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  Ciaran thought his cock would burst if it got any harder. He had to bury himself in Becca, and he had to do it now. They would have lifetimes to explore and tease one another. Now, his need was as elemental as life itself. His hands fisted in her silken hair and he dragged her head up. Kissing her hard enough to bruise her lips and steal the breath from her body, he rolled them over.

  “Now,” he growled. “I will have you.”

  Becca sighed. “Finally,” she agreed, the word escaping from her mouth to his.

  She spread her legs and Ciaran fitted himself between them. As he’d once suspected, her hips were made to cradle a man. Not just any man, Ciaran amended silently. Me! He would be her first and her last. His smooth tip hovered at her sweet entrance and she squirmed, trying to fit them together. “’Twill prick but just a bit,” he whispered into her mouth.

  Ciaran used his hand to ensure she was hot and wet, and still ready for him. She pushed against his hand, panting into his mouth as he kissed her. He guided his boidín into her core, where it was surrounded immediately by slick, pulsing silk. Ciaran pushed into her, wanting to be gentle, and stopping so her muscles could relax to accommodate him.

  “Bugger this,” Becca cried. She grabbed his buttocks with both hands and arched into him, driving him deep into her center. There was momentary pain and tears glistened at the corner of her eyes, but for the first time in her life, in all of her lives, Becca felt complete.

  Ciaran lay still, buried deep within her. Afraid to move. Afraid of spilling his seed too soon. He kissed the tears from her eyes, most of his weight propped up on his elbows so his mass wouldn’t crush her. He brushed a tendril of golden hair back from her forehead. “I dinnit want to hurt yee, cailín,” he murmured.

  Becca kissed the hollow of his shoulder. “Nay,” she argued, her eyes glinting with mischievous lights as her mouth formed a teasing pout. “You’d have taken all bloody night to do the deed.”

  He grinned at her impudence, once more in control. He pulled back, his shaft retreating from her. She groaned and tried to hold him in her. He drove into her, and she cried out, this time in relief. Slowly, he withdrew again and the muscles in her sheath tightened, trying to hold him inside her. He pushed back, keeping his thrusts slow and sure as he rocked inside her. With each withdrawal and answering plunge, her hips rose to meet him. Then her tempo changed. No longer slow and easy, Becca pushed against him, urging him deeper and deeper, wanting him harder and faster.

  Their breaths escaped from their lungs in gasps. Her sheath was hot and wet, and the sweet honey of her liquid passion trickled down Ciaran’s thigh. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and he put his hands under her hips, tilting her pelvis up so he could drive deeper and harder still.

  Shooting stars gathered in Becca’s middle, and skyrockets went off behind her eyelids. She moaned in delight, her body gathering in on itself, the relentless waves of pleasure building to a crescendo she could no longer endure. “Please,” she beseeched.

  His boidín throbbed and felt like it was going to explode. The silken sides of her sheath stroked and caressed him, driving him mad with the sensation of liquid fire. When her plea reached his brain, the stars themselves exploded. He buried himself deep as he gathered her into his arms. His very life pumped out of him into her. She opened wide to receive him, then gathered him close to keep him.

  Feeling his seed pumping into her, finally sent Becca over the edge, the pain and the pleasure all mixed together. She lay whimpering in his arms, knowing joy beyond all bounds, and completely awed by the experience.

  Ciaran brushed soft tendrils of hair back from her face and kissed her cheeks, her forehead, and her eyes—trying to comfort her. “Did I hurt you, cailín?” His voice was taut with fear. He’d not wanted to hurt her, had only wanted to bring her pleasure this first time, but he knew he’d been too rough, too demanding.

  She smiled into the hollow of his chest, and he felt her lips as they curled into that smile.

  “How long before we can do that again?” Her voice was muffled against his warm skin.

  He pushed up onto his elbows, arching his back so he could see her face. His expression registered his shock. “What did you just say?”

  Her fingers trailed down his sides to find the hard muscles of his buttocks. She caressed and petted him while she flexed her inner muscles and squirmed. “You heard me,” she replied, grinning so wide her dimple added a period to her words. “When can you do that again?” Her hands traced the wicked scar slicing across his back. Becca winced. She’d come so close to losing him to that wound. She kissed him, a furious barrage of kisses meant to erase that sight from her memory forever. She would forbid him from ever going to war again. In fact, she was never going to let him out of her bed.

  Ciaran’s shaft grew hard within her. He blinked, amazed he could. Moments ago, he’d felt so sated, so completely satisfied that he’d wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms and sleep. She arched her hips against him.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  Stunned, he wasn’t ready for her next move. Before he could react, she rolled them over so he was on his back, and she was astride him. By the gods, but she is beautiful. Her golden hair danced with silver highlights, and her cerulean eyes twinkled in the candlelight. Broad shoulders many a lad would envy tapered to her glorious breasts—full, firm, with rosy nipples beckoning for his mouth to taste. Her long waist nipped in below her ribs then flared to those wonderful hips made to hold him. Then came her long, lithe legs now curled beneath her so she could rock on her knees. She drove him wild with delight.

  As Becca swayed above him, he watched in rapt fascination as their bodies joined together. The nest of her golden curls teased the jet-black fur surrounding his boidín. He reached up to cup her breasts in his rough hands. Becca moaned and leaned into them, her taut nipples rubbing against his palms.

  Ciaran let her set her own pace. The first time had been for them both. This time was for her. She rode him, setting the pace of a gentle canter—slow, rolling, her eyes closed, her face set with a tender expression. She took one of his hands and guided it between her legs. Ciaran smiled. Virgin she might have been, but his Becca definitely knew what she wanted. His hand splayed across her golden down as his thumb found her secret nub. He touched her, and every muscle in her body tensed. He cried out his own pleasure as her sheath tightened around him. Now she rode him hard, almost desperate as she rocked against his thumb while her muscles flexed and squeezed his shaft. They both panted, so close to the edge that a gentle breeze could have blown them over the cliff.

  “I love you, Becca.”

  That was all it took. Becca collapsed on his chest, her body shuddering and trembling as a major earthquake and myriad aftershocks rocked her body. Ciaran pumped his seed into her once again, his shaft throbbing and pulsing with life.

  “I love you more than life,” Becca whispered against his throat, exhaustion starting to claim her.

  When he finally slipped from her body, she gave a little moan of protest. Her body nudged against his, seeking to draw him back inside her. He smiled and settled her against his side. With his free hand, he found the bedcovers and pulled them up. She was really and truly his now.

  Becca’s eyelashes fluttered over her cheeks. “And forever.” She was asleep before the last syllable passed her lips.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ciaran nuzzled the back of Becca’s neck where soft skin met silken hair. She snuggled back against him and sighed in her sleep. His boidín nestled between the cheeks of her tóin and grew hard as his hand splayed across her rounded abdomen possessively. When the tiny being growing inside retaliated with a kick, Ciaran grinned.

  “Aye, a fine, strong son,” he murmured into Becca’s hair.

  “Don’t count on it,” she mumbled. The caustic tone of her voice was not lost on him. “Could just as well be a girl.”

  He laughed out loud. “Oh, aye, it could. Any daughter of yours ’twould be m
ore than likely to kick the hand that feeds her.”

  She wriggled her bottom. His immediate reaction brought a smile to her face. “Well, you aren’t feeding her...or my hunger either, for that matter. I should kick you, too.”

  His hand caressed her swollen stomach, then trailed up to cup a full, round breast. “Do you hunger for me, cailín?” he growled in her ear.

  A delicious shiver danced down her spine to settle in her toes. She flexed her buttocks and was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath.

  “Nay,” she protested. “I don’t hunger for you.” She dismissed him airily, then squeezed again for effect. “I hunger for him.” She batted her lashes and purred.

  He laughed and shifted her in his arms so that she was propped on her elbows, and her knees were drawn up beneath her. He grabbed a pillow, one of the innovations she’d added to their life, and stuffed it in under the top of her thighs. He positioned himself behind her, his boidín playfully rubbing against the crease between her cheeks. A little moan escaped her throat as she pushed back against him.

  His long fingers teased the soft folds between her thighs. He tested her readiness and found her hot and wet. With a growl, the dark wolf of the MacDermot claimed his mate, driving into her very core. She pushed back against him, frantic to drive him deeper.

  “Easy, cailín,” he soothed. “The babe.”

  “Making love with you will not hurt the baby,” Becca promised him as she pushed and squirmed.

  He wrapped one massive arm around her middle and held her, his other hand caressing her hip. She made little mewling noises in her throat. He pushed into her again and again as she bucked back against him. Her inner muscles contracted, and then a shudder ran through her. He drove into her one more time, and shooting stars exploded in his brain as his seed pumped into her. She convulsively contracted around his pulsing cock, as shudder after shudder rocked her body.

  At last, she drew a long, shaky breath and collapsed onto the bed. He followed her down and gathered her into his arms. Her head rested in the hollow of his shoulder, her one leg thrown possessively across his middle. His fingers idly combed the tangles in her hair. After a few minutes, their hearts regained a normal rhythm, and their breathing slowed.

  “Love of my heart,” he murmured.

  “Light of my life,” she replied. The baby kicked again, and she gasped.

  “Son,” Ciaran asserted.

  “Daughter,” Becca avowed.

  ****

  The months flew swiftly, and life at Ailfenn was good. Both the O’Neills and the O’Briens stayed within their own lands. Snow fell on the winter solstice as the Yule log burned merrily in the hearth, the white flakes softening the bleak winter landscape. In time, the dark days of winter grew longer and spring began to awaken the land.

  Albun Eiler, the spring solstice, dawned warm and bright, and Ciaran smiled at his wife, as she lay snuggled in his arms. “One year,” he whispered into her silken hair. “You came to me one year ago.”

  “Yeah, and if I remember correctly, you wanted to kill me,” Becca reminded him, an arched brow and sarcastic tone making her point.

  “Nay, cailín,” he insisted. “’Twould have been like cutting out my own heart. I loved you. Loved you the first moment you opened your eyes and looked into mine.”

  She kissed his chest. “You’re just saying that to keep your pregnant wife happy.”

  With a gentle finger, he tipped her chin so she had to look up at his face. His indigo eyes, normally as dark and stormy as the sea, softened to cobalt. His mouth sought hers and he kissed her, his lips gently nibbling hers. “I will do whatever it takes to make you happy, Becca. You are a gift. One I almost lost, and one I cherish the more for it. I will not lose you again.” His voice was thick with emotion.

  Becca sighed happily and snuggled closer to the warmth of his body. It might be March twenty-first, but the air was chilly, and the fire had burned down to gray embers. “It’s my birthday,” she announced. “I’m fifty-one.”

  Ciaran snorted.

  “Well, technically, I am,” she retorted.

  A soft tap at the door postponed his teasing. “Yes?” he called instead.

  “’Tis Alys,” a timid voice called from the other side of the door. “Come to stir up the fire.”

  “Come in.”

  The little maid scurried about laying wood kindling before poking up the dying embers. She added some logs, and soon the fire crackled, spreading warmth throughout the room. She bobbed a little curtsy and hurried out the door. Ciaran was too busy kissing Becca to notice the look on Alys’s face. The little maid’s dimples made deep divots in her cheeks.

  “All is well,” she whispered to the shadows in the hallway.

  Spring arrived in all her glory. Flowers nodding in the gentle breezes dotted the meadows, and lambs cavorted around their fat, wooly mothers. Cattle chewed their cud contentedly, and grain crops stretched green stalks to the warm, blue sky. Spring soon bowed out to welcome the warm days of summer.

  Becca grew larger and more cantankerous with each passing day. Although Ciaran was fascinated by the changes to her body, she felt fat and unattractive no matter how he tried to soothe her.

  Siobhan talked to him about the moods a woman endured. She even had Niall talk to him, but he still fretted. He loved her dearly, and it distressed him that she thought he might not.

  The last sennight of July grew busy as tinkers and traders arrived to set up their tents and offer their wares. Most of the clann arrived to celebrate the Festival of Light, anticipating the birth of An Taoiseac’s first child. Had Becca discovered the number of wagers being made on the gender of the child and the date of its birth, she would have been mortified...or laying bets herself. People arrived from far and wide to honor Ciaran and his lady on this Lughnasadh.

  On the first day of August, he insisted she accompany him to the green. She protested, saying it was too far to walk. He offered to get a cart or carry her himself. She demurred, saying she had nothing to wear. Siobhan appeared with a new linen gown in shimmering shades of blue and green. Becca balked just because.

  “I am as big as a house, Ciaran. I don’t want anyone to see me like this,” she grumbled.

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his lips and tongue teasing her mouth. When she finally relented a little, his tongue darted into her mouth. He kissed her long and hard, leaving them both breathless.

  She leaned against him, needing him and wanting him in much more than just a physical sense, though she couldn’t wait to renew that aspect of their relationship, too. This man was her strength and her stability. Even when she was the biggest shrew in the country, he kissed her, held her, and told her how beautiful she was.

  “I wish yee could see yerself through my eyes, cailín,” he whispered into her hair. “Yee could be as big as the castle itself, and I wouldn’t care.” He ran his hands across her body. He’d memorized every curve, every secret place, and he loved all of her. “’Tisn’t your face or your body that makes you beautiful, Becca.” He placed his hand on her head. “This,” he said. Then he touched her heart. “And this.” Both of his hands cradled her rotund abdomen. “And the miracle growing here. These are the things I love about you. These are the things that make you beautiful.”

  Tears stained her cheeks silver, and she brushed them away with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a beast,” she sniffed. “Hormones.” He looked completely perplexed at the word. “Oh, I forgot. Hormones are nasty little buggers that run amok in pregnant women’s bodies making them weepy and bitchy, and bloody well useless.”

  Ciaran smiled down at her. “So, cailín, will yee come to the fair of Lughnasadh with me?”

  She smiled back. “Aye. I’ll come.”

  She changed into the linen dress, and the little maid, Alys, brushed out her hair. With deft fingers, the girl wove the plaits and then wound the intricate braids around her head. Becca felt infinitely better by the time she joined Cia
ran in the great hall, and they strolled out to the courtyard. True to his word, he’d had a cart brought around so she wouldn’t have to walk. Eachan himself drove the cart, while Ciaran mounted his stallion.

  All was in readiness up on the hill. The bonfire stood ready to be lit, and both the priest and the Druid did a brisk business. Lughnasadh traditionally was the time of handfasting. A couple could have a trial marriage lasting a year and a day. They could return to the fair the following year to make their troth a permanent one, or they could turn their backs on each other and walk away in opposite directions, effectively divorcing.

  Ciaran did have an ulterior motive for bringing Becca to the fair. Though he had bound her to him at Samhain, he also wanted the blessing of the Church. He’d directed Eachan to take Becca directly to the priest. The cart rolled to a stop near the man in his faded brown cassock, and Ciaran dismounted. One of his guard led the stallion away.

  When she realized what was going on, she started laughing. “Talk about a shotgun wedding,” she chortled, and then realized not a soul had a clue as to what she meant. That just made her laugh harder. She wasn’t prepared when the first contraction hit. It stole her breath and doubled her over. Then her water broke, and she looked at Ciaran, her eyes wide and worried.

  He knew what was happening before she did. A huge smile split his face, and he pulled her into his arms. “’Tis time, cailín. The babe comes.”

  He asked Niall to call for his horse, but Taidhg had already reacted and led the stallion forward. Ciaran mounted and then Niall carefully picked up Becca. He handed her to his Taoiseac.

  “I’ll send Siobhan,” Niall told them. “And the midwife.” He turned on his heel and darted into the crowd to find his wife.

  Cradling her across his hard thighs, Ciaran urged the big horse back to the castle. The whole crowd stopped to watch the couple, and Becca was so embarrassed she hid her face in his shirt. Riordan was in the courtyard as they cantered in. He helped Becca down, and then took the horse from Ciaran as the big man scooped Becca into his arms and strode into keep. Up in their chamber, Ciaran set her on the bed, wondering what to do next.