“Open your mouth,” Galen murmured.
When she did so, Laoghaire was shocked to feel his tongue thrust between her teeth, filling her mouth. She instinctively shied away . . . only to entwine her tongue with his when she realized it made for an indescribable pleasure, one that aroused her greatly. That pleasure intensified when she suddenly felt a damp hand cup her breast. Without thinking, she brazenly pressed herself more fully against Galen’s palm, and a shudder coursed through her at feeling the firm press of his hand. She then felt Galen tug at the laces on the front of her kirtle. Before she could comprehend what was happening, his hand slipped beneath her linen chemise and his thumb strummed across the pebbled knot of her nipple.
God’s heart!
The pleasure was so keenly wrought, Laoghaire whimpered. Her body felt hot and achy, and her heart pounded against her breastbone like a minstrel’s tabor. All the while, her right hand kept moving up and down Galen’s hardened rod, water churning in the wake of that rhythmic motion.
“Sweet Jesu,” Galen groaned into her mouth, just before he yanked his lips away from hers and pulled his hand out of her bodice.
Firmly clasping her head between his hands, he pressed his forehead against hers. In the next instant, his entire body shuddered forcibly and Laoghaire felt his manroot jerk against her curled fist. Again, Galen groaned, but this time the sound was deeper, harsher. Then, suddenly, his body went very still.
Laoghaire’s breath caught in her throat and she had to remind herself to exhale.
Belatedly realizing that he’d just expelled his seed, Laoghaire removed her hand from Galen’s manroot.
Still clasping her head between his hands, Galen kissed her tenderly before he released his hold on her and scooted to the other side of the tub. As he did so, Laoghaire pulled her hand from the water.
“Thank you, lady wife.” His words of gratitude were accompanied with a warm smile.
Her spirits buoyed, Laoghaire shyly returned his smile. “I will immediately notify my family of the annulment. When my cousin Diarmid returns from Perth, he can—”
“I agreed to no such thing,” Galen interjected.
Devastated, she searched his face, but the cloud of passion had completely vanished. As had all traces of affection.
I just lost the bout. The power is his once more.
Folding his arms over his chest, Galen’s gaze narrowed. “In fact, when you saw that I was in a weakened state, you tried to use that to your advantage.”
Laoghaire saw no profit in refuting the accusation, well aware there was more than a kernel of truth in it. “You may have spilled your seed, but I am still your wife in name only,” she argued, refusing to be cowed by his fierce scowl. “Agree to the annulment, Galen . . . I beg you.”
“I will not put this marriage asunder,” Galen rasped, his scowl deepening. “Nor will you ever again broach the subject.”
“Or what?” she bristled, unable to rein in her wayward emotions. “Will ye lock me in the dungeon?”
His gray eyes darkened with a mercurial gleam. “Don’t tempt me, lady wife.”
Still seated on the stool, Laoghaire tightened the laces on her gaping bodice, completely disheartened. Galen had so thoroughly crushed her hopes of an annulment that the sting of bitter tears now pricked her eyes.
’Tis hard to believe that only moments ago the knave begged me for the pleasure of a single kiss.
As though he could read her thoughts, Galen said, “I asked you only for a kiss. I never agreed to an annulment, as well you know. You are my wife, Laoghaire. And you shall remain my wife until the day you die. Now hand me a drying cloth,” he ordered, gesturing to the neatly folded stack of cloths that had been placed on a nearby chest.
Incensed by Galen’s insufferable arrogance, Laoghaire lurched to her feet, the abrupt motion causing the stool to tumble onto its side. For several moments she glared at him through a red haze, her fury so great it enlivened her every thought.
And now her every action.
Spinning on her heel, Laoghaire rushed toward the massive bed. Galvanized by a ferocity that was unlike any she’d ever before experienced, she grabbed hold of the black wall hanging with the rampant red lion. Sick to the back teeth of seeing the standard, with a muttered oath she yanked it from the wall. Bunching the fabric in her arms, she returned to the tub.
“Dry yerself with that!” she yelled at Galen, flinging the standard into the tub. “And I don’t want thatthing—” she pointedan accusing finger at his groin—“in me! Ever!”
Galen’s face turned red with outrage as he rose from the tub, water sluicing off his naked body. “When I get my hands on you, wench, you will rue your actions this day!”
Suddenly worried what might happen if he did get a hold of her, Laoghaire sprinted toward the door.
“Come back here!”
“Ye can rot!” Laoghaire hollered over her shoulder as she stormed from the bedchamber.
