More so than usual, the inner bailey was a bees’ hive of activity. Wrinkling her nose, she caught the scent of freshly baked bread gently wafting through the air; and in the near distance, she could hear the repetitive thud generated by laundresses beating wet sheets and tablecloths. On the other side of the courtyard, a pair of men was headed toward the kitchen bearing a skinned stag tethered to a long pole. Behind them followed a burly villein with a small cart laden with a butchered ox.
“’Tis the makings of a fine feast,” she murmured with an approving smile, her mood improving somewhat at the thought of all the delicacies that would later be served. Though it pained her to admit it, Galen maintained a sumptuous table, the man generous to a fault when it came to feeding the denizens of Castle Airlie.
Laoghaire’s attention was next garnered by a gang of workmen who were pushing several barrows loaded with excavation tools toward the main gatehouse. Curious, she wondered if Galen had ordered some sort of renovation work.
Not that it’s my concern, as I will soon be leaving Glenclova, she hastily reminded herself as she entered the stables.
Almost immediately she was assaulted by the familiar scents of fresh hay and wet dung. Walking past the stalls, she heard the occasional whicker, accompanied by the sound of rustling straw. Off to one side she noticed a tack room, where one of the stable boys was industriously applying goose grease to a saddle. There were other youthful villeins scattered about, all of them engaged in some activity, whether it was sweeping the stalls or feeding the horses. At the far end of the stable she saw Galen standing beside his big, black destrier, his back turned to her.
At the sight of him, Laoghaire came to an abrupt standstill. In those tense moments she suffered a bout of nervous unease, already dreading the argument to come. Her heart pounding against her breastbone, she watched as Galen spoke softly to the massive warhorse, while at the same time he gently smoothed a hand down the length of its sturdy black neck. That he could show affection for the creature astonished her, for she took him to be a man devoid of tender emotion.
Having procrastinated long enough, with dragging feet she advanced forward. Upon hearing her footfall, Galen turned his head in her direction. In that instant, when their eyes first met, Laoghaire suddenly felt the pulse beat wildly in her neck. And though she knew she must be imagining it, Galen gave her a welcoming smile before he led the destrier into a nearby stall.
The shadowy light has caused my eyes to deceive me,she told herself. Furthermore, why would the same man who treated her so cruelly the night before now deign to greet her with a smile?
When Galen emerged from the stall a few moments later, Laoghaire could see that he was garbed in a short-sleeved brown leather tunic that was belted at the waist. Beneath it he wore a linsey-woolsey undertunic with long, tightly fitted sleeves that was dyed the same color as the leather. Although his clothes were plainly fashioned, his garments emphasized the width of his shoulders, his powerful torso, his lean hips and long, muscular legs. All of which made her wish that Galen was not so virile. Or handsome. Or commanding a figure.
Why can he not be short and stout?And ugly, as well.
Braced for a horn-locking row, Laoghaire swallowed back her nervousness before she said to Galen, “Ye summoned me?”
“I did.” The taut lines that normally framed either side of Galen’s mouth relaxed as he favored her with a ghost of a smile.
Realizing that her eyes had not played her false, Laoghaire was dumbfounded by Galen’s strange and unexpected response. “And I have come,” she said, stating the obvious, if for no other reason than she was so completely bewildered.
His smile visibly broadened. “So, I see.”
“When you summoned me, I was very busy in the steward’s office and I would—”
“Do you enjoy working in the steward’s office?”
Galen’s inquiry—and the solicitous tone in which it was made—was so unexpected that Laoghaire stared at him, slack-jawed. At a loss for words, she began to notice things about Galen that she did not want to notice, such as his finely shaped lips and the intriguing gray color of his eyes. And it did not escape her notice that a wavy lock of black hair had fallen across his brow and upper cheek, lending him an almost boyish air. A ridiculous thought, surely, given that his lower jaw was lightly shadowed with dark whiskers.
Rather than answer the question put to her, Laoghaire said, “There was only a three month supply of salted meat, ale and wheat in the castle storeroom. So, I took it upon myself to have the larder doubled. In case of a siege,” she added, not wanting him to think she’d abused her position.
“Excellent,” Galen commended with an approving nod, appearing genuinely impressed with her initiative. “Many a castle has been seized, not by might, but through starvation. Well done, lady wife. No doubt, you are wondering why I invited you here,” he then remarked, abruptly changing the subject.
On the verge of informing Galen that she’d been commanded, not invited, Laoghaire held her tongue at the last. Instead, she wordlessly nodded her head.
“I wish to show you something,” Galen said, as he offered his hand to her.
For several moments Laoghaire stared at Galen’s outstretched hand, unable to discern his motives. She had come to the stable prepared for verbal combat, but in its stead she found herself being treated with great courtesy.
Wondering at his game, Laoghaire tentatively took hold of Galen’s hand and permitted him to usher her to the rear of the stable. As they rounded the corner, her eyes went wide when she caught her first glimpse of a magnificent gray jennet with a deep charcoal-colored mane.
“The mare has an amiable disposition, and I think she will be well-suited to you.” Releasing her hand, he gestured to the horse.
Belatedly realizing that Galen was gazing at her with an expectant look on his face, she gaped at him and said, “Is the jennet intended for me?”
Clearly amused by her reaction, Galen chuckled softly before he replied, “Yea, ’tis a gift.” He stepped closer to her, so close that Laoghaire could feel his warm breath on her face. “Because St. Michael is the patron saint of horses, I thought it an appropriate gift for Michaelmas. And though he is also famed for being a dragon slayer, I pray thee not to follow in his footsteps,” Galen added in a teasing voice.
Laoghaire knew that she should saysomething, if for no other reason than to thank him, but words escaped her. She didn’t know if it was the pulse beating in her ears or that her throat was suddenly thick with emotion, whatever the reason, she was rendered mute.
“Is the horse to your liking?”
Overwhelmed by his generosity, she bobbed her head up and down.
“And what of the lady’s sidesaddle?” Galen gestured to the finely worked leather, which was covered with a decorative inlay of white stag’s horn. “Does it also meet with your approval?”
