"Please!" she begged him.
His tongue licked the warm flesh of her inner thighs, and he murmured, "Not yet, my wild Welsh girl."
She almost screamed as his tongue moved over her mound, over her belly, tickled at her navel and swept up toward her breasts. His own hard body followed, pushing her down into the mattress and the featherbed with his big-boned weight. "You're killing me," she half sobbed, and he laughed low.
"I want to consume you completely," he growled in her ear, kissing it, and then his mouth was on hers again, drinking in her kisses, tasting her, tasting himself on her tongue and lips. He forced her arms over her head, jockeying her between his two thick thighs, his free hand guiding his raging manhood to the mark.
With a sob Wynne thrust herself up to meet his plunging weapon, encasing him eagerly within her sheath, tearing her hands free of his grip that she might embrace him. Fiercely he plumbed her depths, and with each stroke Wynne felt herself whirling out of control. It had never been as wild between them before. Her nails raked his back, but he didn't even seem to notice as he thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, his buttocks tight with his efforts. The passion between them was quite equal.
"A son!" he groaned in her ear. "I want a son of you, my wild and sweet Welsh wife!"
Wynne heard him and she understood his words, but her own desire was so great at this moment that she could but concentrate upon it. Her body began to respond violently to his loving, great racking shudders tearing through her even as she felt his own passion breaking, flooding her secret garden with his rich seed. It was sweet! Too sweet, and she was going to die of it she thought as she fell into the endless darkness; falling, falling, falling until there was nothing left of her, but then her eyes opened. She was alive. A marvelously satisfying feeling permeated her from the tingling soles of her feet to the top of her head. Eadwine lay sprawled by her side, panting. Reaching out, she took his hand in hers and, squeezing it first, raised it to her lips and kissed his fingers.
"I adore you, Wynne," he said quietly in response, and she heard the deep love in his voice.
"And I love you, Eadwine," she responded, knowing even as she said it that it was very true. How could she not love this kind and good man who had been so patient with her? How could she not love her daughter's father? It did not mean that she did not love her son's father, but it was almost two years now since she had been abducted from Wales; and in all that time Madoc had never come nor even sent a message to let her know he would come. She could not wait forever. She had made peace with herself at long last. Raising herself on an elbow, she looked down into Eadwine Aethelhard's bearded face. "Aye, my lord," she said softly, "I love you well," and her forest-green eyes were wet with tears; but she did not know if her tears were of happiness or sorrow.
"Wynne!" He cried her name joyfully, his whole face alight with his happiness at her words. "Ahhh, my wild Welsh girl, I will never make you unhappy, and I will love you forever! I swear it!"
Forever, Wynne thought as their lips met in a sweet kiss. Was there really such a thing as forever? Nay. There was but a moment in time, and those who were wise lived each moment to its fullest, for a moment gone could never come again. "And I will love you for as long as we live, my dear lord," she promised him, knowing how very much he needed to hear such words from her.
In the weeks that followed, all at Aelfdene remarked that they had never seen Eadwine Aethelhard so happy, and his happiness was infectious. Everyone but Caddaric seemed touched by it.
"She has woven a witch's spell about him," the thegn's eldest son complained to his wife.
"He loves her," Eadgyth Crookback patiently explained to her husband. "There is no magic in that."
"He never behaved that way with my mother," Caddaric grumbled.
"Your mother and father were of an age, my lord, and they wed for expediency's sake, as we all do," Eadgyth replied, feeling pain for her husband, who had probably never loved anything in his life, including her. Caddaric was and always had been filled with bitterness and jealousy, though she could not say why. "Your father is in his late middle years. He skirts along the borders of old age. He did not expect to find love at this time in his life. Not only has he found it, but he has found it with a beautiful and kind young woman who has given him another child. Wynne will probably give him other children as well. You had best face the situation for what it is, husband, and make your peace with it," Eadgyth counseled wisely. "Wynne is not your enemy."
"She has said I will not father any children," Caddaric told his wife.
"I expect she is right," Eadgyth answered him quietly.
"She is wrong!" he shouted back at her. "I could get sons on her! I know it!" His look grew moody, and then Caddaric Aethelmaere told his wife darkly, "One day Aelfdene will be mine, and Wynne will be mine too! She will bear sons for me whether she wants to or not; or I will destroy her!"
PART 4
When love beckons to you, follow him, Though his ways are hard and steep.
Kahlil Gibran
The Prophet
Chapter 16
The Feast of Christ's Mass was approaching, and a large wild boar had been seen in the woods belonging to Aelfdene. The thegn invited his eldest son to accompany him on the hunt.
"We'll have a fine boar's head on the table for the Yule," Eadwine promised Wynne, giving her a morning kiss, his hand sliding beneath her chemise to cup a plump breast.
"Stay abed awhile longer, my lord," she enticed him. "You'll have far better hunting here today than in the cold, dank woods." She pulled his head down for a longer, more leisurely kiss, her tongue licking most provocatively at the corners of his mouth.
With a deep sigh Eadwine buried his face in her perfumed hair for a long, sweet moment, but then he regretfully pulled away from her. "You, my wild Welsh witch, must await my pleasure. The boar, alas, will not," he said, half laughing. "If the creature goes beyond the boundaries of my holding, he will be someone else's prize."
"Are you so certain that I will await your pleasure?" she teased him mischievously.
"Aye," he said boldly, catching her back to him as, with a snort of pretended outrage, she leapt from their bed. He cuddled her in his lap for the briefest time and then, setting her on her feet, gave her bottom an affectionate spank. "See to my meal, wife!" he teased her back.
"We have house serfs to see to the meal," she told him loftily. "I think I shall go to my pharmacea and devise a potion that will keep you always by my side."
Instead, however, Wynne went to the cradle where their daughter was now very much awake and hungry. Quickly changing the baby's napkin, Wynne sat back down upon the bed and put the infant to her breast. Averel suckled greedily, and Eadwine had to look away. The sight of their child nursing at her mother's breast aroused him far more than he wanted Wynne to know. Even now he could not quite believe his good fortune in his young and fair wife.
The servants came into the Great Chamber bringing water for washing, and, finished feeding her daughter, Wynne handed her to the young serf girl whose duty it was to watch over Averel.
At eight months of age Averel was a beautiful and healthy baby. She was plump, with her father's ash-brown hair and features. Only her eyes, which had turned from blue to her mother's forest-green, indicated her maternal heritage. Usually a sunny-natured infant, Averel's sweetness could quickly turn to rage at the most unexpected moments.