Chapter 9

Watching as Marcán's eyes traveled the length of the new slave, assessing her, had made Astrid feel like she was being doused with cold water. The man was considering taking the slave to his bed! He wanted her. She was a pretty thing, obviously intrigued by Marcán—what woman wouldn't be?—and as far as Astrid could tell, she'd given every indication she was more than willing.

A sick feeling had unfurled inside Astrid. Certainly Marcán had taken plenty of women to his bed, or mayhap he went to theirs as Diarmuid had. Astrid was not ignorant, but she had never actually thought of Marcán in that way—until now. She struggled to contain the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

If only she'd trusted Marcán instead of Pádraig, the disaster in the woods could have been averted. Pádraig would have forced her. Forced her to do anything he wanted, and she would not have been able to stop him. Marcán had warned her, he'd tried to protect her, but she'd fought him every step of the way. She had been determined to speak to Pádraig. Alone and in the dark had been fine with her.

Shame washed over her at her own ignorance, her stubbornness, her inability to see what was right in front of her.

Ye need to save yer maidenhead for the man who'll protect ye, even from yerself.

A never-ending job!

When she stepped back out in the darkening night, eager to show Marcán how much she respected and valued him, he was nowhere in sight. Panic fluttered in her chest. She went back inside and grabbed her mantle, her eyes scanning the room. Merewyn sat with the other women, eating quietly by herself. Another look around assured her Marcán had not come inside while she was making arrangements with Joan.

The woman looked at her now, a question in her eyes. Astrid smiled and Joan went back to seeing to the bath water she'd ordered. It would be brought to the little building in the back since space in the roundhouse was at such a premium. Wives were happier to welcome back their men from battle after all the blood and sweat had been washed away.

Back outside, Astrid pulled the covering tight around her and headed toward the trees.

"Marcán?"

An owl answered her. Trying for a lightheartedness she did not truly feel, she said, "I know my Marcán and ye are not him."

"Yer Marcán?"

The low voice vibrated through her and nervous excitement danced along her skin. She turned toward the shadows where the voice had come from just as he stepped toward her. He stopped.

"I am beyond exhausted. Forgiveness, please." He roughed up his hair. "My ears are playing tricks on me."

Although his face was in shadow, she knew exactly the expression he wore. A quiet smile. His eyes bright and clear. And intent on her. Astrid took a step closer.

"I am readying a bath for ye." She swallowed right before she reached a hand out to him. "Come."

She couldn't be sure, but she sensed there was some inner struggle.

Don't give up on me now!

When she moved closer, he finally closed the distance to her and accepted her hand. Heat shot up her arm, warming her innards. His palm was rough and she realized she'd never actually touched his hand before. It was quite large, making her hand seem as small as a child's.

"I need to get ye something to eat as well."

She started to move away, but he stood fast. "What are ye about, Astrid?"

Closing her eyes, she basked in the sound of her name on his lips. How could she have been so blind? When she opened her eyes, he had moved into the light. That same light revealed her expression to him, and he searched her face as if looking for answers.

"Are ye trying to talk me out of telling Diarmuid about Pádraig? Ye needn't bother. I have done so."

His tone was even. Steady. And his words meant far less to her than the sound of his voice. That was like a caress and she struggled to keep her eyes open and focused on him. He frowned.

"Ye can go back in, Astrid. I can see to my own needs."

Merewyn's willing expression flashed through her mind, but something in his eyes told her the regard he had once borne for her had not faded. He was protective of her, attentive, and not at all like her brother. He tilted his head now, his eyes squinting as if trying to read an unclear sign. And there was a good chance he could. He knew her very well. Better than she knew herself.

"This has nothing to do with my punishment."

"'Tis not up to me to say what that punishment may be. I hold no sway over yer ri túaithe."

She wetted her lips. "That I know. And I also know ye have every right to see to any punishment yerself… as 'twas ye I disrespected with my disobedience."

"I will not discipline ye."

Astrid could feel a scorching heat, but she wasn't sure if it was from her or from him. "No. Ye never have."

"And I will not."

Astrid wasn't sure what to say to convince him that she was sincere in her desire to see to his needs. His chest rose and fell and she noticed his breathing getting faster. Looking from blue eye to green eye, she said, "Allow me to assist ye. I have wronged ye, and I know that. Believe me, I do. I ask ye to allow me to show ye the respect due every warrior. Respect I have been sorely lacking."

Marcán would admit to being taken aback at the confession. This was so unlike the Astrid he knew. The moon shining on her face revealed her dampened lips with their soft pink hue, slightly parted, calling to him. Urging him to move in closer. Marcán struggled with the crazy idea of kissing her. Then she smiled at him, and he'd swear it was a smile of encouragement.

He was more exhausted than he had believed.

She was asking for his forgiveness. That was all. Her sincerity was obvious, and he knew he was damned. This might be the hardest trial he had ever faced. He could not refuse her, but he tried one last time to avoid the inevitable.

"I believe ye, and I offer ye my forgiveness with nothing more required of ye."

Her eyes rounded. "Please."

That simple request was his undoing. "Then let us see to this bath."

She turned, his hand still in hers, and led the way. The sight of her nicely rounded bottom was much more appealing than any slave's. He looked heavenward and blew out a breath.

God, help me keep my mind on anything other than what's about to happen.

The stars twinkled back, and he had the strange feeling he'd received an answer to his prayer. It wasn't the answer he'd expected.

* * *

The wooden tub sat in the middle of the small space. Baskets and new oaken barrels were stacked alongside the walls, making it an even tighter fit for the two of them. Marcán turned toward Astrid, and she lifted his léine over his head with no hesitation. His tired imagination heard a gasp of pleasure from her.

With nerves of iron, he willed himself to remain unmoved by the gesture. His tight braies might go unnoticed if he quickly submerged himself. But the water was hotter than he'd anticipated, and he had to wait to sit all the way in the tub.

Astrid had turned away to drape the blood and mud caked garment over the barrels. When she turned back to him, he took a deep breath and sank into the water.

"Is it not overly hot?" she asked, a cloth in one hand and soap in the other.

"I am fine." Marcán gritted his teeth, the steam rising around him, lapping against his chest. He felt like he was cooking, being prepared for a meal. With his knees bent up in front of him, he leaned forward to offer his back to her. Better to get this done quickly.

She hesitated but a moment before dipping the cloth into the water and lathering it. Surrounded by her scent, he closed his eyes in agony. "Yer own soap, Astrid?"

More sweet torture—and it would be clinging to him for many days.

"It is the best we have."

Her hand against his skin was gentle, the swiping motion precise as she traced from shoulder to shoulder, working her way lower. He leaned his forehead against his knees.

God, don't let her be gentle.

"Ye needn't be too gentle. I am a warrior after all." His laugh sounded stilted, but Astrid showed no sign of noticing.

She increased the pressure, her hand moving more quickly as she made her way down his back.

"I have helped Diarmuid with his bath, Marcán."

Her matter-of-fact tone helped settle him—it sounded more like what he would expect from her.

"I do not know why I never offered ye the same."

Because he usually made sure to stay clear of her after a battle, just as he had tried to do this night. Her insistence, however, had pushed him too far. The need to ease her guilt was the only reason he had agreed to the arrangement.

When she reached his bottom, he pushed back against the wood. She had no choice but to remove her hand from the water.

"That is fine. I can do the rest myself."

She frowned at him, the single torch casting strange shadows on her face before he turned away.

"Ye need help. I will help ye."

He tightened his jaw, watching with horror as she soaped the cloth again. He was going to burst into flames at any moment. When she slapped the cloth against his chest, her eyes met his, an intimacy that pleased him for a moment—until he remembered that this was not to be. He looked away.

With a slower motion, she swiped the cloth across his chest. Her scent rising to him, he resisted the need to close his eyes in pleasure.

"I can do this myself." He struggled to hide the arousal from his voice, trying for a firm tone. He refused to look at her, even when her hand slowed to a crawl. Even when her hand moved across his chest for the third time. Rubbing. Caressing.

He fought the need to look at her—and lost. Her eyes were fixed on the movement of the cloth across his chest. She appeared mesmerized at the sight of him. The soap made the motion a gentle slide. A thousand sensations prickled across his skin. And then, without planning it, he took his arm out of the water and wrapped his fingers around her neck, bringing her lips to his.

He was ready for her to slap him, but he couldn't stop himself. Overcome with exhaustion and need, he hardly knew what he was doing. As if moving in a dream, the kiss he'd waited so long for happened with such slowness, every detail burned into his memory. Her eyes meeting his. Widening, but with pleasure rather than surprise. He definitely saw pleasure, just before they fluttered shut.

Her lips were as he'd imagined, rubbing across his in gentle exploration. He would have groaned, but feared the moment would be broken and she'd yank away from him. When the tip of her tongue slid against his lips, they parted and his moan finally escaped. His eyes flew open, but she did not pull back. Instead, she pressed herself against the tub, moving her tongue more fully into his mouth, its sweetness flooding his senses.

He forced himself to move slowly despite the pain in his groin, the unrelenting need for release. She was kissing him back! His Astrid was returning his kisses with sweet abandon! And things would never be the same.

The pleasure of Marcán's lips on hers exploded inside her. It could not be more different from Pádraig's kiss. This was a man holding back, in control, allowing her to move in whatever way she desired. This was a man who cared about her, and that knowledge gave her courage. When her tongue moved against his, he met her stroke for stroke, sucking her into his mouth to experience their joining more fully. His moan had set off not alarms but a deep well of need. A need that seemed right. A need that she knew he could see to when she was ready. It would be safe to open herself up. To open herself to him.

A sudden chill caught her attention and she shivered, the drastic difference between the air in the hut and the heat rising up from her core, no doubt.

But Marcán broke the kiss, concern on his face. "Are ye cold?"

She smiled, her breath easing out between her parted lips. Pulling away from the tub, she stood. Her gown was soaked. She might as well be standing there naked, and Marcán's hooded eyes were taking in every bit of her. She shivered again, not from the dampness, but from the look of longing on his face.

How easy it would have been for Pádraig to force himself on her. She could not have stopped him on her own. Her innocence would be gone now, ripped from her. Was it not better that she give herself willingly to a man who would treat her gently? One who cared for her?

Reaching for her hem, she doffed the gown.

His eyes locked onto hers and she could actually feel his desperation. Clothed in only her sleeveless undertunic, she urged him out of the water. The touch of his lips was tentative now, but she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her. He was hard for her and she canted her hips to feel him more fully against her.

Marcán yanked back, his breath heaving with his struggle for self-control. "Astrid, ye do not—"

"I do. Stop being my protector. Ye are the one I need no protection from."

"Aye, ye do!" His eyes were wide as he stepped out of the tub. "I am a man in great need."

Her eyes drifted close at his words. A wistful expression. When she opened them again, he was hit by the intense power of her gaze. She wanted him. "Please, Marcán."

He had never been in such need. And here the love of his life was offering herself to him. Her eyes assured him she knew what she was doing. A hiss escaped him as he struggled with himself. Her lovely body before him, all but naked, the material clinging to the breasts he'd only dreamed of until now, and the surprisingly dark patch of hair between her legs beckoning to him through the thin cloth. That was his undoing. He lowered his head as he gripped the underside of her breast, raising it to his watering mouth.

She gasped and he was lost. Both hands slid under the dampened garmentuntil her chilled skin was pressed against his palms. His tongue flicked against her nipple as he raised the material higher. His hands came to a sudden stop on her soft thigh. One hand came up to grip her other breast for his desperate mouth, but he realized he couldn't move the other. He was unable to cover the short distance to touch her most intimate spot. It had been so long that he'd wanted her. He had never thought to be here. What if her need was not as great as his own? If Astrid did not want him, he had nothing.

With the smallest movement, he finally touched her. He was not disappointed. Near overwhelmed, he reluctantly released her breast to snuggle into her neck.

"Are ye giving yerself to me, Astrid?" His words sounded as desperate as he felt.

That her breath was as labored as his was a boon. Surely he could stop now and be satisfied until they were wed. When she widened her stance, his hand slid more fully between her legs. Pulling back, he gazed into her eyes, seeing only her passion. He stroked her, his fingers damp with her sweetness, and pressed his lips together as he entered her. And again. Her hips rocking with each motion. He tried to convince himself he could stop if she said the word. But she said nothing, so he asked her again.

"D'ye wish me to take yer maidenhead, knowing all that it would mean to me? Knowing all that it should mean to ye?"

She leveled her gaze at him, passion hooding her eyes. "No one else but ye."

Sweeping her into his arms, Marcán turned left and then right, frustrated by the lack of proper space. She giggled slightly and he gazed at her with his most formidable expression. "Ye'll pay a high price for that show of disrespect at my frustration."

A deep frown covered her face as she no doubt considered what he could mean. She would know soon enough. The thought of tasting her gave him such a heady sensation he had to close his eyes and take a steadying breath.

"Not the best place for a seduction," he said.

"It suited me fine."

He paused as he considered her words, searching her face. "So this was yer seduction?"

"This was my seduction."

Overcome, he let her find her footing and then he was pressing her against the wall with his kisses. She responded just as fiercely, her arms wrapping tight around his waist to flatten him against her. As she undulated against his length, he was struck by how adept she was at this. How passionate.

"I believe ye still need to remove something," Astrid said. Her words were wrapped in need.

He yanked at the bottom of her undergarment, where it was still hiked to her thighs.

Slipping his hands beneath the rough material to slide along her silken curves, he got only as far as her exposed breasts before he was feasting again on her, his fingers continuing their assault. Kissing her belly, he glanced up to see her watching him as he knelt before her, his lips traveling lower and lower. With a hand wrapped around each thigh, he met her eyes and lightly nuzzled her thatch of dark hair. And again. When he stroked her with the tip of his tongue, she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip.

And he licked her wetness, unable to stop his eyes from closing in ecstasy. Her scent called to him and he tasted her again, more fully, watching her again. Her concern quickly shifting to pleasure, she threw her head back, her hands drifting to his head. He parted her thighs, giving himself better access.

When she moaned, he nuzzled her more and then added a finger. Then another. Until her moans sounded from deep inside her throat. In one motion, he raised her leg, catching her knee in his arm and stood to press into her, yanking down the last bit of protection keeping him from her.

"There is not a chance ye'll be another's now. I've tasted ye," he slid his ready tarse along her wetness, "and ye'll be mine in truth as ye've always been."

Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath and searched his face.

Awe-struck at this turn of events, he said, "I'd never thought to have ye myself."

"Marcán, I have always been yers. I was just too blind to see it."

With a solid thrust, he entered her, then stilled. Her hands squeezed his shoulders and her beautiful face had the look of betrayal.

"That will be the only time there is pain. Yer maidenhead is breeched. Ye've given yerself to me." He let out a slow breath as the words sunk in. He would have her forever now. The delight of that thought was cut short by the look on her face. He had to show her how good it would be between them.

"I was enjoying yer touch, but now…"

With the most controlled motions of his life, he pressed deeper into her. Her eyes narrowed as if in expectation of more pain, but that tight look soon fell away. He was overcome by her exquisite tautness, eager to be fully sheathed. His focus on her, he slowly entered her, deeper and deeper, until she had accepted his entire length. He fit perfectly inside her and he stilled, his eyes closing, enjoying the feel of her around him. Panting slightly from the exertion of self-restraint, he was determined to wait until she was ready for more. He was where he'd never thought to be.

"I knew ye would feel like this." He couldn't stop from sharing with her.

When she squeezed around him, his gaze flew to her and she smiled, a sly smile. "I can feel the length of ye filling me." Her words were breathy.

"Let me show ye more." He started with a steady rhythm, her legs wrapped around him for support. She canted her hips, a pleasant surprise that brought a groan from him.

"That's it." He entered her more insistently. "I knew ye would feel this good."

Moaning was her only answer, and he picked up his pace, prolonging her pleasure as she pulsed around him. He wanted her to know without a doubt they were meant to be joined together like this. The two of them. Always.

Her eyes opened and she looked toward the door. "What was that?"

Marcán stilled to listen. "I heard nothing." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Shhh, now. D'ye still feel me inside ye?"

Her eyes drifted shut and her head settled back against the wall. The tightening grip on his shoulders was her only answer. He entered her hard before pausing. "I've wanted ye like this forever."

And again, moving faster and giving in to his own need. He stilled, pressed into her, spilling his seed.

"Ah, Astrid." He sighed. "Never have I felt this complete in a woman's arms."

* * *

Marcán managed to move a few of the barrels to clear a spot for them to lie down. Astrid's mantle and his bathing cloth, slightly damp from where he'd gently cleansed away her virgin blood, served as their pallet. Resting her head on his solid chest, Astrid slept in his warm embrace. Her dreams were of sunny days beside clear loughs and children playing nearby.

Warm kisses across her shoulder awakened her.

"Mmm, that's it." Marcán's quiet voice was like a caress. "Open those beautiful eyes."

She did, impaling him with a look. "Ye believe my eyes are beautiful?"

"Ah, grádh, there is nothing about ye that is not beautiful." He continued with feather kisses along her shoulder before rising over her and taking her face in his hands. He followed a trail to her mouth. His lips were gentle but insistent, and she opened her mouth to him.

"Mmm, nothing."

His hands explored her body as if he couldn't get enough of touching her, and her eyes drifted shut in pleasure. When he clasped a breast and lowered his mouth to suckle her, she let out another moan.

"And that is a surprise." His words did not interrupt his ministrations.

She decided it wasn't actually necessary to open her eyes, not when she could feel so much more with them closed. "What is a surprise?"

"How much ye speak to me in yer passion."

That did require her to open her eyes. "Speak to ye?"

"Sighs too deep for words."

It was a familiar phrase. "Is that not referring to prayer?"

"Sighs of pleasure are still sighs too deep for words." Marcán smiled. "God created us for this pleasure."

It was strange to hear him speak of God. The priest put so much emphasis on abstinence or only joining for procreation.

"Then pleasure is not a sin?"

"I believe God created us to find pleasure in each other, just like this. Bone of my bone. Flesh of my flesh. And he said that it was good."

"As husband and wife."

Marcán gazed into her eyes. "Only a formality."

He gripped her hand, intertwining their fingers, then closed his eyes. "May God, who knows the heart of all His children, bestow His blessing on our union, that we shall never again seek another or cause dishonor to His name. Amen."

"Amen." Astrid was awed by his devotion to her. "Ye do still love me?"

"I have loved ye forever, wanting no one but ye for my wife."

"I was so blind."

Marcán kissed her lightly. "Ye are here now. Ye are where ye should be."

Astrid did like the sound of that. "Oh, but I did not call out yer name! Did I?"

"Ah, my love, ye will. This was only the first of many times when I will bring ye to yer release." He exhaled, dipping his head into the crook of her neck. "And I am wanting ye again."

Astrid hadn't missed the persistent length of him nudging her. She quirked a brow.

"But I am not heartless. Ye will be sore."

He put his head on her shoulder, looking down upon her nakedness, a hand following along.

"Ye are the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Ye said I did not compare to Daimhin." She remembered the moment well. It had happened the day she'd hidden in the honeysuckle. Marcán had told her that she couldn't swim with him and Diarmuid and then, like an idiot, she had blurted out, "Would ye say I was as comely as Daimhin?"

His eyes had darkened and he'd given her a quiet smile. "There is no comparison."

Her comment must have caught him off guard, for his hand stilled on her skin.

Astrid regretted the words as soon as she said them. It seemed very petty to bring it up after he had lavished such love on her.

"I have never believed that. Ye are more lovely to me than a sunrise on a clear day." He propped himself on an elbow and looked down at her. "There is no one that compares to ye."

Realizing she was an idiot, she rolled her eyes before facing him. "Ye had said there was no comparison."

He lightly traced her lips with the tip of a finger. "And there is not."

Bending closer, he took her mouth again. His hands sliding along her stomach to nudge her thighs apart and slip his fingers between them. With a gentle touch, he stroked her. "Is there soreness?"

He spoke the words against her lips and his exquisite touch mesmerized her.

"I do not care if there is."

Marcán broke the kiss, a frown creasing his brow. "That is not the answer I seek. I will never hurt ye. I do not want ye to associate anything with our joining but pleasure." He continued his movements. "And pleasure ye will get."

Astrid gasped as his fingers became more insistent.

"My size gives ye pain."

Her breathing started to match the steady pace of his fingers' movements.

Scooting down, he lowered his head, his tongue joining his fingers. And she couldn't hold back the moan.

"Mmm." Marcán's sound vibrated through her.

Astrid became overwhelmed with intensifying need. When he lifted his head and watched her, she wanted to be embarrassed, but she became lost to his touch. Like water pitching over the rapids, he sent her over the edge. She pressed against him and was met with wave after wave of pleasure.

"Ah, ye are beautiful to watch." His whispered words matched the awe on his face. She sighed as the pulsating of her body slowed down. Her eyes drifted shut and he snuggled close to her, pulling her into his arms. "I find it hard to trust that ye are here with me like this. I have loved ye for so very long."

His steady breathing lulled her into sleep. A peaceful sleep where she stayed with the man who loved her.