Tournament of Hearts (17 page)

Isobel cried out
as he entered her.

Pleasure exploded
within Isobel and she moaned loudly as Tristan’s cock stretched her to the
limit.  The sensation of fullness was overwhelming, just beyond the brink of
pain and yet so utterly pleasurable.

Tristan grabbed
Isobel’s hips and withdrew himself from her tight sheath, growling with
pleasure as he drove into her again.  He taught her the rhythm of their
lovemaking by guiding her hips, showing her how to move against him so that
they might both maximize their pleasure.

Isobel’s hands
were everywhere.  She grasped madly at the sheets, fisting them in her hands as
the frantic nature of their lovemaking overtook her.  She felt a delicious
warming throughout her body as her husband thrust into her again and again. 
She felt her climax beginning to build.

Feeling her sheath
tighten around his cock, Tristan slid his fingers between Isobel’s thighs.  He
found her clitoris immediately and stroked it, flicking it expertly with the
pad of his finger as he pumped into Isobel.  He fought against his own release
so that he might pleasure her completely first.  Withdrawing the length of his
cock and then plunging into her, he felt the first wave of her orgasm let loose.

“Tristan!” Isobel
screamed as she surrendered to the throes of her orgasm.  Pleasure overtook her
body and she came undone around her husband, her body trembling with the power
of her release.  Her arm reached back and she squeezed Tristan’s shoulder as
her orgasm racked her body, rendering her completely satiated.

Tristan groaned
and removed her hand, wincing as the pain reverberated through his body. 
Interlacing his fingers with Isobel’s, he drove into her once more and then
spilled his seed deep inside of her.  His body shuddered with the power of his
release.

Tristan rested his
cheek against Isobel’s.  His breathing was ragged.  Allowing both of their
bodies a moment to recover, he remained inside of his wife, enjoying the
feeling of her surrounding him.  He kissed her eyelid and then nipped playfully
at her neck.

“Lord how I missed
ye, Wife,” he whispered as he brushed his lips over Isobel’s.

Isobel smiled
against his mouth.  She was so happy to welcome her husband home.

“You’re hurt,
love,” Isobel said, her voice ringing with concern.  She spun in Tristan’s arms
and when she saw the gash on his shoulder, she gasped and brought her hand
reflexively to cover her mouth.  In the throes of her passion, she had just
squeezed Tristan’s shoulder, right where the wound was.  The pain that she had
rendered him must have been agonizing.

“I’m so sorry, I
had no idea-

“It’s little more
than a scratch, love.  Quit fashing over it and come here,” he said as he
gathered Isobel against his chest.

“That is much more
than a scratch, Tristan!” Isobel bristled.  “As soon as I’ve finished welcoming
you home, I intend to clean it thoroughly, whether it pleases you or not.  It
is my business to
fash
over you, Husband,” Isobel said as she snuggled
against Tristan’s chest.

“If it pleases you
to do so, then fash away.  I’d let you do about anything to me right now,”
Tristan said as he smiled contently into Isobel’s hair.  Bathing in the
afterglow of making love to his wife was all he wanted to do at present.  And
then he might just make love to Isobel again before he allowed her to fuss over
the wound.  Truth be told, he liked that Isobel was fussing over him, no matter
that her fussing was unnecessary.  Her concern showed how deeply she cared for
him.

Isobel rested her
chin on Tristan’s chest and admired her brave warrior.  She trailed her fingers
over his pectoral muscles as she took stock of his wound.  She flattened her
cheek against his chest and delighted in the steady thumping of her husband’s
heart.

“Do ye hear that?”
Tristan whispered as he threaded his fingers languidly through Isobel’s hair.

“Hear what?”
Isobel asked as she rose up to look at Tristan.

“The beating of my
heart,” he said softly.  “It beats for you,
a run mo chroi
.”

Isobel smiled and
rested her ear back against Tristan’s chest.  She closed her eyes and relished
the beating of her lover’s heart.

“I do not believe
that it beats just for me,” Isobel said as the corner of her mouth turned up
into a content smile.

 “Aye, lass.  It
does!,” Tristan refuted.  “You’ve had it in your care since the moment you
first walked into my shop,” he said sincerely. 

Isobel smiled
softly as she rose up and admired her husband.  Her hair cascaded over his
chest and she placed her palm lovingly over his heart.

“Then I shall
endeavor to care for your heart until the last breath leaves my body.  I love
you, blacksmith” Isobel whispered as she lowered her lips and kissed the skin
atop Tristan’s rapidly beating heart.

Tristan closed his
eyes and shuddered.  Isobel’s word overwhelmed his senses and filled his soul. 

“I love you too,
mo
sonuachar
,” he whispered as he drew Isobel in for a tender kiss.  Tristan
kissed his wife with unabashed joy, for they had both won.

Victory was sweet.

There had been two
winners in the tournament of hearts.

..oo     
Epilogue     oo..

“Where is my
wife?” Tristan thundered as he burst into the great hall. 

Hearing his
booming voice, Eleanor ran down the stone steps towards her son.  She could see
immediately the worry ingrained on her son’s handsome face.

“She is well,
sweetheart,” Eleanor assured as she took her son’s arm and began leading him up
the steps towards Isobel’s chamber.  “Her pains began this morning after you
left.  Fear not, everything is progressing just as it should.  She’s fighting
through her contractions and…”

“Has she asked for
me?” Tristan asked abruptly, cutting off his mother’s words.  He took the steps
two at a time, causing her to run up the stairs to keep up with him.

“She has asked for
you non-stop,” Eleanor said, smiling when she saw that this fact pleased her
son.  “It should not be much longer, her waters have broken and usually that
means that the babe is well on its way.  You should be able to see her soon.”

Tristan shook his
head.  Isobel’s blood-curdling scream from inside the chamber iced the blood in
his veins.  Child birth was no small matter and hearing Isobel’s scream had
nearly stopped his heart.

“I will see her
now!” he commanded as he stalked towards the chamber door and pulled it open.

“Tristan!  This is
woman’s work…it would be most improper for you…” Eleanor stammered as she
chased after her son.

The midwife
attending Isobel gasped when she saw Tristan enter the chamber.  One of the
attending maids dropped a basin of water, which clattered noisily against the
flagstone floor, sending water splashing across the room.  Eleanor froze in the
doorway, knowing that her words would be futile against keeping Tristan away
from his wife.

“Tristan!” Isobel
screamed, her face beaming with joy as she looked upon her husband.  “I’m so
glad that you’re here!” she said as she reached out her hand towards her
husband.

He was at her side
in an instant, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles.

“Are you well,
love?” he asked as he squeezed her hand gently and reached up to brush her
blonde curls away from her face.  She lay against the massive headboard,
supported by a mountain of pillows.  Tristan’s heart constricted in his chest
as he looked upon her.  Never had his wife looked more beautiful than she did
at this moment.

“You must go,
milord,” The midwife said nervously.  “This is no place for a man, and I must
insist…”

“No!” Isobel said
defiantly as she squeezed her husband’s hand.  She felt the first wave of a
contraction clenching her belly and she wanted nothing more than to have
Tristan, her rock and protector by her side to help her through the pains of
her labor.

“Hush, love.  I’m
here,” Tristan soothed as he squeezed Isobel’s hand and rested his hand on her
forehead.  “That’s my brave, girl,” he coaxed as he watched Isobel fight the
pain of her contraction.

“I must insist,
milord.  The babe is close and you really must not see…”

“My wife wishes me
to stay,” Tristan said with authority as he glowered at the midwife.  “And
there is nothing here to see that I have not seen already.  How do you think my
wife finds herself in this condition?” he asked with irritation.

Isobel’s scream
set his blood on fire.  He turned his attention back to his wife.  If the
midwife wanted him to leave now, to leave when Isobel needed him the most, she
would have to move him herself.

“I’m right here,
love.  You are so brave.  Fight through it, it will be over soon,” he reassured
as he leaned over his wife and whispered honeyed words into her ear.

Tristan’s heart
was secretly gripped with fear.  He shielded his emotions so that Isobel would
not see the terror that resided in his heart.

He could not
bear to lose her.

Isobel’s breathing
was ragged.  Her face was flushed with color from the strain of her exertion. 
She looked into Tristan’s eyes, feeling stronger just by his presence next to
her.  “Stay,” she said, her voice raspy as she squeezed his hand.

Tristan leaned
over her and kissed her forehead. 

“I’m here, love. 
We will get through this together.”

Isobel collapsed
against the pillows, weary from the overwhelming pain of her labor
contractions.

“How long have you
been laboring, love?” Tristan asked, his voice ridden with concern.

“Most of the day. 
I’m so tired, Tristan,” she confessed as tears welled in her blue eyes.  “I
worry that the baby might be stuck, or that I will not have enough strength to
push him out…” Isobel stammered as the tears overflowed the rims of her eyes.

Reaching up to
brush her tears away with his thumb, Tristan felt renewed fear bloom up within
him.  Isobel never admitted defeat.  It pained him greatly to hear that she was
exhausted.  Women died in childbirth far too frequently when they were too
exhausted to birth their babies.

Another
contraction gripped Isobel and she cried out with pain.  Her beautiful face was
twisted with agony.  “Help me Tristan!  I do not want to die!” she screamed,
her terror breaking Tristan’s heart.

“Is there nothing
that you can do for her?” he asked helplessly as he looked over his shoulder at
the mid wife.

“She is very close
now, milord.  Most women think that they will die at this point,” the midwife
said softly, her words meant to assure Tristan that everything was progressing
as it should.  “She should be ready to push soon and God willing, she will have
enough strength remaining to push the baby out.”

“Please don’t let
me die, Tristan,” Isobel begged, her bravery evaporating in the midst of her
pain.

“You will not die,
Bella.  I forbid it,” Tristan said harshly.  The tone of his voice actually
convinced Isobel that he would not let her die.  “We will do this together. 
I’ll help you, love.”

Taking control of
the situation, Tristan stood and rucked up his linen shirt, caring not for the
modesty of the midwife and her maids. 

“Milord, you
simply cannot…” the midwife said in horror when she realized what Tristan had
made up his mind to do.

Shooting the
midwife a glare that dared her to defy him, Tristan clamored up onto the giant
bed and situated himself behind his wife so that her back rested against his
bare chest and her body rested between his legs.  Isobel relaxed at once,
melting into the comfort of Tristan’s strong arms.

He kissed her
flushed cheek.  “As I said, love.  We’ll do this together.”

“I love you so
much, Tristan,” Isobel said weakly as she allowed her head to loll back against
Tristan’s muscular shoulder.  She felt as though she had been enveloped with a
warm blanket.  She could actually feel Tristan’s strength bolstering her,
flowing into her weakened limbs.  They would do this together. Shaking her head
in disbelief, the midwife lifted the bed sheets and was surprised to see the
baby’s head crowning.  Tristan’s presence had calmed his wife and the mere fact
that she had relaxed had eased the babe into position.

“With the next
contraction, bring your knees up and push out your baby,” the midwife
instructed, unable to stifle a smile as she watched the young couple lying on
the bed.  It was clear that they were madly in love and the midwife suddenly
wondered exactly why men had been shut out of birthing chambers.

Isobel moaned as
the first wave of her contraction tightened around her belly, shooting dizzying
pain up her spine.

“You can do this
love.  You are so brave and strong,” Tristan whispered lovingly into his wife’s
damp hair.  He leaned forward and grabbed underneath Isobel’s knees, taking one
of her thighs into each of his massive hands.  Her legs trembled in his hands,
her muscles spent from exhaustion.  He knew that Isobel was mustering every
ounce of strength that she could find.  “Push out our baby, love,” he coaxed as
he helped Isobel position her legs.

Garnering strength
from Tristan’s encouraging words, Isobel bore down and pushed.  She gritted her
teeth together and pushed with all of her might.

“That’s it!  That
is the way!” the midwife said enthusiastically as she watched the baby drop
down.  “A few more like that and you shall see your baby!”

“Well done,
Bella,” Tristan praised.  His muscles were tense.  Never before had he felt
more helpless.  He wanted to take away Isobel’s pain, bear it for her himself. 

“Watching you
right now makes me love you even more,” Tristan whispered as he kissed Isobel’s
temple.  “You are so brave, love.”