“Am I still your enemy?” she whispered.
“Not tonight.” The deep baritone of his voice wrapped around her like an embrace. He brushed his hands across her warmed flesh. “Tonight I intend to make you suffer, the way you’ve tormented me for the past few months. I’m going to love you until you can’t stop shaking.”
He wrapped them in his cloak, a cocoon of warmth. When he kissed her again, Isabel slid her arms around his waist, palming his buttocks. The tightness of his muscles fascinated her, and he groaned when she opened her legs, letting him rub his length against her wetness.
She could hardly breathe from the pleasure of sensations filling up inside of her. His hand reached between her legs and he slipped a single finger inside her. With slow, easy strokes, he kindled her arousal, rubbing her womanhood until she arched against him.
“Patrick,” she moaned, needing him inside her. She touched him, running her hands over his chest and shoulders. “Please.”
Instead of answering her plea, he bent his head to her breasts once more, tonguing her nipples until she cried out.
Her hand closed over his hardened manhood, stroking him. Patrick’s expression shadowed, and he hissed as she explored the texture of his skin. He felt like warm satin, and she was surprised to hear his answering groan when she cupped his sac and closed her hand around him.
“Enough,” he growled. He trapped her hands beneath him, spreading her legs apart with a knee. Then she felt the thickness of him at her entrance, slowly penetrating her. It was nothing like this morning. He moved with no haste, letting her stretch to accept him. When he was fully sheathed inside her body, he stopped moving. For a moment she wondered if it was over.
And then he lifted up and began to move inside her. Trembling waves of arousal crashed over her, as a frenzy of desire seemed to build and shift. He increased his movement, filling her and withdrawing, building up the pace until something tightened deep within her womb. The startling sensations built up higher and higher until he plunged deeply inside her and she broke apart in his arms. He covered her cry of pleasure with a kiss, still moving.
“I haven’t finished with you yet,a chroí.” His hands moved over her breasts, lifting and teasing them. Isabel gasped for breath, unable to understand the violent need for him.
He turned her onto her stomach and moved her into a kneeling position. He penetrated her again, grasping her hips and forcing her to accept his length. His erection seemed to grow even harder, and she began to weep at the sensation of him filling her. Over and over, until she sobbed with the aching pleasure.
At last he roared and withdrew from her, spilling his seed upon the ground beside her.
She lay beside him, her bare skin warm. Her body trembled with aftershocks, and she reached out to him. He gathered her in his arms, rolling them up in the cloak.
Isabel buried her face in Patrick’s chest, fighting back tears. Somehow, she had known this would exist between them. And she would have to make the most of this stolen night, for soon enough it would be over.
Atdawnthenextmorning, the island was filled with pairs of sleeping lovers. Patrick sat beside his wife, who was curled up in his cloak. His mood had grown solemn, for he hadn’t ever known it could be like this with a woman. He’d lain with women before, but none had made him feel this way. He wanted to shut out the rest of the world and protect Isabel. His beautiful proud wife, who deserved more than he could give her.
Though he had not planned on waking her, she rose at the sound of his movement. “Are you going back?”
“I am.” He wanted to kiss her again, to love her the way he had twice more last night. But if he did, he’d never leave. “Stay with the women until I decide what’s to be done with the families.”
She let the cloak fall away, sitting naked before him. Her skin glowed in the morning sun, her body tempting him in an open invitation. “What are you doing?”
“Getting dressed.” She smiled serenely and picked up her fallenléine. The fabric skimmed over her flesh, and he gritted his teeth.
Only when she was fully clothed did he dare look at her again. “We must gather the people together,” she suggested. “Today is Lughnasa. You said that every man, woman, and child of the tribe climbs up to the top of the highest hill.”
“To Amadán, yes,” he answered, pointing to the gentle rise of a hill upon the mainland. “But it is only a ritual for my tribe.” He wanted the Normans to take no part in it. Their traditions were their own.
“And what of me?” she asked. “Do you want me to remain behind as well?”
He didn’t know what to say. He should keep her away from the tribe, but with each passing day, he admitted to himself that he wanted her by his side. He wanted her to learn their traditions, to be part of them.
He sobered, knowing that he had to disregard his own feelings and do what was best for the tribe. “You should stay behind with the others,” he advised. “My people have endured much over the past season. They are entitled to enjoy their festival without fighting.”
She stared hard at him. “So this is how it will be. You still will not offer the Normans a place among you. Not even me.”
The pain in her eyes pierced him. “It is not possible, Isabel. You know this.”
“I thought things might be different now,” she whispered. Hurt surrounded her voice, needling his guilt. “After last night . . .” Her voice trailed off, as though she knew not what to say.
He reached out to her, clasping her hand. Her fingers were cold within his palm. “I am sorry.”
Isabelbitherlip.Anger coursed through her veins, for he truly would not accept her as his wife because of her heritage. She had believed he saw past her blood and into her heart. She’d been blinded to him, wanting so much for him to accept her.
She stepped backwards, her skin feeling like ice. “No, I am not one of you. I can’t ever be Irish. And though I’ve tried to be part of your tribe, it’s clear that it will never happen.”
