Uncertain what would happen next, Laoghaire peered about the room, the lord’s bedchamber housed in a tower adjacent to the keep. Hanging on the wall behind the heavily-draped bed there was a cloth banner emblazoned with a blood-red lion, the sight of which caused Laoghaire to angrily gnash her teeth.
Not even in sleep will I be able to escape the sight of that loathsome symbol.
Exhausted from the interminably long day’s events, all she wanted to do now was close her eyes, fall asleep, and put the stressful day far, far behind her.
But I cannot do that. At least not until after the marriage vows are consummated.
That thought admittedly filled her with dread, for it meant that Galen would insert his manroot into her body and fill her with his seed. Despite being a chaste maiden, she knew the act was similar to how a stallion impregnated a mare. Hopefully, as with horses, the coupling would be of brief duration. Although unlike the stallion, a man took a woman from above, not from behind. Or so she’d been told. Regardless of how it happened, Laoghaire wondered how she was to endure such an ordeal, unnerved by the thought that she would soon suffer the most intimate intrusion imaginable.
I do not want to mate with Galen de Ogilvy, she thought worriedly, her distress beginning to crystallize into a sharp, painful ball in the pit of her stomach. The formal exchange of vows notwithstanding, for all intents and purposes Galen de Ogilvy was a stranger to her, one whom she utterly despised. She could not imagine the knave touching her body. Or worse yet kissing her lips.
Suddenly hearing the sound of a pipe and tabor, the coterie of women began to speak excitedly amongst themselves. When, a few moments later the door to the bedchamber swung wide open, Laoghaire’s chest heaved on a serrated breath as she nervously clutched the camlet bed sheet, pulling it all the way to her chin.
Led by a gaily attired minstrel—who continued to blow on his pipe and bang his drum—Galen entered the room followed by a procession of men, the last of whom was the pork-faced priest, Father Giroldus. To Laoghaire’s acute embarrassment, her cousin Diarmid was included amongst the group of male revelers. It also didn’t escape her notice that most of the men swayed drunkenly to and fro, barely able to stand upright.
Whether on account of the copious amounts of wine and ale imbibed at the feast, or because the occasion itself incited a certain lewd flagrancy, Laoghaire found herself the recipient of more than a few leering glances. Which only emphasized that Galen did not favor her with even a glance as he flung off the sable-lined black mantle that was draped around his shoulders, before handing the cloak to his squire.
In the next instant nearly every female present gasped aloud, no doubt as shocked as Laoghaire to see that Galen was attired in nothing more than a pair of linen braies. Even though his privy parts were covered by the flimsy bit of fabric, Galen was as good as naked.
Unable to look away, Laoghaire’s eyes moved over her new husband’s broad shoulders and down the length of his powerfully built torso, which was ribbed with attenuated muscles. Had she not despised him so greatly, she would have found much to admire about Galen de Ogilvy’s body, which bespoke of dangers dared and battles won. Despite standing motionless, there was a wildness about him, one that instantly put her in mind of a fierce storm lashing against a rocky shore. When Laoghaire’s gaze inadvertently slipped lower, she nearly yelped at seeing the visible bulge of flesh that strained against the front of his braies. At the sight of his blatant virility, Laoghaire’s mouth went dry.
Feeling a warm blush instantly spread across her cheeks, she tore her gaze away from him.
“I trust, milady, that your lord husband’s blade is as well-honed as his body,” one of the ladies tittered.
The riposte met with a round of coarse laughter.
“Is there any doubt that the Highland mare has just met the master who can ride her?” someone else gibed. “And while she is long of limb, I’ll wager she’ll make good bedsport.”
“Silence!” Galen commanded, while he strode toward the bed. “My ears are ringing from your bawdy clamorings.”
“My lord, given that your bride awaits you, I would have thought you’d be more concerned with another of your appendages.”
Ignoring the chortling that ensued, Galen pulled back the sheet and situated himself upon the mattress. At feeling the press of his bare shoulder against hers, Laoghaire flinched, fighting the urge to squirm as far away from him as possible. Once Galen was settled upon the mattress, his squire then pulled the sheet and coverlet over his master’s prone body.
In the tense moments that followed, Laoghaire feared that her heart, hammering against her breastbone with a thudding intensity, might suddenly burst apart. Refusing to look at the man lying beside her—lest he think she actually welcomed his presence—Laoghaire fixed her eyes on the priest, who now stood at the foot of the bed. And though she did not acknowledge Galen, she was nonetheless keenly aware of him, able to feel his heat, his strength, the power that emanated from him.God’s heart, I can even smell him.Unlike many men, who had a tangy scent about them, Galen smelled clean and fresh, Laoghaire able to detect the faint scent of pine upon his person.
With an air of self-importance, Father Giroldus dipped a sprig of basil into a wooden vessel. As he began to ponderously speak in Latin, he used the leafy sprig to sprinkle the bed coverings with holy water. Not understanding a word of what was being said, Laoghaire could only assume that he was extolling them to be fruitful and multiply.
Having blessed the marital bed, the priest handed the vessel to the squire. Then, in English, he said in a booming voice, “You are now joined in marriage, man to woman, husband to wife. This marriage is a cause for great joy,” he intoned, while he gestured with open arms to Laoghaire and Galen as they lay side by side upon the bed.
The priest’s proclamation caused Laoghaire’s eyes to burn with angry, unshed tears. Her marriage to Galen, born of a blood feud, had no trappings of joy about it. Instead, it was mired in acrimony and resentment.
My funeral will prove a more joyful occasion,she thought bitterly.
Still droning on, the priest continued and said, “God made woman for one purpose: To serve man. A wife must submit to her husband in all things, including the marriage bed. And if a wife does not fulfill the marriage debt, she condemns her soul to everlasting hell.” Then, as he made the sign of the cross, the priest peered heavenward and said, “May God Almighty, from whom all goodness flows, now unite you, one to the other.”
The blessing—which sounded more like a curse—only deepened Laoghaire’s resentment. Having sat next to Father Giroldus during the wedding feast, she knew the rotund, balding priest to be both a glutton and an inebriate. And though he was commissioned to give spiritual comfort, it somehow seemed hypocritical for someone who so freely committed at least one of the seven deadly sins to now threaten her with perdition.
Sorely tempted to leap from the bed and storm from the room, she was prevented from acting on the impulse when she suddenly caught sight of Diarmid. Standing on the far side of the bed, he brusquely shook his head while he silently mouthed the word “Prudence.”
Laoghaire took a deep breath to calm her shattered nerves. Though there was nothing she could do to mitigate the ache in her heart. For that there was no remedy.
I am nothing more than a brood mare who must submit to Galen de Ogilvy whenever he wishes to mount me.
The blessing ceremony now concluded, the priest backed away from the bed and made his way to the door. The rest of the entourage also took their leave, led from the chamber by the minstrel, who once again began to play his pipe and tabor. When the door finally closed behind the last of them, Laoghaire experienced a palpable trepidation, admittedly nervous about what would next transpire.
No sooner had the strains of music and laughter faded than Galen threw back the bed coverings. Oblivious to his state of near undress, he lunged from the bed and stormed over to a nearby table.
