WARM WEDDING NIGHT
The great hall was warm and crowded. All the men-at-arms were there, all the servants and townsfolk, crofters and tenants and the village priest. Everyone packed into the hall to attend the feast.
Sitting beside his bride on the dais, Brodgar felt as if he had walked into a matchless dream. He inhaled heavily. His nose was filled with the delicate scent of roses that wafted off Henriette. He could not tear his eyes from her pale skin, her neck exposed now as she turned to his sister with a merry smile. He watched the way the light warmed the soft skin of her cheek, curved with a smile.
“And so, a toast to the groom! And the bride! Health!”
“Health!” everyone shouted. Brodgar felt his heart warm, hearing the whole clan declaim. All the same, as the music started and the dishes were passed around, goblets filled and refilled and the shouts and merriment got loud, he found himself impatient.
Despite the joy of sharing his happiness with the clan and his family, he wanted, selfishly perhaps, to sneak away. He could not keep himself from Henriette any longer.
He moved his hand to hers and took her fingers. She squeezed back. He felt a thrill move through him as she smiled warmly back. “I feel tired,” he whispered to her. “Should we retire somewhere?”
“My husband,” Ettie whispered back sweetly, making his blood burn, “I think you are excessively naughty. And sensible too. Shall we?”
She took his breath away. He had expected a little laugh, some shy hesitance. He hadn't actually thought she'd agree to it! Well then, he decided, as his heart thumped painfully. To hell with custom.
“Maybe we can slip away.”
Ettie smiled warmly at him. “While the dance begins.”
“Yes.”
When the fiddler began the first measure, they slipped away, ostensibly to join the dance. Which they did. For a while. Then, squeezing her hand, Brodgar indicated to Ettie to turn left.
His heart thudded as they slipped off the dance floor, moved between the men-at-arms and tenants. They reached the door. He couldn't quite believe they were being so openly flouting of custom – the bedding ceremony was a well-established old tradition. His family would be cross with him come morning.
“Brodgar?” Ettie whispered. She smiled at him and his blood sparked hot through his veins. “I'm feeling tired.”
“Yes,” he whispered. “Let's go.”
They held hands and he led her up the long staircase, turning left at the top so they went on to another short stair-flight and to the main chamber, which was set aside for them.
Slipping in through the door and past the garlands that were strung about it, Brodgar crossed the threshold onto clean rushes and into warmth.
“I should carry you across,” he whispered to Ettie. “Better luck that way.” His body tensed with longing at the thought of lifting that sweet body and carrying her in his arms to bed.
“Well, then,” Ettie said coyly. “Lift me, then.”
Brodgar felt his loins aching as she smiled wickedly, showing a pink mouth and small, pale teeth. He leaned forward and took her in his arms. Then, reaching lower, he lifted round her waist and under her knees and carried her, cradled to him, across the threshold. He stood with her in the middle of the room, his heart thudding so heavily he thought everyone would hear it.
“Here we are,” he whispered, kissing her.
“Indeed.”
She moved to stand again and he carried her to the edge of the bed before setting her on her feet. He took her in his arms and drew her close to him, feeling himself shivering with longing as her rounded, warm body pressed against him. He kissed her, plundering her mouth with his tongue. Then he leaned against her, pushing her toward the bed.
She smiled at him and, very deliberately, reached a hand to her veil, which she still wore. Brodgar grinned.
“I think there's one more thing I have to do,” he said. She smiled.
He removed her veil and set it carefully aside. Then he slid his hands down her back, feeling the buttons that held the dress shut. Trembling so hard he could barely concentrate, he managed to slide the loops off them, opening them one by one.
At last, he reached her waist, where the last button was. He drew the dress down off her shoulders and stared. She wore a strapped under-shift below the dress, cut low so as to reveal her pure white cleavage. Her breasts were high and full and moved with breathing. He nuzzled her neck, breathing in the warmth of skin and the subtle perfume she wore. He felt his loins ache and moved lower, the silky skin gliding under his exploratory tongue.
He worked the dress down to her hips and as he pushed her back onto the bed, it slid down completely, leaving her in her under-shift. He leaned down, licking a trail down her breastbone. Her skin was satin in his mouth and he wanted to kiss it forever.
He pulled back the shift and she moaned softly as he revealed her breasts. He sat back, looking down at her. Her skin was cream and her nipples pink and stiff. He bent down and took one in his mouth. She gasped and the sound made his loins tense as he sucked her nipple, feeling his body harden as he stroked the other firm breast with his fingers. He felt as if he wanted to stay here forever, the silken skin slipping between his lips, his tongue usefully employed here.
She shifted and gasped and he moved her so that she lay along the bed, her head on the pillow, and he kissed her lips.
“May I undress you?” he whispered. The shift still covered half of her. She nodded intensely.
“Yes.” Her voice was a breath of whisper that excited him still further and he slid the shift off.
* * *
Ettie had no idea that anything could feel as wonderful as it did when Brodgar kissed her. Her body was naked below him and his mouth plied hers. She moaned and moved closer. His hands explored her naked form and she could feel warmth rising inside her, some strange urgency building and building, and refusing to be denied. She stroked the back of his neck and he tensed and stiffened, looking down at her.
“My lovely?”
“I think,” she whispered shyly, “you should undress.”
He smiled. “I think that's correct.”
He stood and undressed hastily. He joined her on the bed, kneeling beside her, eyes devouring her.
She looked at him. In the flame light, shadows played on his muscles, making him seem as if every inch of him was corded and tense. She loved the ripple of his shoulders, the shape of his arms, the lines on his chest where the muscle tensed and flexed as he moved. She knew that body a little already – knew how strong it was when it held her, how safe she felt against it, how it was to sleep beside that warm presence. “My love?”
“Yes?” he whispered.
“I don't know what it is,” she confessed. “But my body...needs yours.”
He smiled. “I think I know how you feel,” he agreed. “And I have a way of solving that.”
“You do?” she whispered. He nodded and lowered his body onto hers. She gasped as it pressed against her, feeling a hardness touch her in a most improbable place. Improbable it might be, but it felt good. That was what her body needed. That, and for him to move against her, his muscled torso weighty on her as he moved and thrust between her thighs...
“Oh!”
A sudden stab of pain went through, followed by a floating bliss so profound she thought she might have died and be floating on cloud-wrack, soft and insubstantial. “Oh!” she called out. “Oh! My love...”
Then he was moving inside her and all wonder was driven out by the sheer incomprehensible beauty of what he made her feel. She was fulfilled and safe and satisfied and there was a sweet warmth building up as he moved, and building and building...
“Oh!” She gasped as the sensation crested and broke over her, lifting her up into the sky. She closed her eyes, feeling like her body was melting, like she floated in a sea of syrup, like she had died and was falling through the gap between clouds.
She heard, distantly, how he was gasping louder now and felt him thrust, moving with urgency and need and power and then he collapsed on top of her.
She lay, warm and satisfied. She had never felt anything like this before. If this was what they were meant to do, she was excited to do more. He moved and rolled off her.
He looked down at her and she was surprised to see wonder on his face, like it must have been on hers.
“My dearest,” he whispered, and kissed her. “Thank you. That was wonderful.”
She smiled. For some reason that made her feel as if her heart had melted. She kissed him back, her hand on his head, drawing him down to her as he gasped and she gasped and their bodies warmed again.
“My love,” she whispered. “That was very heaven. Thank you so, so much.”
He chuckled and stroked her face and then they kissed again.
He lay down beside her and it felt like it had that night in the wood – those nights of their exile – only this was closer and warmer.
He took her in his arms and she lay beside him, and together they drifted into sleep.
They awoke when the sun was high in the sky and kissed. They made love again, only this time more slowly, more fully, with more time. Then they slept again.
Henriette, her arms around him and his around her, was sure she was in heaven.