Still on bended knee, he stared at Laoghaire with such searing intensity that it caused her heart to beat with great force.
“Do you speak verily, lady wife?”
Suddenly incapable of speech, her throat thick with emotion, Laoghaire confirmed with a nod.
She had no idea what prompted her impetuousness, other than the fact that she’d been profoundly affected by Galen’s candor. Like him, she, too, wanted to begin again. But she did not wish to wait for nightfall. She was too anxious to know how it would feel to be an intimate part of the equation “man and woman, husband and wife . . . Galen and Laoghaire.” She well recalled how, on that memorable day when she fondled Galen’s manroot, she imagined how it would feel to have him caress her in a similarly intimate fashion.
Will I experience pleasure at his hands?she could not help but wonder, breathless at the thought.
Rising to his feet, Galen sheathed his sword. After which, he examined the interior of the grotto, his gaze landing, first on the crackling fire, before moving to the earthen floor. “While I am as eager as you to consummate our marriage, I think you would be more comfortable in our bedchamber,” he said at last, his words tempered with an obvious concern for her well-being.
Committed to the path she’d chosen, Laoghaire reached up and unclasped her fur-lined mantle. Then, with a flourish, she spread it upon the ground. “’Tis as good a bed as any, would ye not agree?”
Galen grinned wryly and said, “In that case, you shall need a pillow for your head.” Removing his cloak, he proceeded to fold the woolen garment into a neat cushion. That done, he unbuckled his sword belt and propped the scabbard against the stone wall. He then unlaced his outer-tunic before pulling it over his head and casually tossing it aside.
“What are ye doing?” Laoghaire asked when he began to remove his boots.
Finished tugging off one of his leather boots, Galen set it beside his scabbard. “It is customary for a husband and wife to be unclothed when they consummate their vows,” he answered matter-of-factly.
Laoghaire was unable to stifle a surprised gasp. Until that moment, she’d not considered the full ramifications of her brash plan. “I, er . . . must we remove all of our garments?” she asked, wondering if would be possible to wear, at the very least, her chemise. “Because it is raining—” she gestured inanely to the falling rain that was visible beyond the entrance—“we should consider the possibility that, um . . .” Unable to complete the thought, her voice trailed into silence.
Having removed the second boot—and now well on his way to untying the points on his chausses—Galen jutted his chin at the dancing flames in the nearby fire pit. “Fortunately, you built us a blazing fire.”
“So I did,” she mumbled.
While Galen seemed perfectly at ease undressing in her presence, Laoghaire plucked clumsily at the lacings on her kirtle. Turning away from him, she pulled the woolen fabric over her head. Because she was uncertain what to do with the garment, she laid it across a nearby boulder. Her hands trembling conspicuously, she removed her boots.
The irony was not lost upon her that this had been her idea.
Her earlier excitement ebbing in the wake of an awkward discomfiture, she stepped over to the grotto’s entrance, still attired in her chemise. Worried that the unexpected surfeit of chaste modesty might prove a hindrance, Laoghaire stared pensively at the autumn leaves that floated and swirled in the small pool of water which had formed near the entrance.
When, a few moments later, she heard Galen approach, she folded her arms under her breasts and braced herself.
Coming to a standstill directly behind her, Galen stood so close to her backside that Laoghaire could feel his body heat through her chemise. Though she was tempted to lean into him, she could not bring herself to do so. In a quandary, she watched as the rain began to fall in earnest, the repetitive patter of drops the only sound to be heard. While she knew it was but a figment of her imagination, it suddenly felt as though she and Galen had been flung to the far side of the world, and that they were the only inhabitants in that uncharted realm.
“Are you having doubts?” Galen asked, the first to break the silence.
Laoghaire turned toward him, admittedly relieved to see that he wore a linen undertunic. Although she’d seen his near-naked body on their wedding night, and more recently when he had bathed, she knew it would be easier to keep her wits about her if he remained garbed.
“’Tisn’t doubts that trouble me,” she was quick to inform him, not wanting Galen to think that her earlier words had been mere caprice. “But I am filled with conflicting feelings that I cannot make sense of.”
“As I am your husband, you must tell me what it is that you are feeling,” Galen urged in a solicitous tone of voice.
Laoghaire nervously thread her fingers together. “While I desire to lie with ye upon our wedding bed—”
“Such as it is,” Galen said in a sardonic aside.
“I also fear lying with ye.” At seeing his quizzical expression, Laoghaire elaborated. “I do not know what it is that ye expect of me. Should I remove my chemise? Or can I keep it on? Will ye kiss me? Mayhap that is not something that happens when marriage vows are consummated. And how am I to act when we lie together? Am I to touch yer manroot as I did before, or would ye prefer that I not do that?” The words, uncensored and inelegantly spoken, poured out of her with such alacrity that Laoghaire now found herself having to take a much-needed gulp of air.
“You have naught to fear,” Galen assured her with a surprisingly warmhearted smile. “I will be your guide on this journey. Though there will undoubtedly be some discomfort given that you are a virgin, I promise to be gentle with you.”
Laoghaire felt a burst of relief wash over her. That so fearsome a warrior would make such a vow caused her heart to tighten with an unfamiliar sensation. Soon they would mate, an act in which they would be physically joined, one to the other. Be that as it may, Galen’s tender concern engendered an emotional bond that was wholly unexpected.
“Thank ye, Galen. Ye have allayed my fears.” Then, smiling bashfully, she said, “What should I do first?”
Galen made no immediate reply. Instead, he held her captive in a gray-eyed stare, Laoghaire unable to look away from him. And while it was a ridiculous notion, his disturbingly intense gaze made her think that he could peer into her very soul.
Having garnered her full attention, Galen held out his hand. “You must put your trust in me.”
