There was an hour that followed when everyone returned to their chambers to rest and dress for the evening's banquet. As the sun sank with an orange-gold glow that stained the huge room with a barbaric light, the Great Hall at Raven's Rock began to fill once more with the wedding guests, refreshed by their brief hour and hungry again.

"How long has it been since these people have eaten, Madoc?" Wynne grumbled. "It is a good thing that they are going back to their own homes tomorrow, else they deplete our stores entirely." She had removed her hunting garb and was once again attired in her wedding gown.

Madoc, who had also changed back into his wedding finery, chuckled. "It is a testimony to your prowess as a hostess, my beautiful wife," and he kissed her on the cheek.

"It is a testimony to their appetites," she replied, but she smiled as she took her place at the high board with her husband.

Wynne had planned a wonderful final banquet for the wedding guests, and judging by the enthusiasm of her guests as each dish was offered, she had done very well indeed. A dozen barrels of oysters packed in ice and seawater had been transported from the coast for the meal. They were quickly set upon and devoured. Four sides of beef packed in rock salt had been roasted to a turn and were now being carved and placed upon platters. There was a whole ox and two roe deer, as well as several hams, geese, larks, capons stuffed with dried fruit, fat ducks dripping their juices; an enormous roast boar, several large partridge pies with flaky golden crusts, the steam rising from the pastry vents rich with the scent of red wine and herbs; and a cauldron of rabbit stew flavored with carrots and shallots. There were a dozen legs of baby lamb rubbed with garlic and rosemary.

There was trout broiled in butter, lemon, and dill; salmon steamed in seawater and sprinkled with parsley; flaked cod prepared in a sauce of cream and sweet wines; prawns and mussels boiled with fennel. New lettuce had been steamed with white wine. There were bowls of tiny green peas and little boiled beets. There was fine white bread in abundance, sweet butter, soft Brie from Normandy, and several wheels of Gwer-nach's Gold. There were beer and ale, and wines both red and white.

A cake had been baked and decorated with little figures and fruits of marzipan. There were several large tarts made of dried fruits and precious spices. Both violets and rosebuds had been candied and were served with tiny sugared wafers. There were bowls of small strawberries, although Wynne could not imagine where they had been found after the generous serving of the little fruits offered earlier in the day at their picnic.

The Irish minstrels entertained them with wonderful ballads of love and songs of manly feats. There were morris dancers, and a funny little bit of a wizened man with a troupe of dogs that danced and jumped through hoops on their master's command. The guests ate until there was no more food, and drank until they could hold no more. Madoc and Wynne quietly excused themselves, for no one could leave until they did, and Wynne could see that both her grandmother and Nesta were weary. As for little Mair, she had fallen asleep in her chair, and Dewi, for all his bluster, was nodding off as well. Einion gathered up both children and took them from the hall.

Megan undressed her mistress and was dismissed. Wynne sat upon her bed brushing her long hair with slow even strokes as Madoc entered the chamber. Turning, she looked up and smiled at him. " 'Twas a fine day, my lord, but I am happy to have it over and done with."

He took her brush from her and, kneeling down, began to stroke her hair with it. "My wife," he said softly. "My beautiful wife. God, dearling! I cannot believe you are really mine!" He buried his face in dark scented hair and inhaled its subtle fragrance.

A lovely shiver ran up her spine, and Wynne twisted about to face her husband. Taking his face in her hands, she touched his lips with hers. "Aye," she murmured against his mouth. "I am yours, Madoc, but then so too are you mine, and I love you." Her lips softened and she kissed him passionately, her tongue swirling about his mouth, teasing and taunting his own tongue to do battle. Her hands left his face and tangled themselves in his own thick, dark hair. The hairbrush dropped from his hand, clattering to the floor.

Madoc pushed his face into the hollow between her sweet young breasts. He felt the steady beat of her heart beneath his lips as he pressed kisses on her soft skin. His hands, sliding beneath the mantle of her hair, moved down until they were encircling her small waist. Wynne arched her body, and Madoc's mouth found the sentient little nipple of a breast. Slowly he suckled on the tender flesh, drawing forth the sweetness first from one nipple and then the other until she began to moan softly in his embrace.

His tongue tormented her sensitive nipples, flicking swiftly back and forth as she threaded her fingers through his hair with growing urgency. His lips moved away from her now-swollen breasts and down her taut torso. Wynne shivered again, and her smooth skin was instantly embellished with a tapestry of tiny prickles. She squirmed and a small giggle escaped her.

"That tickles, Madoc!" she protested. She was beginning to feel hot with her desire for him.

"And we both know how ticklish you are," he responded, looking at her with a deceptively bland stare.

He reached for her, but Wynne was quicker and scrambled across their great bed. "Hah, my lord!" she mocked him. "You must be faster than that to catch me!"

He dove at her, and she squealed in sham terror as he grabbed out to imprison her. Together they rolled about their marriage bed like two young puppies, his fingers tickling her and her fingers tickling him. Finally weak with laughter, Madoc and Wynne collapsed side by side, wheezing and gasping for breath. When at last she felt the strength returning into her limbs, Wynne took the initiative, surprising Madoc by straddling him. Giving him a seductive smile, she tightened her thighs about his torso. Reaching up, she began to fondle her breasts, her tongue running swiftly over her lips. She looked down, sloe-eyed, into his face.

"Do you want me as much as I want you?" she demanded.

"Aye," he drawled softly and slowly, a single finger reaching up to trail down the valley between her breasts, down her belly, to worm its way between her nether lips. For a moment his finger rested atop her little love jewel, which he had found with unerring aim. Then he began to rub it with gentle insistence. "I want you very, very much, my beautiful bride."

A shudder ran through Wynne as he brought her to her first pleasure, and weakness coursed through her veins like hot wine. She wanted so to control the situation, she thought, but she had not yet learned how. All she desired right now was to have him take her, and she sighed gustily.

He smiled up at her and then, with deliberately languid movements, he began to smooth the palms of his hands up her body from her belly to her breasts. His hands moved in gentle little circles, caressing her lightly, stroking the fires of her desire. "You are so fair," he told her, and he fondled her breasts, squeezing them delicately, as with half-closed eyes she began to make whimpering noises in the back of her throat; her hips moving against him in jerking little motions.

"I want-" she began, and he placed warning fingers over her lips.

"Not yet, dearling," he said low.

"I want you!" she insisted and, leaning forward, kissed him passionately.

"I want you," he responded, and rolled her over onto her back, "but it is too soon, Wynne. Let us enjoy loving one another before the final culmination."

Wynne turned onto her side and, reaching out, she stroked him, reveling in the sensation of his body beneath her hand. He was a tall man, but unlike Rhys, Madoc was not as large-boned. Neither could he be called delicate, she thought. There was strength in him that belied his medium-boned frame. And his skin. It was so soft for a man. Especially a man whose appearance was that of an ancient Celtic warrior. She could feel the muscles in his shoulder and his arm, and, unable to help herself, she leaned over and began to lick his skin, pushing him onto his back. He groaned with pleasure as her little pointed tongue moved up his torso from his belly and encircled the nipples on his chest. There was a faintly salty taste to his skin that was not unpleasing.

Her long dark hair spread out over her shoulders and back and buttocks like a black silk mantle. He stroked her head, his whole body aquiver with her lovemaking. She nipped playfully at his shoulder and his throat; her little love bites followed almost immediately by a quick kiss and then the warm sweep of her tongue. Wynne's head began to move lower again on his torso, her tongue swirling over his sensitive skin, and he groaned again.

His manhood loomed ahead of her, stiff and straight. Wynne's fingers closed about it, feeling the life pulsing and coursing through the throbbing flesh. He had loved her with his tongue. Dare she do the same to him? Boldly she leaned forward and touched the tip of his manhood with the point of her tongue. Madoc gasped sharply. Her tongue encircled the ruby head of it with a warm and enticing motion. Losing her grip on him, she barely supported his lance within her hand as, moving closer to him, she licked the length of him with slow even strokes. He shuddered and then his body jerked violently with surprise as Wynne took him in her mouth and began to draw upon him until he feared his juices would burst forth.

Reaching down with his hand, he locked his fingers in her hair and gently pulled her away. "Dearling," he managed to gasp, "you will unman me and waste my seed."