. Galan could be that way—when he spoke of things that mattered his gaze was piercing. It snared hers and held her fast.
“Really?” she murmured. “Surely not—I was so sullen that day.”
He inclined his head slightly. “You were magnificent. You captivated me the moment you stepped out of that tent and walked down toward the edge of the pool. I thought one of the fairy folk had taken human form.”
She laughed, the sound whipped away by the wind. “Now, you’re teasing.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. I always knew it would be like that for me—that there would only ever be one woman. That one woman is you, Tea.”
She studied him for a few moments, her humor fading. “You’re a constant surprise,” she said finally. “I thought you so intimidating when we first met, so serious.”
A wistful smile tugged at his mouth. “I can be like that sometimes—I take my role as chief seriously. It sometimes feels like a cage.”
Tea reached out and stroked his cheek, feeling the rasp of stubble along his chin. “I used to think we were opposites, but now I see we’re actually alike, you and me.”
His gaze widened. “How so?”
“We’re both loyal to those we love, maybe too much so. We’re both protectors.” She smiled into his eyes. “I think, together, there’s nothing we couldn’t achieve.”
He reached up and trailed his fingertips along the line of her jaw, his grey eyes turning that smoky shade she was coming to know well. The color that told her he was pleased. She shivered with pleasure under the lightness of his touch.
Wordlessly, she leant down and kissed him. The gesture was initially chaste but as soon as their lips touched, heat ignited between them, and a moment later she was sitting astride him. They shared a deep, sensual kiss that sent her pulse racing and ignited a melting sensation deep in her belly.
“Tea,” he groaned into her mouth. “My wife.”
She gave an answering groan, her hands sliding down his chest, over the leather vest he wore, to the bulge at his groin. Deftly, she unlaced his breeches and freed his manhood. It sat stiff and proud against his belly, straining toward her as she reached out and stroked it.
Galan inhaled sharply. “Gods, your hand is cold.”
Tea laughed. “I know somewhere much warmer.”
She hiked up her skirts so that the heavy plaid bunched around her hips. Often, Tea changed into leggings before going out for a ride, but today she wore heavy skirts with nothing underneath. To keep the chill wind from them both, she pulled her thick fur mantle about them.
Raising herself up, she settled herself upon his shaft, sliding down until he was buried to the root inside her. She groaned. He was large and this position brought him deep—so much so that the pleasure that pulsed through her lower belly was almost edged with pain, as he pressed against her womb.
Head bowed, she buried her face in his neck. She gasped as he took hold of her hips and started to move her against him. The pleasure grew in waves, till it was almost unbearable. Suddenly, her body felt as if it did not belong to her. She bucked against him and let out a cry.
Galan gently bit her neck, his teeth trailing down to the hollow of her shoulder, where he nipped her. His hands slid under her skirts, cupping her buttocks. He then pulled her hard against him, penetrating her deeper still.
Tea cried out again, arching back as she climaxed.
The wind whipped her cry away, as she gave herself up to the pleasure that crashed through her like surf on the beach below. When Galan finally reached his own climax, their cries soared high, mingling with those of the wheeling gulls above.
Afterwards, Tea lay limp against his chest, her heart thundering, her limbs boneless. The depth of pleasure he could arouse in her never ceased to amaze her. Finally, when the wind’s teeth began to bite through the fur mantle into their exposed skin, they rose from their rocky seat and made their way back to the ponies.
Tea mounted, adjusting her skirts so that they covered her legs, protecting her from the cold. Feeling Galan’s gaze upon her, she glanced up to find him watching her, a sensual smile on his lips, hunger in his eyes.
“What is it?”
“You’ve bewitched me woman,” he growled. “I want to throw you down on the grass and take you again.”
The crudeness of his words made heat pulse between Tea’s thighs. She loved this dominant, wild side to him. If they had not been on horseback, she did not doubt his word, and she would have taken delight in every moment of it. However, it was getting late. The shadows were lengthening and the light was dimming. Days were short this time of year; it hardly seemed any time at all between dawn and dusk. A warm hearth and a hot supper awaited in Dun Ringill.
She grinned at him before winking. “I’ll bet I can get home before you?”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “You’ll never outrun Faileas,” he replied, patting his stallion’s furry neck. As if knowing he was speaking of it, his black stallion tossed its head and side-stepped.
“We’ll see about that.”
She turned her chestnut pony, a muscular stallion with a white blaze, and took off north down the rocky path. Bent low over his neck, the pony’s mane flicking in her face, Tea felt a wave of exhilaration. She grinned when she heard the thunder of hooves behind her and knew that Galan had given chase.
Ruith was picking some greens for supper from her garden when the chieftain and his wife returned from their afternoon ride. They were late home this eve, for dusk had almost settled. Galan’s warriors had already lit the braziers on the wall around the fort, and the chill of the coming night caused an ache in the bandruí’s bones.
She straightened up, a handful of kale in one hand, and waved to them with the other as they thundered through the stone archway. They were both smiling, their faces flushed with cold and happiness.
Spying her, both Galan and Tea waved. As they neared, Ruith smiled at their obvious joy. They made a handsome couple, both tall and dark, with proud bearing. Galan, whose face had grown so austere of late, looked young and breathtakingly attractive, while Tea was radiant. Her hair had come loose of its braids and rippled over her shoulders in thick, dark curls, and her eyes were dancing.
“Evening, Ruith!” Tea called out. “Will you join us for a mulled cider by the fire later?”
“Aye,” the bandruí replied. “As soon as I’ve had supper I’ll join you.”
She watched the chief and his wife ride past, her gaze following them as they headed for the fort’s walls. It warmed her heart to see a couple in love. It was as the bones had foreseen. The Eagle and The Wolf would be united.
Ruith’s smile faded then as she remembered the other, less pleasant messages, the bones had left her.
Death and betrayal.
She wanted to believe the bones had lied to her, that they were mistaken, but Ruith had been a seer since she was fourteen winters old, and her divinations were rarely wrong. Misgiving settled upon her as she turned back to her hovel and went inside to make her supper.