A/N: Thanks, everyone, for reviewing. I'm very happy that you are still interested in this story. I hope you will enjoy this (quicker) update!

Also, this chapter is rated M. You can probably guess why... ;)

Married

Eirian woke the next morning with a kink in her neck and her sister sitting on the edge of her bed. Muffling a pained groan, she sat up, feeling her back muscles cramp. Great, she thought. Tension always manifested itself in the muscles of her shoulders and back.

"Are you all right?" asked Tegwen, concerned.

Eirian carefully rolled her neck between her shoulders. "I think I must have slept folded in two. Go and ask Bethyn to prepare a bath, if you will."

Tegwen nodded and left her bedroom, coming back after a moment to sit on the same spot she had just vacated, casually playing with a corner of her sister's blanket.

"You're not trying to escape from your maids, are you?" inquired Eirian lightly. "They will get you anyway – they have been thoroughly instructed by the Queen."

Her sister shrugged. "No, I'm not hiding. And I like my new dress. I look forward to wearing it." She smoothened some creases in Eirian's bed sheets, avoiding looking at her.

Eirian tried to catch her eyes. "But…"

Tegwen sighed. "But… nothing at all. I just wanted to speak to you. I've barely had the chance to see you in private since… "

"Since Tristan brought you back," finished Eirian for her.

"Yes. I do understand, don't worry. I know what's been going on and I know how busy you've been."

It was so difficult for Eirian not to see Tegwen as a little girl anymore, but the change in her since she'd been abducted had never been more obvious than in the words she'd just uttered. "Tegwen," she said, kindly. "You know you can say anything to me. Spit it out."

"How can you go through with this?" her sister burst out.

Slightly taken aback, Eirian asked, "What do you mean?"

"Marrying Tristan is what I mean!" answered Tegwen, now even more agitated.

"Why do you mind?" frowned Eirian. "Has he been unkind to you?"

Tegwen rolled her eyes. "No, of course not."

To her sister, that wasn't such a matter of course, but she bit her tongue. "Then what?"

"He's been unkind to you, and you don't like him either. I've heard some of the things you've said about him. And now, now you are going to marry him? I'm not an idiot, Eirian. I know you are doing this to keep me safe. But you don't want to!"

"Tegwen…"

"I know you don't want to! And yet, you don't even pause, or blink or…or… hesitate!"

"Tegwen…"

"I don't understand how you can do this!"

"Tegwen, listen to me," said Eirian, raising her voice. "I promised I wouldn't treat you as a child anymore, so I will discuss my reasons with you."

"You will?" asked her sister, surprised.

"Yes, I will," answered Eirian, a smile tugging at her lips. "Now, first of all, yes, I am marrying Tristan to keep you safe. But it is not the only reason." As her sister elaborated on her motivations, Tegwen settled on the bed, listening attentively. Eirian was frank in her explanations, ignoring the urge to palliate the circumstances for her sister's sake.

"This is what Father would have done," finished Eirian. "This is the best for everyone."

"But not for you," replied Tegwen.

"What's best for Caer Brannum is what's best for me," countered the lady.

"That is what Father would say," admitted Tegwen grudgingly. She bit her lip. "But what if you're unhappy?"

The door to the bedroom opened. "My lady? Your bath is ready," said Bethyn.

Eirian slipped out of bed and put on a robe. She looked at her sister, who was looking back at her with the same blue eyes as her own, the eyes of their mother. A soothing, trivial reply that it would be all right was already on her lips to brush aside Tegwen's concerns, but Eirian changed her mind. "That might happen, yes. But if it does, I'll manage."

"Because you were also unhappy with Ifan," added Tegwen, her face serious. "And you managed that too."

"Yes, I managed that too."

The hot water relaxed Eirian's muscles enough for her to move without pain. She said very little as her maids laced up her gown and tugged on her hair, piling it up at the back of her head. Her gown was made of rich blue silk, embroidered with goldthread. Her seamstress had been told by the Queen not to spare any cost and she had clearly obeyed.

She breakfasted in her room with Tegwen, who looked like a young lady in her own attire and her hair in an intricate braid. Eirian hardly touched her food, which her sister noticed, but didn't comment on. After they finished, they walked to the atrium, where her guests were assembling. In a little while they would go to the garden for the ceremony. Eirian found herself engaged in small-talk, providing polite answers while her mind was miles away. Directed by her servants, the guests began to move towards the garden.

A pang of anxiety attacked her when she spotted Tristan at the other side of the atrium, speaking to a few of the other knights. They clapped him on the shoulder, before they followed the other guests, inclining their head to her as they passed her.

Eirian was beginning to feel nauseous. Tristan's face was inscrutable as he walked to her. He was wearing a black tunic, embroidered with the same blue silk and goldthread of her dress, no doubt arranged by the seamstress and the Queen. His breeches were black, and so were his boots. His dark hair, still damp, fell into his face as usual, making it even more difficult to read him.

Wordlessly, he held out his arm and she placed her hand on it, willing her fingers to stop trembling. They walked outside together, into a crowd of smiling guests. Eirian plastered something resembling a smile on her own face, though it felt so false she suspected people could tell. Tristan, of course, did not even bother.

The King himself would marry them, a great honour – and a clear sign to the lords in the kingdom. As a magistrate for Rome, Meirion had adopted the empire's official religion, Christianity, but he had also worshipped the old British gods, so as not to offend them. Eirian had asked for a priest to give his blessing to the marriage, and, like her father, had begged the goodwill of her ancestors' gods in private just before she had gone to the atrium. She was going to need all the help she could get. She had been told Tristan believed in the gods of his birth land. He hadn't made any demands about the ceremony, though.

They stood in front of the King, who, instead of beginning the ceremony, looked to his side.

Heledd, her cook, walked towards them, carrying a decorated bread, a wreath of periwinkle around it. It was a braided bread, decorated with figures of birds and flowers, the top a softly shining golden colour. It was unlike anything she had ever seen her cook make and she did not understand.

"You baked a korovai?" Tristan asked Heledd.

Heledd smiled. "As instructed by his lordship the royal advisor. Don't worry, my lord, it is made according to your traditions and it has received the proper blessings."

Eirian assumed that the royal advisor had added some things from Tristan's homeland despite the scout's lack of wishes.

"Thank you," he said and accepted the bread from her. Tristan inclined his head to his countrymen, standing nearby. "It is to be shared with the guests after the ceremony," he then told Heledd, and gave her back the bread.

After Heledd had walked away, the King asked her and Tristan to clasp hands. Her fingers intertwined with Tristan's much larger ones. The intimacy of the gesture threw her off, but she had no time to react as the King began fasting their hands together with the silk ribbon that had been used at her parents' wedding – and her first.

To her surprise the King didn't stop then. Over the ribbon he wrapped a white cloth, richly embroidered in red with foreign-looking images. She noticed Tristan looking up, and then to the side where Lancelot was standing, who shrugged with a sly smile. Tristan snorted softly, shaking his head once, before turning his attention back to the ceremony.

Eirian's voice didn't falter once when she made her vows, an effort which took a lot of strength. Tristan repeated the vows stoically and coolly, after which the priest blessed the marriage. She didn't pay much attention, simply focusing on the pattern of the cloth around her hand, trying to keep her nausea down. There were red ducks, flowers, and something she thought was a rising sun. The priest finished by making the sign of the Cross over them. The King added his own well-wishes, and then it was done. She was married.

The King gave the embroidered cloth to Tristan, and then unbound their hands, giving the ribbon to Eirian. Tristan gave her the cloth as well. "This belongs to the bride."

They faced the crowd, which began to cheer and shout out wishes for good luck, fertility, and health. Tristan's brothers-in-arms were calling out phrases in a foreign tongue, Sarmatian no doubt.

With nods and smiles Eirian accepted the congratulations, her nausea increasing tenfold. She swallowed the bile in her throat back, knowing she would not be in private for a long time. She had to see this through. An appearance to her people was next. There would be food and games the entire day and night, in honour of the marriage, but what people wanted most was to see their lady and the new lord.

It looked like the town was bursting from its seams. People from all over the valley had gathered, shouting their approval when their lord and lady appeared. Eirian waved and smiled some more while they were being showered with flowers, hoping she would not lose her meagre breakfast in front of her people. Despite the warm afternoon, it was a cold sweat that she broke into.

They walked down the main road to greet more people, and Eirian was not aware of how tightly she was gripping Tristan's arm until he frowned slightly and looked down at her. With a final nod at the gathered people, he steered her around and headed back up the hill to the villa. "Don't pass out," he growled under his breath.

"I won't," she denied. "I'm just feeling quea –" She had to take a deep breath to control a new wave of nausea.

"What's wrong?" asked Tegwen, once they were inside the villa's gates again. Many of the guests were still in the inner garden, being served refreshments. A few ladies gathered around Eirian.

"Nothing, nothing," said Eirian. "Probably just the excitement."

Tristan delivered her in the hands of the worried ladies, who sat her down inside and called for water. All Eirian really wanted was to be left alone, but she realised that wouldn't happen. After one look at the fussing women, Tristan walked away, having a cup of wine pressed in his hand almost immediately by the royal knights, who welcomed him with mischievous remarks about making his wife nervous.

A few of the ladies around Eirian heard it too and chuckled. A young daughter of one of her vassals, only a year or two older than Tegwen, said, "I would be nervous too, my lady. His lordship does cut an impressive figure."

Eirian stared at the girl in disbelief, lowering her cup of water. She wondered how the girl would take it if she told her that the thought of being married to Tristan did not make her nervous, but physically sick.

Olwen, an aunt of Eirian's late mother, patted her cousin's hand, as she told the girl who'd just spoken, "Now, now, Catrin, our lady has been married before, so she knows what to expect and has no need to be nervous. I daresay even that she is most pleased to be spending the wedding night with a husband like that."

A few of the other ladies smiled covertly at each other, but Catrin glanced at the new lord, a doubtful frown on her young face. "Well, he is a bit frightening, isn't he? And the tales they tell about him…"

"Catrin!" Olwen's chastisement lashed like a whip and the girl cringed. "Have you no shame? That is no way to speak of Caer Brannum's lord."

Why wasn't it? thought Eirian. It was true. And she was not nervous about the wedding night. She knew what would happen. She had endured it with Ifan, she would endure it with Tristan. It didn't last long and because Tristan would spend much of his time in Camelot, it wouldn't happen often anyway.

No, that wasn't what was making her sick. It was the fact that she had been married for less than an hour and her vassals were already defending him and calling him their lord.

It took a while for Eirian to recover, after which more wine was distributed to drink to the married couple. Tristan was grateful for the distraction, because for the last half hour he'd had to listen to Gawain's well-meant advice that he should try to discover something that he could please Eirian with, to avoid any unnecessary strain on the marriage. All this, of course, because Gawain obviously thought there was going to be strain enough, no need to add unnecessary strain.

"All I'm trying to say," Gawain explained exasperatedly, after the contemptuous snort of his brothers-in-arms that Ragnell had him whipped, "is that, if you want to avoid getting into constant arguments, you just – "

"If Tristan wants to avoid getting into arguments," interrupted Bors, "he should keep her mouth occupied with other things than words."

Gawain raised his eyebrows, contemplating that. "Agreed, that would also work."

Tristan thought it best not to comment. At that moment Arthur raised his cup, which fortunately diverted the knights. After Arthur's toast, Eirian asked the guests to sit down at the tables in the atrium for the wedding meal. Tristan followed her to his seat next to her and Arthur. As usual the food served was perfect and the freely flowing wine made for a merry atmosphere.

Tristan and Arthur discussed the plans for dealing with the border dispute between Vincentius and Cadell, who were on their way to Camelot at that very moment for the celebratory feast in honour of Tristan's marriage. The royal party would depart in the morning.

Beside him, Tristan noticed, Eirian ate very little and said even less, moving her food around her plate and breaking pieces of bread into tinier and tinier parts without eating them. The woman next to her tried to engage Eirian in conversation, but received nothing more than a half-hearted smile and a friendly, but very short answer.

It was unusual, to say the least. He had never seen Eirian reveal any of her feelings in public, and now it was more than obvious that something was bothering her. It was not hard to guess what it was.

After the meal, the tables were removed and there was music and dancing, and more wine. Tristan danced the obligatory dance with his bride, who stiffened when he put his hand on her waist and said nothing, keeping her eyes fixed on his shoulder.

After that, she danced with Arthur, for whom she managed to act more charmingly, Tristan observed as he led Guinevere around the floor. She looked up at him with sharp, dark eyes. "You are not speaking to each other," she commented.

Tristan averted his eyes from Eirian to look at the Queen. "There is not much to say."

"You could make an effort."

He was spared the necessity of a reply when Heledd the cook, came in carrying the korovai, which was then cut into a part for himself and Eirian, and a part that was divided amongst the guests. Eirian ate her part slowly and without appetite, even though the bread was delicious and sweetened with honey.

More toasts followed and then the music resumed. Tristan found a place a little more quiet, away from the dancers. It was an activity that came easily to him, but he did not like it, being more comfortable observing others than being in the middle of things.

Dagonet came to stand next to him, probably seeking a place away from eager female hands as well. They drank their wine in companionable silence, as they watched the crowd grow merrier and louder.

Eirian danced with Gawain and Galahad, then with Tristan's second-in-command Dinadan, who managed to coax the first laugh of the evening out of her. She was snatched from Dinadan by Lancelot, who took the opportunity to practice politics, judging from the conniving expression on both their faces. She obliged some of her vassals, after which Bors hauled her across the dance floor without any regard for the music.

It was less conspicuous than before, but Tristan still detected a certain rigidness in her. And when her female guests left in the direction of her chambers, accompanied by encouragements from the men, her face completely froze. The women would prepare her bedroom for the wedding night, adding blessings and charms.

The festivities continued, but Tristan saw Eirian motion for a new cup of wine, which she grasped tightly in her hand. Clearly, she was not looking forward to the rest of the evening.

When the women returned, led by Guinevere, the crowd broke out in raucous cheering. They gathered around him and Eirian and led them to her chambers, spewing lewd advice along the way. He was pushed through the door after Eirian, glaring at Galahad, who made a last comment of absolute vulgarity.

Tristan shut the laughing crowd out by closing the door. Eirian had crossed the room and was now standing at the window, her back as straight as a rod, a hand clasping the sill so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. He sighed quietly; this was going to be a very long night.

A thoughtful servant had placed wine and refreshments on the table. "Drink?" he asked, expecting her to decline.

"Please," answered Eirian, not turning around.

He brought a cup over to her, and she took it without looking at him. He stood beside her, looking out over the small, secluded garden at the back of the villa, cursing Lancelot to hell and back for arranging this marriage. Eirian tipped her cup back and drank deeply. Tristan quirked an eyebrow, but did not comment.

She finished the heavy red wine quickly, coughing softly behind her hand. She stared into the cup for a moment, before walking to the table and refilling it. With slight amusement, Tristan watched her. It seemed that Eirian had adopted liquid courage as a strategy for her wedding night.

He observed her as she lingered at the table, obviously reluctant to return to the window and to him. He probably wouldn't need to strengthen his resolve with wine. Eirian was a young woman, not unpleasing to the eye now that she had shed her severe mourning clothes. Tristan didn't care much for her character, but in certain circumstances he was willing to overlook that. After all, she was his wife now. He might as well take all the pleasure out of this absurd marriage he could get.

Tristan's eyes wandered over her figure as he leaned back against the window sill. Her blue dress clung to her body and left much of her neck and shoulders free. She wore her veil pushed back far on her head, dark curling strands framing her face. Her mouth was tinged red by the wine. No, Tristan thought, this part of his marital duties would not be difficult to fulfil.

She glanced covertly at him.

It prompted him to push away from the window sill and walk over to her. He placed his cup on the table and took hers out of her hand, putting it next to his. He'd rather not consummate his marriage with an unconscious wife. A bit bemused, she looked at the cups and dropped her suddenly empty hand to her side. She was keeping her face averted from him.

An uncomfortable silence was growing between them, so Tristan decided to just get it over with. He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her. A muffled sound escaped her and she pushed with both her hands against his chest. She stumbled backwards when he let go of her, eyes wide and face shocked. Whether it was shock over him daring to kiss her or shock over her own reaction, he didn't know.

Either way, thought Tristan angrily, it was more proof that this was going to be a disastrous marriage.

Eirian seemed to shrink further away from him. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "You caught me off-guard."

She was shaking, Tristan noticed, and what he saw in her face quenched any desire he might have conjured up. She was terrified. Tristan rather enjoyed seeing it in the faces of his enemies, but seeing it in the face of a woman he was supposed to make his wife really did nothing to help him along.

He stepped back. "You should get some sleep. It's been a long day."

Confusion marred her face for a moment, before it was flooded with relief. She quickly hid it behind a blank mask and nodded. With a wry smile, Tristan turned around to refill his cup. Gawain should be proud. He'd found a way to please his wife within hours after their marriage. All he had to do was stay away from her.

He glanced at the door, contemplating leaving, but rumours of their marriage not being valid would have devastating consequences. No, he was stuck here the rest of the night. What a wonderful start of his married life. Tristan entertained himself for a moment with the thought of the next sparring session between himself and Lancelot. The royal advisor was going to wish he'd never been born.

When he heard the rustle of sheets, he decided he'd shown his wife enough courtesy and turned around. Eirian had only pulled back the sheets. She was still dressed, though she had removed her slippers and veil and taken out the pins in her hair.

She looked at him unhappily. "I cannot take this dress off myself. Can you help me with the laces? I could call in the servants, but…"

Apparently she was thinking along the same lines as Tristan was. He nodded silently and strode over to her. Eirian pulled her hair over one shoulder and turned her back to him. His hands made quick work of the knots and he hooked his fingers in the laces to loosen them. The dress slid off her shoulder, drawing his eyes to its soft curve and the smooth line of her neck. Her skin was very fair and looked like silk. Tristan was not completely made of stone; his fingers itched to touch it. But he wouldn't get very far if she continued to push him away.

"Eirian," he said softly, tracing her skin along the neckline of the dress. She shivered. "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," she replied stubbornly.

"And I'm not blind."

He saw her stiffen. She looked over her shoulder, sad resignation in her eyes. "I know what people say about you. What you do to enemies, people you hate. And you hate me as well."

Gods, was that it? Was she honestly afraid of him and of what he would do to her? He knew what people said about him too, and seeing as most of it was true, he'd never been particularly bothered by it. His behaviour towards Eirian had probably reinforced the stories she'd heard about him, though he never would have guessed she'd been affected by it.

It appeared that he'd guessed wrong. "If my reputation worries you this much, why did you agree to marry me?"

"What choice did I have?" she shrugged. "Besides, your reputation is what is supposed to keep my lands safe. But it doesn't mean that I – "

"My reputation concerns the battlefield," he interrupted her. "This marriage is hardly that."

Her mocking smile mirrored his own thoughts. "I think that remains to be seen."

He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. "Then we'll see." And right now, what he wanted to see was what she hid beneath her expensive, silken gown.

She stood very still, wary and apprehensive, when he bowed his head to capture her mouth.

She tasted of the wine they had just drunk. After a while, she began to respond hesitantly, pressing her own lips more firmly against his. Carefully he traced his tongue along her bottom lip, slowly deepening the kiss when she opened her mouth for him. He could tell she was merely complying, but it was a start.

He slid his hands from her shoulders down her arms and to her waist, mindful not to grab her too tightly. In the back of his mind he realised he was treating her like a frightened virgin, which she most definitely was not, but he'd rather not see that fear of him return, so he shrugged it off.

He took his time in exploring the moist recesses of her mouth, until he felt her hands on his chest again, though this time she wasn't trying to push him away. He pulled her dress down to bare more of her shoulders, and pressed his lips against the underside of her jaw. Eirian sighed, tilting her head back.

With the help of a few little tugs, Tristan let the dress pool around her feet, leaving her only in a thin shift. He felt her tense, but continued to kiss her until she relaxed again.

He took a chance and broke their kiss to pull his tunic and shirt over his head, tossing them to the floor. Eirian's face revealed very little, but her eyes roamed over his chest, lingering on scars here and there. Carefully, she stretched out one hand and touched the most prominent one across his chest.

"Saxon," he answered the silent question.

"So many," she replied softly, letting her fingers trail along the raised tissue.

"Aye, there were many Saxons that day," he replied dryly.

She looked up to his face with a reproving look.

"Come here, Eirian," he said, wrapping his fingers around the hand that was still touching his chest. His body reacted strongly when he saw her lips parting and he leaned over for another taste, pulling her closer to him. This time she responded more readily to him, and snaked a hand around the back of his neck.

Tristan slid his hands down her back and cupped her backside, pushing her hips into his. She pulled her mouth away from his, her eyes flicking up to his. Before he could loosen his grip on her hips, though, she surprised him by resuming the kiss, angling her head and weaving her fingers through his hair, seeking out his tongue with her own. His breath left him forcefully through his nose and Tristan pressed her more strongly against him, deepening the kiss she had initiated even further.

He let his hands drift back up her body and hooked them in the loose neckline of her shift, pulling it down over her arms and hips. Eirian didn't stop him, though she held her arms in front of her chest once they were free of the shift.

Tristan pushed them away and skimmed the underside of her breasts with his fingers, teasing the sensitive skin of her ribs, before moving back and letting his thumbs draw circles over her nipples. His ministrations kept her at a small distance and he took the opportunity to take in the small waist, the generous curve of her hips and the smooth, fair thighs beneath. Thighs that he had no trouble imagining wrapped around his hips.

Eirian's breath hitched when he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The pressure inside his trousers increased even further. Claiming her mouth once again, he walked her backwards to the bed, leaning over her immediately once she sat down and covering her body with his.

He pushed his knee between her thighs, keeping most of his weight on his elbow. It had been a long time since he'd been this careful in bedding a woman, he thought idly. Slowly he let his hand glide past her breasts, to her navel and over the slight curve of her belly.

Eirian held her breath, stiffening slightly, but not so much that he deemed it necessary to stop. He slipped his finger past her folds to find the little nub that would hopefully extract more reaction than the demureness he had mostly seen, and which he thought was entirely uncharacteristic of her.

She gave a surprised gasp when his finger flicked over it and grabbed his arm. As he continued his caresses, he looked up to her face to see it twist in pleasure, but it was battling with confusion. Her grip on his arm tightened. "Wait," she said in a high-strung voice. "Wait, what are you doing?"

It was a very unexpected question, one he thought the answer to which was very obvious. He let a few possibilities cross his mind and decided on, "I am making you my wife."

Annoyance flickered in her eyes for a moment and she replied tartly, "I know that." Finally, something of the Eirian he was used to. But then she blushed. "I expected… I thought you were going… that you would have me."

He raised an eyebrow. "I am having you."

The blush spread to her neck and chest. "I meant…" She looked away from him.

It dawned on Tristan what exactly she meant. She'd been married at fourteen, still a girl. She'd had no mother to tell her about what a marriage entailed. He cleared his throat. This was not a conversation he'd expected to be having with his previously widowed wife. "Ifan never… did this?"

She was positively turning dark red now. "No."

He should have realised this, he supposed. All the rumours about Ifan indicated that he'd not had the slightest interest in his young wife, nor she in him. Ifan had probably just done his duty, sought his release, and Eirian hadn't known any better.

He didn't think her reaction was an act, but Gods, had Rhodri never – ? He cut off that thought immediately, knowing that if he voiced it now, he would doom this marriage on its first night. Rhodri was a conversation for another time.

He lowered his head and kissed her again. She sighed and slowly began to respond again, wrapping her arms around his neck. When his fingers began moving again, she gave a soft gasp, rolling her hips. Tristan pressed his lips against her collarbone, before he took her nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud.

A louder gasp was quickly swallowed halfway, before it could grow into a moan. Still so demure and held back, he thought, though now she did thread her fingers tightly in his hair, exploring the lines and ridges of his shoulders and back with the other. Tristan wanted more reaction from her. He didn't quite understand why, but his blood seethed at the idea of pulling apart the cool façade she always employed and have this woman moaning his name.

Slowly he trailed his lips down to her navel, where he could feel her muscles quivering under her warm skin. Her hips jerked involuntarily when he left a soft bite in the soft flesh beneath her navel. Tristan had to stifle a groan and he pressed a kiss against her hipbone.

When his breath ghosted over the juncture of her legs, Eirian hissed sharply in surprise and shot away from him like an arrow, kicking him in the ribs as she crawled away on the bed, drawing her legs to her chest.

"What are you doing?" she asked warily.

Seeing the confusion and apprehension on her face made him even more determined to have his way. He slid his hand around her ankle and tugged her gently but firmly towards him. He pulled her knees apart and lay between them, leaning on his elbows to kiss her. "Am I hurting you?" he asked after he'd lifted his head, making sure to roll his hips into hers.

He saw her pupils dilate before she closed her eyes, softly answering, "No."

He slid down her body again, using his weight to keep her in place. "Tristan," started Eirian nervously, propping herself up on her elbows. "Tristan, I don't think – "

Her words were lost in a choked moan when his mouth descended on her sensitive flesh. "Oh God, oh God," he heard her whisper, her upper body falling backwards onto the pillows.

Tristan closed his lips around the bundle of nerves and felt her thighs tremble around him in response. She was holding back no longer, he noted with approval, and he had to place his underarm over her belly to keep her in place, as he tasted every part of her leisurely.

He slid a finger into her, groaning with pleasure at the heat and the feel of her clenching around him. He continued to tease her with his fingers and tongue until there was nothing but sobs and moans leaving her lips. Her hips were writhing, desperate for release. Taking pity on her, Tristan pressed hard against her with his tongue and twisted and curled his fingers inside her.

Eirian stopped breathing, suddenly completely silent. Tristan felt her muscles tense as her release crashed over her, finally tearing a scream from her. At least the servants had something to gossip about, he though, pleased. Slowly she relaxed again, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

He slipped off the bed while she lay there, eyes closed and trying to regain her breath, and stepped out his boots and trousers, relieving the aching pressure on his groin. Seeing her lie there, more than ready for him, sent a renewed spike of lust down his body. Tristan put one knee on the bed, sliding his hands up the insides of her legs to accommodate him, and pulled her hips closer to him. Leaning over her, he buried himself inside her slick warmth with one thrust.

Eirian groaned, her eyes flying wide open. Despite the onslaught on his nerves, Tristan paused, giving her time to adjust. He pressed his lips against her neck, trying to breathe steadily, but his control slipped when she whispered near his ear, "Oh God, please move."

He pulled back and with a growl slammed his hips back into her. She moaned and held on to his shoulders. "Again," she panted and he complied, settling into a powerful rhythm. Her hands glided down his back to his backside, taking a firm hold.

Those hands urging him on, her gasping breath on his neck, her hips rising upwards to welcome him each time, it all sent a fiery trail down his spine, and he sped up, working towards his own much-needed release. He felt her tighten around him, and knowing she was not far behind him, he brought a hand down between their bodies to stroke her.

Her body bucked into him in response and the sound of her voice crying out his name before she came, her inner muscles squeezing him, sent Tristan over the edge as well.

He rolled off her onto his back to catch his breath, wiping his sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. He looked to the side, to where Eirian lay as he had left her, now with a hand over her eyes as her chest still heaved, and he spotted the dark mark on her neck with satisfaction. There would be no mistaking that mark tomorrow. This marriage was valid. She was his.