Turning to face her cousin, Laoghaire shook her head, quick to disavow him of the notion. “No, he has never raised a hand against me.”
“Have ye ever raised a hand against him?” Diarmid next inquired, the question proving that he knew her all too well.
About to adamantly deny the charge, Laoghaire suddenly remembered the day at the waterfall, when she pulled a dirk on Galen. “Er, not exactly,” she hedged.
Diarmid’s tawny brows drew together. “Then, why is there so much hostility between ye and Angus?”
Suspecting that Diarmid would not cease his prying until he had an answer, Laoghaire sighed wearily before she replied, “On our wedding night, Galen discovered that . . . that I do not have a maidenhead. And because of that, he refused to bed me until after my courses. To ensure that I wasn’t pregnant with another man’s child,” she clarified.
Her revelation met with a look of visible shock on her cousin’s face, two twin splotches of color instantly appearing on Diarmid’s cheeks. As the silent seconds slipped past—and the implication of her confession took root—her cousin’s shock soon transmuted into a fierce indignation. “Do ye mean to say that Angus refused to believe ye were a virgin?”
Staring at her lap, Laoghaire desolately nodded her head. “And I am a virgin still.”
Diarmid awkwardly patted her hand. “Ye are blameless, cousin. Angus, on the other hand, has grievously insulted ye.”
“Then will ye help me to secure an annulment?” Laoghaire asked, hopeful that she could garner her cousin’s aid. “I want nothing more than to—”
“I will do no such thing! To do so would be an act of treason.” Appearing apoplectic, Diarmid reached over and grabbed hold of Laoghaire by the upper arms. “And ye will put this foolish notion far, far from yer mind. Do ye understand me?”
When she refused to answer, Diarmid gave her a hard shake.
“I understand ye full well,” Laoghaire spat at him, as she yanked herself free from his grasp. Her throat so constricted with emotion that she could barely speak, she added, “Ye don’t care about me or my happiness. Ye care only that I abide by the king’s marital decree.”
His face etched with a deep scowl, Diarmid rose to his feet. “I want ye to stay in the lesser hall while I go and speak to Angus. Since yer brother is not here, ’tis my duty to see to it that this marriage is put aright. If that does not come to pass, I will ensure yer honor is avenged.”
Laoghaire lurched to her feet and put a staying hand on her cousin’s shoulder to forestall his departure. “Do ye intend to fight Galen over this?”
With a look of steely-eyed determination, Diarmid replied, “If, after speaking to the man, he still refuses to believe ye are a virgin, I will do what I must to defend the honor of our clan.”
“The ironsmith forged the bodkins exactly as you ordered, my lord.”
“So he did,” Galen said approvingly as he picked up one of the newly made arrows and held it aloft. After carefully scrutinizing the shaft and goose fletchings, he held out his free hand, silently bidding the guard to hand him a longbow.
He’d come to the gatehouse armory ostensibly to take stock of the weapons store; but, in truth, he simply wanted a valid reason for escaping the keep. Earlier, the joy he experienced upon being informed that Laoghaire was finallyout of her sickbed had been shattered when he happened upon her in the arms of another man. However, much to his chagrin, he mistook Diarmid MacKinnon for his wife’s lover, and in a jealous rage he nearly severed the Highlander’s head from his shoulders.
Trying to put the incident from his mind, Galen nocked the arrow to the bowstring.
“Ye’re a hard man to find,” a voice boomed from the doorway.
Pulling the string to his ear, Galen turned toward the unwelcome intruder. “What are you doing here?” he growled at Diarmid MacKinnon, having had his fill of the meddlesome Scot.
Not appearing the least bit concerned that there was a deadly arrow pointed at his heart, Diarmid glanced dismissively at the longbow and said, “The bodkin on that arrow appears sharp enough to pierce a suit of mail.”
“That remains to be seen. However, I am quite certain it will pierce a bit of woolen plaid,” Galen snarled, feeling less than hospitable.
The other man’s gaze narrowed, and he placed his right hand on his sword hilt. “Is that a threat?”
Galen lowered the longbow. “Had it been, you would now be dead.”
Turning his back on the Highlander, Galen stepped over to a nearby table and set down the longbow and arrow. He then dismissed the guard with a brusque nod of the head.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he inquired mockingly, once they were alone.
Diarmid stepped forward, coming to a halt on the opposite side of the table. “I wager ye’ll find little pleasure in the conversation, for I’ve come to discuss the reason why ye have refused to consummate yer marriage to my cousin.”
“That is a topic that does not warrant discussion,” Galen informed the Highlander, the words underlined with the sharp edge of annoyance. He did not take kindly to any man telling him how to manage his affairs.
“What ye have done is a grave insult to Clan MacKinnon, one which I will personally avenge.”
