Although Laoghaire obeyed—parting her legs a few timorous inches—Galen required more from her. Placing a hand on each of her knees, he pried her legs wide open. For several moments he gazed upon a sight so carnal, so staggeringly beautiful, it rendered him spellbound. Hidden within a fiery burst of downy hair were folds of pink, succulent flesh.
I am the only man who will ever gaze upon this sight, he thought with manly pride.
Keeping his touch as gentle as possible, Galen slid his middle finger over Laoghaire’s slit, his heart slamming against his chest when he encountered a slick residue. Almost immediately, Laoghaire bucked as she began to verbally protest the intrusion. But given that she was pinned to the table, she could do little more than squirm restlessly while he inserted his finger into her narrow chasm.
Slowly, carefully, knowing that she was a chaste maid, Galen breached Laoghaire’s virginal channel.
God’s heart! She is so hot, so tight that I can—
In the very next instant, Galen unceremoniously pulled his finger free of her.
“How many beds have you lain upon?” he demanded to know as he lunged to his feet.
Appearing as though she’d just come out of a deep stupor, Laoghaire shook her head and said, “None save my own.”
Seized with a fierce anger, Galen braced his hands on his hips, all the while glaring at the woman sprawled before him. “Then, allow me to rephrase the question: How many men have shared your bed?”
“Again, the answer is none. And ye are a knave for daring to ask the question!”
Galen’s mouth twisted in the makings of a scornful sneer. “Oh, I dare to ask, lady wife. How else to explain that you have no maidenhead?”
As if he’d just uttered something in a foreign tongue, Laoghaire stared at him with a bewildered expression before she loudly exclaimed, “I haveneverbeen with a man!”
“Thatis as believable as a flying boar,” he jeered. “An honorable woman can be one of only three things: a virgin, a wife, or a widow. The fact that you are not any one of those three means that some Highland bastard has already had a taste of you.”
No sooner was the insult issued than Laoghaire MacKinnon’s blue eyes narrowed with a naked fury.
“You black-hearted cur!”
The shouted expletive was all the warning Galen had before his bride grabbed the nearest object at hand—a glass wine goblet—and hurled it across the room.
“How dare you sully my woman’s honor!” Laoghaire hollered at her near-naked husband as she snatched hold of the second wine goblet. This one she threw at the banner that hung above the bed. Her aim true, the vessel smashed against the red rampant lion, raining the bed with honey-colored glass.
Pushed to her limits, she wanted to scream, to rant, to pound her fists against Galen de Ogilvy’s chest and inflict upon him as much pain as possible. For hours now she’d held her emotions in check, forced to practice the virtue of prudence.
And because of it, I am now ready to burst at the lacings!
Seized with a blind rage, she next grabbed a silver candlestick. On the verge of throwing it at the knave’s head, she was thwarted in the attempt when Galen grasped hold of her chemise and, with one forceful yank, ripped the bodice to her waist, completely exposing her bare breasts.
With a shriek of outrage, Laoghaire flung the candlestick aside. She then cupped both of her breasts in her hands to cover her nakedness.
“Would ye stoop so low as to ravish yer own wife?” Laoghaire demanded to know, certain that he meant to take her by force.Why else would he rip the clothes from my body?
“Now that your hands are full, you won’t be able to hurl that candlestick at my head,” Galen rasped. His gaze held more than a hint of menace, his eyes changing color from pewter to the deep gray of gathering storm clouds. “And to answer your question, I have no intention of ravishing you. At least not this night.”
His warrior’s strength on full display, Galen de Ogilvy was a fearsome sight to behold. A towering mass of sun-bronzed muscle and attenuated sinew, he possessed no weakness that Laoghaire could discern.
Holding onto her dignity as best she could—no easy task given that her chemise was in tatters—she said, “Ye besmirched my honor with yer vile accusation. And ye dishonored my clan as well.”
“Honor!” Galen roared contemptuously.“Your family failed to mention that I would be getting another man’s leavings. Is that how the savage inhabitants of the Highlands honor the sanctity of marriage?”
Incensed by his insulting arrogance, Laoghaire held her head high. “I am the sister of the laird of Clan MacKinnon, the great-granddaughter of the Lord of the Isles, and a direct descendent of the first king of Scotland, Kenneth MacAlpin.Youon the other hand are but a lowly Norman knight, who through sheer luck inherited an earldom, even though it was not yer birthright.”
“Forsooth, lady wife, you have certainly put me in my place,” Galen sniggered. Then, with a mocking bow, he said, “I surrender to your superior bloodline. The son you give me will be a force to be reckoned with. However, I need to verify that he is indeedmyson and not some Highlander’s get. Because I have my own family honor to defend, we will not consummate the marriage until after you’ve had your monthly courses. That is the only way I can be certain.”
Falsely accused of being a liar, Laoghaire glared at him. “Why will ye not believe that I am a virgin?”
Long moments passed as Galen wordlessly returned her stare. He stood so close that Laoghaire could see the dancing flame of a nearby cresset reflected in his gray orbs.
