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without thought.
    Then warmth
exploded through her, like a thousand suns bursting into open flames, spreading
through her. She rode a wave of cresting pleasure, whimpering at its intensity.
    As the
waves continued, his fingers left. Suddenly, she found herself filled again. He
thrust once, deeply, and she yelped as the sharp pain resonated.
    Then it
quieted. And he began to move within her.
    Geoffrey
pushed in and out, slowly at first, then increased his speed. The intense
feelings of pleasure returned. Merryn brought her hands around him, running her
nails along his back, her hips rising and meeting him as each thrust grew
harder, deeper, longer.
    The ride
continued, like a galloping horse given his head, racing into the wind. Harder.
Faster. Harder. Faster.
    Then
another round of pleasure came, more fervent than the first. She clung to him,
crying, laughing, her nails digging into to him.
    Slowly, it
ended. He made a satisfied sound and collapsed atop her. She welcomed the feel
of his weight.
    He rolled,
taking her with him. They now faced one another, lying on their sides. Geoffrey
gave her a soft, long kiss and then held her close. Merryn’s cheek rested
against his chest.
    “So this is
love,” she said.
    He kissed
the top of her head.
    “This is
love,” he agreed.
    “I rather
enjoying being married.”
    He
chuckled. “I do, too, my sweet.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER 6
     
    Geoffrey
awakened and found his arms around Merryn, his hands against her stomach as she
nestled close to him. Her glorious curls spilled about them. He inhaled deeply
and caught the scent of rosemary in her hair.
    He couldn’t
believe how lucky he was to have made a love match. Unheard of in the nobility.
Some husbands and wives grew to love one another as the years passed, as they
shared their lives and children between them. Others might not find love, but
possibly contentment or respect developed between the couple.
    Not so with
him and Merryn. They’d been destined from the start. Only one night of wedded
bliss had passed, and already he didn’t know how others could survive in a
situation where love didn’t bloom from that first day. He realized that
yesterday’s ceremony hadn’t started those feelings. He’d loved Merryn since
they’d been children. He’d waited for her to grow into womanhood.
    And how
she’d blossomed.
    He thought
on their night together. How perfect a fit they were. How right everything
felt. Geoffrey thanked the Blessed Lord that He’d brought the two of them
together.
    They’d been
awake most of the night, dozing off and on between bouts of lovemaking. He’d
learned a thing or two from the French whores about what women wanted. He’d
made Merryn’s pleasure his focus.
    She, in
turn, surprised him. Once her initial shyness passed, she’d turned bold and a
tad bit aggressive. He loved seeing this new side of her and knew as they became
more comfortable with one another, that her confidence in her marital skills
would increase.
    Geoffrey
looked down on her and promised himself he’d never do anything to let this
remarkable woman go. He would walk through the fires of Hell himself in her place
to spare her from any pain or sorrow.
    That
included keeping quiet about what had happened with Barrett.
    Merryn
found the scar on his right calf as she’d explore him with her hands and tongue.
She quizzed him about the injury. He’d laughed it off as being a part of battle,
a mere scratch that never bothered him since it had healed. He did not want to
concern her with the fact that his neighbor plunged a dagger into his flesh in
their fight before the Black Prince. Geoffrey doubted Berold would make known
that his son died as an executed traitor. When the earl returned home, he
assumed Berold would simply state that Barrett died a hero in battle.
    He would
never contradict any story Berold told nor reveal what occurred. Barrett might
have been a traitor, but Geoffrey would never let