The Dragon's Arranged Mate(4)

Anabelle looked at me, her cheeks colored. In Gaelic, she said: "I vow  you the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my wine, from this day it  shall only your name I cry out in the night and into your eyes that I  smile each morning; I shall be a shield for your back as you are for  mine, nor shall a grievous word be spoken about us, for our marriage is  sacred between us and no stranger shall hear my grievance. Above and  beyond this, I will cherish and honor you through this life and into the  next."

She ended it with, "Thabharfainn fuil mo chroí duit". I'd give you the blood of my heart.

I repeated the vows, only I ended mine with, "You are blood of my blood,  and bone of my bone. I give you my body, that we two might be one. I  give you my spirit, `till our life shall be done."

And with that, it was finished. We were united.





CHAPTER TWO





The rest of that evening was a blur of toasting, music, dancing,  toasting, feasting, toasting and laughter. And more toasting. If anyone  could out-drink a Celt, it was a Scot. And it seemed as though Angus's  clan specialized in imbibing amounts of alcohol that would render most  men unconscious, or worse.

To me, the night couldn't end soon enough. Every time I glanced at my  new bride, the dragon roared within me. I felt a burning in my loins  that wasn't fire, at least not the kind of fire that singed the flesh.  Now that she was mine, body and soul, it was even more difficult to keep  my hands away from her. I imagined plunging my hands into all of that  red hair and tipping her head back, allowing me access to her lush, full  mouth. I wanted to plunge my tongue into her mouth and brush the tip  against those full lips until she quivered and begged for more.

I realized I had a throbbing erection, which I was glad was covered by  the table at which we sat. I tried to force my thoughts elsewhere so as  to keep myself from spilling seed right there, like a young man in his  sleep. I had to control myself. But for how much longer? As the night  wore on, I could see Anabelle struggling to conceal her fatigue; it had  been a long day, to be sure, and I knew that she had been awoken early  in order to prepare and perform various rituals specific to her clan. It  was already well past midnight, and the festivities didn't look to be  winding down any time soon.         

     



 

Eventually, after what seemed like the hundredth toast of the evening,  one of the men of Angus's clan stood on a table and shouted over the din  in order to be heard. Eventually the revelers in the hall fell silent.

"Today we celebrated the union     of our two countries, Ireland and bonny  Scotland," he slurred in a thick Scottish brogue. "But the union  isn't complete until the bedding has been done!"

A roar rose from the crowd, along with the sounds of stomping feet and  fists being pounded on tables. I looked at Anabelle, whose skin was now  so red with embarrassment it matched the color of her hair.

One of my guards stood at my right side, one at my left. Anabelle was  flanked as well. Our chairs were pulled away from the table, and we were  pulled to our feet. The guards took us to the chambers we were to now  share, and a band of men followed behind, cheering and jeering in turn.

When we reached our bedchamber, Anabelle fled inside to escape the  laughter behind her. I turned and raised a hand toward the men as a way  of saying farewell, and they wished me safe and pleasurable passage into  the world of marriage.



Finally, we were alone; just the two of us, as I had so longed for the  past weeks. There were no chaperones … well, save for those bedded  directly outside the door to our chamber. The entire practice of the  wedding night bedding ritual was merriment for those not involved, and  as I now realized, an embarrassment for the parties directly involved.  But I understood its importance, especially in a union     such as our  own. There had to be proof of the marriage's consummation, or else its  legitimacy could be questioned.

I saw Anabelle glance at the marriage bed and blush deeply. My heart  went out to her; if I felt embarrassed and nervous, for all the fire I  felt pulsing through my veins, I could only imagine how she felt. I had  my previous experience to fall back on. This wasn't new to me; she was  new to me, but not the act itself.

She looked around the chamber, then. It was high-ceilinged, just as  every room of the castle needed to be. It was also made of stone, as the  rest of the castle needed to be. There was no use in a wooden castle  when dragons resided within. Stone was safest.

At the far end, opposite the wooden door (the only aspect of the castle  made of wood aside from the furnishings) was a series of tall, wide,  arched doorways which led to the balcony outside the chambers. There  were no doors, the doors having been destroyed many years prior.  Instead, a series of heavy tapestries were lowered against them when the  weather grew too cold and raw for the fire blazing in the massive  hearth along the wall to the left of the door leading from the hall.

Before the blazing fire sat two settees and a plush, comfortable chair. I  had spent many an hour sitting before the fire in my own chambers, and  knew that I'd likely do the same in my marital chambers as well. I hoped  that Anabelle found things to her liking; I was sure she had been  raised in a much more comfortable, warm and inviting palace. One in  which a fire-breathing dragon would not be a likely threat.

"Would you like something to drink?" I asked, motioning to the tray full  of wine by the fire. There was a second tray beside it, on which was  spread fruit, cheese and bread. I supposed we were expected to need  sustenance throughout the course of our endeavors together on this  fateful night. Perhaps we would.

Anabelle shook her head slightly, then squared her shoulders as if  making up her mind to get a job done. She crossed the room to stand  before me, the many skirts of her gown rustling as she moved.

"I'll likely need help getting this off," she whispered. "It took three women to get me into it."

I laughed, softly. "We don't have to hurry … " I replied, then reached out  to gently touch her hair. In the flickering light of the fire, it  glowed redder than the logs which burned there.

"I want to please you," she murmured. "I've seen your eyes on me,  especially tonight as we sat at the feast. Besides, it's not only men  who feel such heat and passion for another; women are capable as well.  I've dreamed of this moment since we met … since before we met, in  honesty."

"You have?" I was surprised by her frankness. It was refreshing.

"I've heard for years how handsome you are; ever since I was a girl.  I've always known that I was meant to be yours, and you my King and  husband. I heard of your fair hair and blue eyes, and how the first of  the dragon burned within you. I'd dream at night, alone in my chambers,  of what it would be like for us to be together. I dreamed of how it  would feel when you took me in your arms, and how I'd melt into you. I  wondered if your fire would burn me," she admitted, and laughed softly.  "Children think strange things, don't they?"         

     



 

"Not so strange," I assured her. Then I examined her gown, wondering how  one would begin to remove it. It was no wonder three women had to get  her into it.

She laughed again, that tinkling little laugh that reminded me of tiny  bells. "ln the back, there are buttons." She turned and swept her red  curls over one shoulder so I could see what she meant. A long row of  tiny pearl buttons led down to the skirts. I started unfastening them,  fumbling with the small pearls.

"There must be a reason men don't typically do this," I muttered in  frustration, and she laughed again. Finally, after what felt like many  minutes, the buttons were undone and the back of the gown laid open.

She turned to face me and pulled the sleeves off her arms, one at a  time. She then shimmied slightly, until the entire mass of silk was  puddled around her. She held out her arms to me so I could help her over  the pile of fabric.

Underneath her gown she'd worn an exquisite shift crafted from what even  my uneducated eyes could tell was the finest Irish lace. It clung to  her, as the gowns I'd grown accustomed to seeing her wear had clung to  her. This one this was more sheer; I felt myself stir at the hint of the  curve of her breasts underneath the lace. I could just nearly make out  their fullness. Pink nipples stood out straight, even as she stood near  the warmth of the massive fireplace; they betrayed her excitement.

My eyes took in that lush figure, and traveled down to her full hips and  smooth legs. I could just see a hint of red fuzz at the apex of her  thighs, and my mouth went dry with desire.

I stepped toward her, and I saw the fear mixed with desire in her eyes. I  knew she wanted this; she quivered at the light touch of my hands on  her bare arms. Gooseflesh rose there, and her breasts rose and fell  rapidly with her quickened breath.