Ivar didn’t stop. His thrusts turned erratic, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release.
“Och, Matilda,” His voice broke, his manhood swelling inside her before he buried himself to the hilt, his release spilling into her in hot, thick pulses. She could feel him, deep and endless, his body shuddering above hers as he emptied himself into her.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Ivar’s weight pressed her into the furs, his manhood still twitching inside her, his breath coming in ragged gasps against her neck. She could feel him dripping out of her, the sticky heat of it between her thighs. Her hands stroked down his back, her touch gentling as his breathing slowed.
He lifted his head, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his gaze roaming over her face like he was committing every detail to memory.
“I love ye,” he said, his voice rough. “More than the sky, more than the sea.”
Matilda cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over the stubble on his cheeks. “And I love ye,” she whispered. “Always.”
He rolled to the side, pulling her with him, her body still joined to his.
The fire had burned low, the chamber cool around them, but she didn’t feel the chill. Not with his arms around her, his manhood still inside her. She pressed a kiss to his chest, over the steady beat of his heart, and let the silence wrap around them, thick and sweet as honey.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
He made the announcement at the morning meal, before the elders had finished their bread.
"We shall hold a gathering, here at the keep" Ivar said.
His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a jagged edge that cut through the morning clatter of trenchers and spoons.
"Five days from now. Castle grounds, open tae the island, with the royal observers present and invited tae stand as witnesses." He set down his pewter cup with a definitivethudthat echoed against the stone. "We present the evidence against Callum publicly, before the Crown's own men, and we let the documents speak."
The hall went tomb-quiet. A piece of bread stopped halfway to Bronn’s mouth.
Then Aldric spoke, his voice tight. "That's reckless, me laird."
"Is it?" Ivar didn't blink. He sat with a predator’s stillness.
"We're inviting the Crown's scrutiny at the exact moment we're least positioned tae withstand it. If anything goes wrong, it’ll be trouble."
"Things have been going wrong," Ivar interrupted, his tone a low, dangerous vibration, "in private, and it's gotten us a royal decree and a keep full of suspicion. I'm done managing this quietly."
He looked along the table, his gaze pinning each man in turn. "Callum has been feeding rumor because rumor lives in shadow. We bring it into the light. All of it. The documents, the seals, the payment chain, in front of witnesses the Crown cannae dismiss."
"And if he moves against us at the gathering?" Bronn asked.
There was no malice in the question, only the weary pragmatism of a man who had seen too many ambushes.
"Then he daes it in front of those same witnesses," Ivar said. A grim, sharp smile touched his mouth. "Which is the last position a man who's been working in shadows wants tae find himself in."
Bronn looked at the scarred wood of the table. He nodded slowly. "It could work," he said, the admission sounding like a heavy stone being moved. "If the documents are as clean as Torvald says."
"They're clean," Torvald interjected from the end of the table, his arms crossed over his chest.
More silence followed. Aldric looked like a man with a dozen objections clogging his throat, but the sheer force of Ivar’s resolve forced him to swallow them.
"Preparations begin today," Ivar commanded, rising from his chair. "I want the harbor path cleared and lanterns strung by tomorrow evening. Ketil, I need the watch doubled on every approach road, quietly. Nothing that reads as military preparation to outside eyes. Torvald, the documents go under lock until the morning of the gathering, and only ye and I hold the key." He looked around the table, his presence filling the hall. "Questions?"
Nobody spoke.
"Good."
He left them to it, his cloak snapping behind him like a challenge.
The morning was a blur of focused friction.