Murmuring incoherently, she dug her fingers into his back, certain that she was on the verge of bursting into flame. Determined to take Galen with her into the fire, she tightened her inner muscles around him, adding friction to the rhythmic pull and push.
As though he were seized by a savage fervor, Galen relentlessly, repeatedly, thrust into her.
If he doesn’t stop, I will shatter into a thousand pieces.
Sweet Jesu! I pray he never stops,she thought on the next breath.
Just then, his expression taut, Galen arced upward, his body shaking as he reached his climax.
And still he continued to plunge and pull,plunge and pull, until, finally,blissfully,she exploded from within, the pleasure so keenly felt that she had to press her open mouth against Galen’s shoulder to keep from crying aloud.
For as long as she could, Laoghaire clung to that burst of pleasure, reveling in the pulsating tremors which eventually faded into radiant warmth.
In passion’s aftermath she continued to hold onto Galen, her body depleted of its animating energy, her thoughts little more than broken fragments. It was as if, in that interval of exquisite pleasure, she’d come face to face with eternity, able to feel, see,experiencesomething that was normally beyond her ken. Like a quick, indrawn breath, hot and sharp, it lasted only for a moment.
But, oh, what a glorious moment it was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“I’ve heard it said that many of the infidels in the Holy Land have more than one wife. I can now see the logic of it.”
Taken aback by Laoghaire’s remark, Galen’s head swiveled in her direction. They rode side by side near the front of the caravan, their two horses easily keeping abreast, both stallion and jennet maintaining a measured pace. Due to the heavily loaded carts, the procession moved through the countryside in an exasperatingly slow fashion.
“So you would have me husbanded to an entireharimof women?” Galen’s lips curved in a wry, manly smile.
“Of course, we’d have to draw straws each night to decide whose bed you would share,” Laoghaire said matter-of-factly, her blue eyes twinkling brightly with obvious mirth.
Extending a hand in her direction, Galen caught hold of a flyaway curl that had escaped her braid, and he tucked the errant tendril behind her ear. Although she was attired in men’s clothing, Galen thought, with her flushed cheeks and loose ringlets, his lady wife appeared utterly beguiling. “And what if you drew the short stick? What then? Would you not be jealous?”
“Not in the least,” Laoghaire retorted, waving away the notion with an airy slash of the hand. “If I could share the burden with a few others, I wouldn’t be so exhausted come morning.”
“I think you make mock of me, lady wife.” Galen paused a moment, if for no other reason than to ensure he had Laoghaire’s full attention before he continued and said, “There have been plenty of nights when you took your pleasure astride me. And nearly rode me into the ground, as I recall.”
“Luckily, ye’re a stout-hearted warrior.”
“And hardy as well,” he declared with unabashed pride.
Laoghaire cast a sly, sidelong glance at his crotch. “I’ve grown particularly fond of yer hard part.”
Throwing back his head, Galen boomed a laugh that was rich and deep, and which caused more than a few of his knights to shoot him a questioning glance.
“I do not think yer men-at-arms are accustomed to hearing their liege lord make such jovial sounds,” Laoghaire remarked with an amused chuckle.
Galen urged the stallion closer to the jennet, their stirrups gently colliding. Then, leaning toward Laoghaire, he whispered in her ear, “Mayhap that is because their liege lord is besotted with his beautiful countess.”
Laoghaire’s mouth parted with surprise, and two vivid splotches of color stained her elegant cheekbones.
Because he couldn’t spare the men-at-arms to escort Laoghaire back to Castle Airlie, he’d been forced to relent and to allow his wife to accompany him to the king’s council. Though not part of his original plan, now that she was here, he was delighted to have her at his side.
Certainly, he’d been delighted last night when they slept entwined in one another’s arms, spent from their lovemaking. He’d also enjoyed the quiet interlude that followed their loveplay. ’Twas then the whole of the world seemed to have contracted to the distance that separated his mouth from hers, Laoghaire’s warm breath having caressed his face as they spoke in hushed whispers.
While he and Laoghaire continued to ride in companionable silence, Galen peered toward the sun and gauged the time. At a glance, he could see that they still had a few hours to go before they could make camp for the evening. Earlier they stopped to eat a quick supper, a simple meal of bread and cheese that was washed down with ale. He had assured Laoghaire that once they arrived at Castle Balloch, they would dine on geese, drink imported wine, and sleep on a feather mattress. He was particularly looking forward to the latter; a pallet in a field tent was hardly a fitting place to make love to one’s wife.
Reaching for the leather costrel that hung from his saddle, Galen untied the straps. After removing the stopper, he wordlessly offered Laoghaire a drink of wine from the vessel. With a shake of the head and a sweetly endearing smile, she declined. As Galen raised the costrel to his lips, he was suddenly put in mind of a troubadour’s song he’d recently heard about a fair lady, and how, with only a single glance, she could send a burning spark through her lover’s heart. He’d always thought such lyrics played false with one’s emotions, conjuring a kind of bond that was unobtainable in the world of men.
Yet whenever Laoghaire graces me with her smile, I feel a burst of welcoming heat.
He pondered the notion further, and it dawned on him that what he felt in those attenuated moments harkened not only to a yearning of the body, but one of the—
