“Because the proof of it does not exist,” he said at last. “And while it vexes me greatly, I am also at fault, as I should have had you examined prior to the wedding. You are a tainted bride. I accept that. But what I will not accept is another man’s bastard child.”
“If I were to give birth in the coming months, ’twould only be the second time in history that a virgin has done so.”
“Do not mock me!” Galen bellowed. “I will not be made a cuckold.”
Grappling with the fact that she stood accused of wanton promiscuity, Laoghaire’s anger gave way to a burning pain in her chest.How can it be that I have no maidenhead?Could it have been torn asunder while riding a horse? Or had it been ripped during some other strenuous activity?
Still clutching the tattered chemise to her bosom, Laoghaire stormed over to the nearby window alcove.
Her emotions in a riotous state, she peered through the window, able to see the flicker of a torch on the tower opposite. Even though their marriage was unconsummated, she was now under Galen’s rod. And if she dared to gainsay him, he would use that rod to beat her into submission.
And none will come to my defense, as he is now my lord and master.
Laoghaire knew that in order for a marriage to be felicitous there must be devotion and trust between husband and wife. None of which she felt for Galen de Ogilvy. Secretly, she’d always longed to marry a man who would not only cherish her, but would incite within her a passion, at once wild, yet also loving.
Instead I find myself wed to a man who is as cold and deadly as a well-honed sword.
When, in the next moment, she heard Galen step toward her, Laoghaire’s spine stiffened, and she inwardly braced herself. To her surprise, he placed the fur-lined mantle upon her shoulders. Craning her head, she peered at him. Even with the scar that marred his left cheek, he was ungodly handsome. For some inexplicable reason that infuriated her all the more.
“I despise you,” she told him, her breath hitching in her throat.
“That is inconsequential to me. I only require your obedience. I have no need of your affection.” Leaning close to her—so close she could feel his chest against her backside—Galen then pressed his mouth to her ear. “And, lady wife, if you ever again raise your hand against me in anger . . . you will live to regret it.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Galen entered the dimly-lit chapel, the draft causing the torchlight to flicker erratically. Anxious to find Laoghaire—his wife having slipped out of their bedchamber before the cock crowed—he’d been informed that she was attending Lauds.
Espying a figure huddled in the corner, completely draped from head to foot in what appeared to be a voluminous red-and-black plaid blanket, Galen grunted with displeasure. Rather than dressing herself as befitted a noblewoman, his new countess looked like a Highland wench come in from the cold.And unless I am greatly mistaken, she is fast asleep,having no doubt been lulled into a somnolent state by the droning hum of Latin.
Annoyed, Galen approached his wife. Although kneeling, Laoghaire was hunched over with one shoulder propped against a wall. Peeking under the hood of her plaid garment, he hissed in a lowered voice, “Lo! You are the very picture of a devout and virtuous bride.”
Awakened from her slumbers, Laoghaire jerked gracelessly, nearly toppling over in the process. “God’s teeth! What are ye doing here?”
Rather than answer, Galen knelt beside her. While he needed to speak to his wife, the conversation could wait until after the priest concluded the Morning Office.
’Tis like a tomb in here,Galen thought in the next instant as he peered around the chapel. All of the stone walls had been plastered over and decorated with painted frescoes, many of which depicted long-faced martyrs who stared at the faithful with dour and castigating expressions. However, the image that most garnered Galen’s attention was that of the Serpent in converse with Eve. An alluring siren of sensual beauty, Eve was the embodiment of depraved womanhood. Indeed, Eve’s actions indelibly proved that women were morally weak, unable to resist the temptations of the flesh.
And because of Eve’s treachery in the Garden, Mankind had been cast out of Paradise.
Just as I was cast out of my wedding bed, Galen fumed, having been forced to spend the previous night sleeping in the adjoining wardrobe chamber. Not trusting himself to lie in the same bed with Laoghaire—worried that he might be overcome with lust for her and the consequences be damned—he ended up sleeping on a makeshift pallet on the floor.
Christ above! Laoghaire is the one who committed the sin, who did not hold fast to the virtue of chastity, yet I am the one who has been made to suffer.
And though Laoghaire convincingly played the diffident virgin prior to the damning discovery, Galen now knew it had been naught but a pretense. No doubt she’d had a vial of blood hidden away, which she would have sprinkled on the mattress when his back was turned to make him think the sheets were stained with her maiden’s blood. Had he not inserted a finger into her warm, wet chasm, he might very well have been duped.
Unable to put the memory from his mind, Galen unwillingly recalled the sense of manly pride he’d felt at the thought that he would be the first and only man to feel, to taste, to enjoy Laoghaire’s body . . . just before he discovered that she had no maidenhead.
Like the hapless Adam, I was entrapped by her wild, seductive beauty.Even now, he could not resist casting a quick sidelong glance at Laoghaire, her extravagant beauty drawing—nay,forcing—one to look upon her with admiring eye. Even bundled in the gaudy plaid, she was a sight to behold.
Relieved when the priest finally gave the concluding benediction, Galen was quick to rise to his feet. He then wordlessly wrapped a hand around Laoghaire’s upper arm and hauled his wife upright.
“Come with me,” he ordered, as he hurriedly ushered her to the door.
“I’m surprised to see ye at Lauds. Ye don’t strike me as a religious man,” Laoghaire remarked once they exited the chapel. Although she was educated—Galen having been informed that she could read and write—his new wife spoke with the distinctive burr of the Highlands, an accent that set her apart.
When they reached the inner bailey, Galen, with Laoghaire still in tow, came to a standstill. All around them were servants and villeins rushing to and fro, intent on starting their day’s labor.
“And what kind of man do I strike you as, sweetings?” he felt compelled to ask.
