Page 52

When he entered her, so much joy sluiced Branwen, tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

“Branwen? Love?” Balanced on his elbows, he brushed her hair from her face. “We can stop if it pains ye too much.”

“Nae. Nae. Dinna ever stop.” She shook her head, clutching him to her breasts.

“Why are ye cryin’?” he asked, brushing his rough fingertips across her collarbone and causing little jolts of pleasure to spark outward.

“Because I’m so happy.” She smiled into his eyes. “I’m so verra happy, Bryston.”

His answering smile melted her heart, and she suspected she’d spend the rest of her life falling in love with him over and over and over.

He began to move then, slow, languid strokes, and with each surge, she rose higher and higher, her love carrying her to an ethereal place where only the two of them existed.

“I love ye,” he moaned, his movements becoming stronger and more insistent, driving the burning need inside her to new heights. “I love ye.”

He raised her legs so that they encircled his waist, and a hissing gasp escaped between her parted lips.

“I love ye,” she cried, as bliss shattered over her in undulating waves, so powerful, she felt faint. Before the last ripple ebbed, he stiffened and groaned, then pulled out to spurt his seed onto her belly.

“When we are married, I’ll spill my seed in ye, but until then, I dinna want to chance to impregnate ye.” He kissed her shoulder then wiped her belly with the edge of the sheet before pulling her into his embrace.

Several minutes later, when reality settled upon Branwen once more, she sighed and snuggled closer to his side, draping a thigh across his hairy ones. “I think we’ll have to wait to marry.”

He cracked an eyelid open, his mouth turned down the merest bit. “Because?”

“Because I want my family present.”

A blond eyebrow arched. “Aye, and we’ll be at Trentwick within a fortnight.”

Playing her fingers through the soft hair upon his chest, she shook her head. “Nae, I think I’d like to sail to the Caribbean first. I’ve heard it’s verra warm and has beautiful beaches.”

“Lass, Keane—”

She put two fingers to his lips and gave him what she hoped was a come-hither look. “Has nae way of kennin’ how long it took us to rid ourselves of Le Sauvage.”

Bryston grinned, a wicked bend of his mouth that had her imagining all sorts of naughty things he might do with those lips. Sweeping his hands down to cradle her hips, he murmured, “I’m sure we can reach an accord. I am, after all, quite adept at striking bargains.”

Allowing him to pull her beneath him, she whispered, “I’m sure we can, my love. I’m thinking Portugal after the Caribbean…”