“Not that way.” He released her hand, contrition etching his face. “I allowed my temper to gain the better of me.”
His cheek was smooth, his jaw tense. Isabel could see the deliberation in his eyes, the frustration. And she held the power to soothe it.
She stood and touched her palms to his shoulders. Patrick drew her closer until she could feel his body against hers. Though his embrace was easy, she sensed his desire.
“Why did you bring the women here?” he asked. “I forbade it.”
“Because I am not convinced that our people cannot join together,” she whispered. “The Normans need someone to fight for, someone to protect. Who better than their own loved ones?”
“My tribesmen won’t allow it.”
“They could stay upon the island,” Isabel offered.
“There is not enough space. Even now, I do not know where you plan to house them.”
“The night is warm,” she reminded him. “The men and women will need no huts for shelter. This evening, the island will be filled with lovers.”
Her skin felt flushed, her body awakened to desire. She tried to calm the tempest raging within her, but she wanted nothing more than to remain here with him, to finish what they had begun this morning. Like the other men and women, she wanted to surrender to her husband’s desires.
“What is it you want from me,a stór?” he asked. In his dark gray eyes, she saw tumult and indecision.
“I want my husband. Not a king,” she whispered. She wanted the man she sensed he could be, a passionate lover who would fulfill the desires kindling inside of her.
“I cannot give up being a king,” he said. “It is my burden to shoulder.”
She was afraid of that. “What will happen to us now?”
He traced the line of her jaw, touching his nose to hers. “I don’t know.” His honesty made her feel even more vulnerable, afraid to seize this moment. Afterwards, everything would go back to the way it was before. He would reign over Laochre while she remained behind on Ennisleigh. And she didn’t know if she could bear it.
“Will you grant me one night?” she whispered. Though she was afraid of being hurt again, she saw past his hesitation. Without the threat of her father, with just the two of them alone, could he not set everything else aside?
“I hurt you this morn,” he argued.
“Aye, you did.” She reached up and wound her arms around his neck. “So make me forget what happened.”
With that, Patrick stepped back and unfastened the brooch that pinned his cloak. He spread the garment on the grass before them, like a blanket.
“One night,” he swore.
Her heart thrummed against her chest, the anticipation filling every part of her. His hands caressed her hair, and his mouth skimmed over her temple.
He whispered endearments in Irish, words she had only just come to understand. As he undressed her, Isabel shivered. Bared before him with only the moonlight, the fears and doubts threatened to consume her.
But then, he disrobed, standing before her like a pagan immortal. His warrior’s body captured her attention, with carved muscles and a few white scars that stood out from his golden skin.
He laid her down upon the woolen cloth, covering her chilled skin with his flesh. His erection rested upon her stomach, his hands moving over her skin.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, kissing her throat.
Her breasts tightened, aroused by the feel of his body against hers. His skin blazed with heat, his mouth lowering to the hardened tip of her nipple. When he tasted her, the shocking sensation pulsed a wave of delicious agony through her body. His hands moved over her skin, touching every part of her.
“I wanted you from the first moment I saw you,” he confessed. “Even when you tried to run from me.”
“I thought you hated me,” she whispered.
“I hated myself for weakening to an enemy.” He kissed her shoulder, turning his attention to the other breast. With soft circles, he teased her with his tongue. At the tip of her nipple, he sucked hard and she fisted her hands in his cloak. Her body delighted in the wickedness of his mouth. Her hips moved against him, cradling his length against her.
She met his touch with her own hunger, both afraid and desperately needing him. Her womanhood ached for the fullness of him inside of her.
