Dame Winifred Guibourg stood in the shadows, flabbergasted to see the countess, tears streaming down her cheeks, charge up the stairs that led to the battlements. However, she’d been even more astounded by what she overheard through the bedchamber door just prior to that, Angus and the Highland harridan having been in the midst of a belligerent row.
’Tis obvious that theirs is not a match made in heaven.
Indeed, from what Winifred had gleaned, ’twas no marriage at all, having yet to be consummated. Moreover, the Celtic giant was desperate to have their vows annulled.
There is hope yet for Melisande!
Hearing the door to the battlements swing open, only to slam shut in the next second, Winifred smiled, elated with the unexpected turn of events. She knew that an unconsummated marriage had no validity in the eyes of the Church.
“And I daresay King Robert would be none too pleased,” she murmured softly.
All of which meant the earl could legally cast aside the Highland bitch, freeing him to marry the woman he was to have originally wed.
Mydaughter was to have become the countess.Not that Celtic creature who was more pagan than Christian.
But in order for the plan to work, she knew that Melisande would have to be nudged, her daughter far too demure. In addition to charming Angus, she would have to make him see her with new eyes. Most importantly, Melisande would have to make herself sexually available to the randy earl.
I’ve never known a man who didn’t think with his prick, Galen de Ogilvy being no exception.
Again, Winifred peered at the circular staircase, the flickering flame of a nearby torch casting strange, demonic-like shapes onto the curved stone wall.
Yea, I will see to it that my daughter takes her rightful place at the earl’s side.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“The devil take ye, Galen de Ogilvy!”
Flinging open the door that led to the battlements above the keep, Laoghaire drew in a ragged breath. Determined to escape Galen’s clutches, she’d run up the circular staircase as fast as she could. There was no doubt in her mind that after what transpired between them in their bedchamber, Galen would go on the rampage.
And though she willed it otherwise, an unwanted image of her husband, in all his naked glory, with water dripping from his bronzed, muscular body, flashed across her mind’s eye.
Have I ever set my gaze upon so brawny and handsome a warrior?
Laoghaire flattened her hands against a stone merlon and tightly closed her eyes, desperate to purge Galen from her thoughts. But instead she found herself recalling how he looked in the throes of passion, the intensity and power of that moment having affected her deeply.
Had Galen asked to rut on me, I would have willingly—nay, gladly—consented, she thought bleakly, furious that she’d been so moved by the passionate interlude. Despite having cleverly tricked her into kissing him, it had proved an utterly sublime experience.
’Twas a guilty pleasure, to be certain. Particularly since I have no intention of staying married to the knave.
Struggling against what she perceived as a flaw in her character, Laoghaire was confounded as to why she was so attracted to Galen. Only days ago she could hardly stand the sight of him.
Am I so shallow that it took only a few gifts and several beguiling smiles to soften my heart?
Desolate at the thought, Laoghaire walked to the end of the walkway and peered at the loch that was situated below the bluffs to the rear of the castle. Gray clouds hung low in the sky, the shades of eventide marked by a strong westerly wind that churned the water below, whipping up frothy whitecaps in its wake. A storm brewed menacingly on the near horizon, one that threatened to inundate the surrounding countryside. To heighten the dark and foreboding scene, the winds were laced with a bone-chilling dampness. Too late, Laoghaire wished that she’d brought a mantle with her.
’Tis a perfect accompaniment to my turbulent humors.And though she recognized it as such, she did not like being consumed by rage, as it tilted her world on its side. Even more distressing, within her fury there lurked an underlying fear, Laoghaire terrified that she was now tethered to the place.
This colossus of stone and mortar. This prison.
No!
Though she willed it otherwise, Laoghaire’s eyes filled with tears.
Wedging herself between two merlons, she peered at the imposing landscape through watery eyes. Homesick, she found herself yearning for a glimpse of blue sea and to hear the squall of gulls in the distance. The knowledge that her beloved misty isle was so far distant intensified her heartache.
“I would give anything to return to the land of my birth,” she murmured, worried that the longer she stayed at Castle Airlie, the more her resistance to Galen would weaken.
I am tired of doing battle with him, she acknowledged, even as she worriedly peered over her shoulder at the wooden door at the end of the walkway. Galen de Ogilvy was such a fierce warrior, she’d wager he did battle even in his dreams, his heart as dark as a moonless night.
