Gaelan watched her with her son. Although the boy pouted, she kept up her smiles, her gentle touches to his hair. Connal scarcely looked at him, if not to glare and twice this evening had tried to speak with him, without success. Gaelan wondered how old the child would be before they would find even ground. Impatience for the meal to end, for the moment when he could take his wife abovestairs and make love to her, rode him and he tried to smother it.

But when she looked at him, he could think of aught but her expression when she touched him, when she took him inside herself, the abandon she gave only to him this day. Beside him, his wife looked regal and poised, the lady she was, but Gaelan knew better, and he was delighted that no other man experienced loving her.

No man living, a voice corrected. His dark thoughts turned to Ian, the man's jealousy dangerous, and now he understood from whence it came. For if Siobhan were in the Maguire's arms, he would kill again. And enjoy it.

She turned to him, her brow knitting. "What ails you? You look ready to devour a body whole, husband."

His features smoothing out, he leaned close to whisper, "I want to devour you."

Her skin pinkened softly and her hand slid over his. People stared and smiled, but she did not see them. Connal folded his arms and pouted harder, but she had no notice of it. Her heart skipped at the look in his eyes, the memory of their play steaming her skin warmer.

Rhiannon approached, clearing her throat. Siobhan turned.

"I will take him." Her gaze slipped to her brother-in-law. "Be with each other." She inclined her head toward the stairs.

Gaelan's features tightened. How did she know?

"Rhiannon," Siobhan said with a concerned frown, "tell me you did not-"

"Nay," she said with a smile. "'Tis too obvious to everyone that all has changed." Rhi leaned down, careful not to let Connal hear her. "I am pleased you made this match work, brother, sister," she said, her gaze moving between them. "He will come round soon enough." Her gaze flicked to the child. "As will the others."

Gaelan's gaze bounced off Connal, then to the folk dining around them. He could easily pick out the Irish who were not pleased with their princess, the d.a.m.ning looks obvious and irritating enough that Gaelan wanted to say something, yet did not know what. Loving Siobhan's body was his business, private, and to the folk, naught would change. He was the invader, the enemy still, and he'd hoped Siobhan's acceptance of him in bed would have made some mark toward their allegiance. Apparently, it was not the case, and he hoped they did not rebel against her, for she was his only tight link to gaining their loyalty. None of them would survive in this torn land if even one sought to betray her.

Gaelan's attention turned to Rhiannon as she lifted Connal in her arms. Connal twisted in her hold, reaching for his mother, and Gaelan nudged her, nodding. Siobhan rose and carried her son to his chamber herself. The boy smirked, so adultlike, over his shoulder at Gaelan. It had little effect and he recalled a time when he'd been likewise pleased to have the attention of his own father. Saroan PenDragon was a benevolent man, pleased to find he had a son, an heir late in his life, but his treatment only extended to his blood, for Gaelan's brother, by a different father, was ignored. Gaelan had asked him to help Stephan, but ... anger threatened his mood and Gaelan swilled back the remnants of his wine and stood, determined not to allow the past to interfere tonight. It would come soon enough.

He left the dais, ignoring Raymond's smirk and Driscoll's heated looks as he headed toward the stairs. He found her in their darkened chamber near the fire, her body draped in the russet velvet she wore on their wedding night, arms folded over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Again the bands of silver wrapped her arms, and Gaelan thought she'd never looked more beautiful, more the princess she was.

As he stepped through the door, she tipped her head to look at him.

Gaelan frowned, the sadness in her eyes unmistakable. "What ails you, love?"

Siobhan drew a breath, exhaling slowly. "My son is growing angrier by the day."

"Has he done more mischief?"

"Nay. But I have raised him better, my lord. Someone is feeding this rage."

Gaelan crossed the chamber, gazing down at her. "Who would do this?"

She shrugged bare shoulders and his gaze swept her, realizing she was naked and prepared for him. Oh, G.o.d. He tried to focus on the conversation.

"Children mayhaps?" he said.

"A child will contradict other children, yet youth follows what their elders tell them."

"Who's judgment would he trust?"

"Anyone's here, my lord," came sullenly.

"It hurts you, doesn't it? That your folk could be saying hateful things to Connal."

"Would it not you?"

"Nay." Her brows rose a fraction. "I am accustomed to being loathed and called aught but my name." His shoulders moved restlessly. "'Twas the price of my profession."

"Those who speak so are of little minds, my lord."

His lips quirked. "You called a few choice slurs afore."

Her chin tipped a fraction higher, her features tight with memory. "Most of them were truth, PenDragon, at the time, but I apologize if I wounded you."

"You did." He caught her shoulders. "Only you can, I fear."

Siobhan's expression softened with her body, and he pulled her flush against him, his arms sliding around her waist. She gazed up at her husband, her feelings for him growing by the hour. He confessed his heart so easily, a habit she never expected from a man, any man. She opened her arms, letting the velvet pool at her waist, exposing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and loving the way his eyes greedily absorbed her. She never felt more of a woman than in his arms. Her hands slid up around his neck, drawing him down for a kiss. He trembled, and it aroused her more.

'Twas something special, making such a powerful man quake like this, and she rewarded him with a slow wet kiss, a seduction of patience, lacking the urgency of this afternoon. Though she'd thoroughly enjoyed loving him by the river, this night she would savor ever nuance. Her desires were in control, his pleasure the outcome. Here, she trusted him; here, in his arms, she felt whole, safe and wonderfully complete. Her fingers pushed into his hair at his nape and he groaned, tightening his embrace. He tasted her as if she were a fine dessert, teasing her lips, and when she drew back, she was aching for more of him. She pushed out of his arms and stepped back, smiling devilishly.

"Strip."

Gaelan's heart skipped. "An order?"

"Aye. I want to see all of you." She sank into a nearby chair, wrapped in velvet and watching him with a patience she did not feel.

Gaelan nearly tore his clothes off, dropping his wide belt to the floor, yanking off his tunic. Her gaze followed every move, and when he stood in naught but braies, the look of antic.i.p.ation on her face nearly undid him. He peeled the hose down and she shifted in the chair, silently begging him to come to her.

He didn't.

The velvet lowered a fraction, exposing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s above her nipples.

Still he remained near the fire.

Her green gaze marked him like the slash of a blade, stroking over his body, lingering enough at his arousal to make him grow for her.

Distracted for weeks over this woman, Gaelan wanted to make good his promise to have her begging for him. And by the look on her face, she was not far from it.

"What do you want, Siobhan?"

"You," she said plainly, and his manhood flexed.

Siobhan loved it, seeing him straining not to jump on her. She was well prepared to have him, her body slick with desire, her skin dampening. The firelight glowed off his golden skin, the contours of muscle and man shaded and revealed in the flickering light. She let the velvet drop to her waist, her hair webbing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"How much?"

Her brow furrowed, then smoothed. "Very much."

"Enough to beg?"

Her lips curved. "Who will be doing the beggin', my lord?"

He chuckled, a low sound telling her he would be the last to fold.

She arched a russet brow, tipping her head back, her hands smoothing over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, enfolding them.

Gaelan's entire body clenched.

She closed her eyes, her head back, her body arching off the chair. Russet velvet pooled around her waist, hiding her treasures, one slim leg exposed at the calf. Her fingertips toyed with her nipples. "Do you want me, my lord?"

"Never doubt that, Siobhan."

She looked at him, sinking into the chair, her hand sliding beneath the velvet, between her thighs. She gasped, eyes flaring.

Gaelan stepped closer, gazing down at her. Her gaze fell on his arousal, and he wrapped himself, watching her twist and toy. She reached, her hands sliding around the back of his thighs, pulling him near.

He tilted her face up and her tongue snaked across the tip of him.

Air hissed in through clenched teeth and he folded to his knees. "You are devious."

She simply smiled and relaxed back into the chair, her gaze locked with his.

Gaelan spread the velvet, looking his fill, then leaning out to drag his tongue over her nipple. She shuddered hard, a soft ahh slipping from her lips.

"More?"

She had that make-me look he loved.

His hand slid to her spine, coaxing her to the edge of the chair. He nudged her thighs apart, wedging himself between. He suckled her with a consuming heat, keeping his body from her, his weight. She gripped his shoulders, offering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to his feasting, her delicate pants filling the darkened chamber. His hands smoothed over her thighs, up and down, dipping between, but never touching her womanhood, and she whimpered, impatient, restless.

"More?" he whispered against the tip of her breast, then drew it deeply into his mouth. His tongue circled and flicked and she bit her lip to keep from crying out, from begging, the game weakening her. Slowly, his fingers curled around her knees, lifting one, then the other to drape her slender limbs over the arms of the chair. He sat back, his gaze savage as it ripped over her. Siobhan writhed, lavish, abandoned. A dew-kissed offering for his pleasure.

He buried his face in her belly, the roughness of his beard stimulating already sensitive skin. He nipped at her ribs, the curve of her waist, and she flinched. He nuzzled harder and she jerked, her little laughter escaping into the warm room. He ground his mouth over her hips, the join of her thigh, scenting her. His fingers neared her center, touching all around, and she shifted, excited.

His hand slid beneath her b.u.t.tocks, lifting her toward his mouth. Her gaze flew to his, his hot breath fanning her softness. "More?"

"I surrender."

"Remember that." He tasted her.

She shrieked, bowing off the chair, and he drove his tongue deeply, mercilessly. Her breathing, rapid and on the brink of a scream, was the only sound. Gaelan stroked his wife, her climax luxuriously near, and when she flexed deeply, a low groan tumbling from her lips, he pushed two fingers inside her and felt her explosion grip him, claw and steal and when she started to sag into the chair, he began a new a.s.sault, circling the bead of her s.e.x.

"Enough! Nay, oh cease, cease!" She twisted in his grasp and he chuckled against her flesh, the sinister sound vibrating through her body. "I beg you," she cried, and slowly he let her fall to earth, lowering her legs, then sampling her tender b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She caught her breath and was on him in an instant, retribution in her bright green-blue eyes.

She kissed him, ruthlessly, gripping fistfuls of his hair and tasting herself on his chiseled mouth as he dragged her off the chair and onto his lap. She tipped his head back, her chest working for air as she sucked his earlobe, whispering what she was going to do to him, and then did it. Her thighs spread over his, she rocked against his hardness, refusing him peace, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rubbing his chest, and Gaelan could take no more. Then she wrapped her fingers around his arousal and slid off his lap, taking him deep into her mouth. He fell back and she came with him, offering him a view of her shape yet not a single touch. It was too painful, his want of her, and on the river of velvet, he forced her to her back. Siobhan grinned up at him, her hair tangled about her throat and shoulders.

"You said something about your knees?"

Her brows furrowed, then relaxed, and he realized she'd meant straddling him. He would show her more this night and rolled her to her stomach, drawing her back against his chest, his erection between her thighs.

"Oh, husband, aye," she moaned, pushing into him. His hands swept her body, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belly, then dipped between her thighs. She pushed against, and he stroked her dewy flesh. "My lord, please."

"Please what, my wife?"

"Give me."

"What, Siobhan?"

"Your power, this power," she moaned, reaching between to guide him.

He flinched at her touch. "Sweet mother, you are the hottest creature." Her skin felt burned by the sun, her silken depth wet for him. Gaelan groped for the chair, dragging it close and bracing her hands on the arms. He entered her swiftly, plunging deep, and she threw her head back, her hair, the bells, sliding over his shoulder like silken threads.

She rocked and he gave her control, his hands free to tease and pleasure. She undulated like a wave against him, her motions stronger, harder, and when Gaelan did not think he could withstand another instant, she slammed back into him, reaching back to cup his b.u.t.tocks and urge him.

"I will hurt you."

"Nay, nay." She shook her head.

He wanted to see her face and left her, pulling her to the floor and driving into her. Her legs locked around his hips, his hands threaded with hers aside her head, arms braced. He withdrew and thrust, long and hard, and she watched him fill her and retreat. It was enough to make his climax arrive too soon.

"Look at me."

Her gaze flew to his, locked and held.

His tempo increased. Her hips rose to greet him, take him. Every fiber of him throbbed with the rush of blood and sensation, feeling everything about her, her fingers flexing in his, the claw of feminine flesh, wet and slick and possessing. He drove and she accepted, the slow torture long forgotten in the thrash and slaughter of pa.s.sion.

Bodies surged in extravagant rhythm. Smooth and wet and savagely raw.

Firelight spilled their primitive indulgence across ancient stone walls.

With her, he had no patience, no command.

He was at her mercy, and when her breath skipped, her body tensing, gripping, her pleasure ground through him, unleashing his seed.

He shoved and they strained against each other. She curved off the velvet, exposing her throat, displaying herself a siren of womanhood in the throes of carnal rapture. A keening sound of exhilaration and surrender spilled from her lips. Her body groped luxuriously and he shoved and shoved, a tremendous shudder raking his body to his heels. He pulsed inside her and she felt it, felt him touch her womb and prayed for the gift.

They remained so, poised for a fraction on the edge of mindless desire. She sucked in gulps of air, sinking to the floor, and Gaelan crumbled onto her, only his shaking arms supporting him. He released her hands and her arms enveloped him; this woman, his woman, cradled him against her heart, stroked his damp hair from his temple.

"Ahh, Siobhan," he murmured into her throat, trying to catch his breath. "You are the sweetest torture."

She smiled against his hair, sifting his dark curls. "My thanks, my lord."

He chuckled, shaking against her, then managed to lift his head. He brushed his mouth over hers, loving her easy response, her lips shaping his.

"Oh, husband." She sighed softly. "You may do that all night if you wish."

He cleared his throat. "Ahh, give me a few moments."

"Oh? The dragon sleeps?" She laughed, wiggling, and he groaned, holding her still, a warning in his dark eyes.