While the saddle was beautifully crafted, it was not the leather workmanship that Laoghaire noticed. Instead, her attention was drawn to Galen’s hand as he placed it upon the saddle. To her chagrin, she suddenly recalled how only the previous day he’d fondled her breast with that same hand.
Trying desperately to collect her scattered wits, she finally managed to say, “’Tis a lovely saddle.”
“Then, if you are amenable, perhaps we could go for a ride.”
“Together?”
“Mayhap even side-by-side,” he retorted playfully.
“But I have, um . . . never ridden sidesaddle,” she demurred, uncertain how she would even mount the jennet without getting herself twisted in a knot.
“Given that you are such an accomplished horsewoman, I am certain you will have no difficulty managing the feat,” Galen assured her. “Here. I will assist you.” He wrapped his hands around her waist.
Without thinking, Laoghaire placed her hands squarely upon Galen’s shoulders. Too late, she realized what she’d just done. Stunned by the intimacy of the moment and the close proximity of their two bodies, she gasped softly. Then, before she could even register what was happening, her feet suddenly came off the ground.
Within seconds, Laoghaire found herself situated in the saddle as she peered at the top of Galen’s head.
Glancing up at her, Galen placed the reins in her hand. “I will retrieve my horse, and we can be on our way.” That said, he turned toward a nearby stall where a saddled roan palfrey placidly awaited him.
“Wait,” she blurted, reaching down to put a staying hand upon his shoulder.
When he turned back in her direction, Laoghaire saw a flash of what appeared to be hope glimmering in Galen’s pewter-gray eyes.
A change has occurred,she realized in that instant. Although what precisely the change entailed was beyond her ken.
Nevertheless, encouraged by her husband’s rare show of emotion, she found the courage to smile and say, “Thank you, Galen.”
Galen peered at the averted face of the woman who rode beside him.She and the mare are well-matched, majestic creatures the both of them. However, unlike the jennet, his lady wife possessed a streak of wildness, one that he intended to break.
To that end, as he and Laoghaire rode through the main gatehouse, Galen remarked, “You never did tell me whether you enjoy working in the steward’s office.”
Craning her head, Laoghaire peered over at him. “Aye . . . er, I do,” she answered somewhat hesitantly. “But there are days when I stare so long at numbers that—” She left the thought unfinished, waving it away with her hand.
“Other ladies turn squinty-eyed from hours spent with their embroidery,” he teased, if for no other reason than to ensure that an awkward silence didn’t fall between them.
“I am not like other women.” With the speed of a fiery projectile being hurled from a catapult, Laoghaire’s tone turned defensive.
Determined to extinguish the contentious flame, Galen said, “And I am glad of it.”
The compliment achieved the desired effect, a girlish blush materializing on Laoghaire’s elegantly carved cheekbones.
Thus far, the wooing of his Highland bride had achieved notable results. And though Laoghaire was far from tamed, she was, for the most part, docile. Because of that Galen had complete faith that when he finally consummated their wedding vows, he would not have to look upon her tight-lipped grimace or peer into scorn-filled eyes while he plowed her woman’s body.
“Hopefully, the abacus will ensure that you don’t become too squinty-eyed,” he added, once more assuming a lighthearted tone.
Laoghaire’s brows instantly furrowed in the middle. “’Twasyouwho left the device in the steward’s office?”
“I did,” he confirmed with a nod.
“But after what happened last night—”
“I said many things last night that I deeply regret,” he interjected, not wishing to revisit the incidents of the previous day. Then, because he suspected the battle would not be won without a flanking maneuver, he said, “If, through my words or actions, I hurt you in any way, I beg your forgiveness, lady wife.” While it was not within his nature to apologize for anything—he considered amea culpato be a sign of weakness—this was a unique situation that called for an act of contrition.
“In that case, I forgive you,” Laoghaire said quietly.
And what of you, lady wife? Do you regret removing your wedding ring, an act of flagrant rebellion?
Still annoyed by her transgression, Galen’s gaze automatically dropped to Laoghaire’s bare ring finger. For the last two centuries the amethyst ring that Laoghaire so willfully spurned had adorned the finger of each and every countess of Angus. That she refused to wear it was a personal slight, as well as an insult to the House of Ogilvy.
