Standing just inside the entry, Galen watched as Laoghaire, completely unaware of his presence, stared at the roughhewn walls; upon which there was a surfeit of charcoal drawings and carved images. While the figures and symbols harkened to some ancient tribe that likely used the cavern as a sanctuary, it was not the pagan artwork that garnered Galen’s attention. His gaze was focused on the woman herself. Spellbound, he stared at Laoghaire’s unbound tresses, the glorious long strands creating a fiery veil about her body.
For the six days just passed, he’d kept nightly vigil at Laoghaire’s side. During that time, her condition had deteriorated to such an extent that more than once he feared she’d drawn her last ragged breath. And though a healer had been summoned, Galen refused to allow the man to apply leeches in order to draw out the excess of ill humors. Given her weakened state, Galen had been gravely concerned that the loss of blood might prove deadly. Ultimately, it was Coira’s extensive knowledge of medicinal herbs that reduced Laoghaire’s fever and cleared her lungs.
Still standing in the shadows near the entrance, he continued to watch Laoghaire. The need to touch her soon grew so powerful that his hands began to tremble, Galen desperate to feel her silky tresses caress his naked body as he kissed her breasts, her lips, the moist slit between her legs. But more than anything else, he wanted those long, beautiful legs to embrace him while he buried his face between her hips and pleasured her with his tongue, and brought her to a shuddering release. Then, and only then, would he take his own pleasure.
Like the proverbial moth drawn to the flickering flame, Galen stepped forward, needing to lessen the distance between them.
When a rock suddenly crunched under his boot heel, Laoghaire spun around. Upon seeing him, she gasped softly.
“There is no need to be alarmed,” Galen made haste to tell her, coming to a halt an arm’s length from where she stood.
Despite the assurance, Laoghaire’s entire body went rigid. Had it not been for the grotto wall directly at her backside, Galen suspected she would have physically recoiled from him.
“Did ye come to reprimand me for haring out of the castle?”
Galen shook his head. “I’ve grown weary of fighting with you, Laoghaire,” he said bluntly, that being the truth of the matter.
Clearly unconvinced, his lady wife gazed at him with a wary expression. “Then, what reason could ye possibly have for coming here?”
“I came because I want to—” Galen stopped in mid-sentence, suddenly tongue-tied. He wanted to kiss her, to caress her, to make love to her. But he knew that should he speak the words aloud, she would attack like a she-wolf.Instead, he said, “I want to apologize. Since our wedding night, all of my actions have been driven by the fact that you lack a maidenhead.”
Jutting her chin at him, Laoghaire said with measurable defiance, “Regardless, Iama virgin.”
“I know that now.” Then, wanting very much to extend an olive branch, he continued and said, “While a part of me sensed all along that you are a chaste maid, my cursed pride would not permit me to believe it. And for that transgression, I beg your forgiveness.”
“Why did ye sleep each night on the trundle bed?” Laoghaire demanded to know, abruptly changing the subject.
Taken aback by the unexpected query, Galen took several moments to consider his reply. In the interval that followed, it didn’t escape his notice that Laoghaire’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, as though she suspected him of harboring some dark motive.
“I did so because I feared the fever would take you, and I did not want you to die alone,” he answered matter-of-factly, making no attempt to varnish his words. Over the course of his life, Galen had seen death more times than he cared to recount. And because he had, he knew that in a man’s last moments the touch of a hand could often bring comfort. He assumed the same held true for a woman. “You may not remember, as at the time you were already in the throes of a fever, but I told you that I would not abandon you. And I did not,” he added, wanting Laoghaire to know that he’d held firm to his vow.
Laoghaire stared intently at him, suspicion now replaced with a different emotion entirely.
’Tis a mirror reflection of my own regret,he realized, stunned by the recognition.
“It pains me to say this, but I thought the worst of ye . . . and I am ashamed that I did so,” Laoghaire admitted in a noticeably subdued voice, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears.
When, in the next instant, one of those tears broke free of its tether and rolled down Laoghaire’s cheek, Galen unthinkingly reached over and swiped at the translucent drop with the tip of his finger. Like a man riveted by a sight he never expected to see, Galen stared at his moistened fingertip.
“As with you, I have done things that I deeply regret,” he confessed. “But I will have you know that in my nightly dreams we are never estranged from one another. In sleep’s sweet oblivion we are man and woman, husband and wife . . . Galen and Laoghaire. Is it possible for that dream to—” Galen broke off abruptly. He knew what he wanted to say, but was uncertain how to phrase it. Had he been one of those knights steeped in the poetry of courtly love, he could have wooed Laoghaire with some flowery passage. But since he was not one of those knights, he simply said, “Can we not begin again?”
Although Galen steeled himself against rejection, to his utter surprise Laoghaire graced him with a demure smile.
I could bask all day in the warmth of that one smile,he mused, awestruck by how much power a coy smile could wield.
Despite being a man of no small experience, Galen suddenly felt like the lad of thirteen that he’d once been. Desirous of making amends, he also wanted to make the moment perfect for Laoghaire. But given that for weeks now he’d forcefully blundered his way through their marriage, he was at a loss to know how to proceed.
How do I become a husband worthy of Laoghaire’s tender regard?
Suddenly inspired, Galen unsheathed his sword. Going down on bended knee before her, with the blade pointed downward, he grasped the hilt with both hands. Then, surmising that the future of their marriage hinged on what he was about to say, he chose his words with great care. “I give to you my sword, with which I will protect you always. And I also give to you my body, so that when night falls we shall be joined as one under heaven’s canopy.”
With a warm, womanly smile, Laoghaire placed her hand upon his cheek. Long moments passed as she peered into his eyes.
“But I do not wish to wait that long, Galen.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In the next instant, Galen’s eyes darkened, turning a tempestuous shade of gray.
