Upon hearing that defiant refusal, the blood roared in Galen’s ears. He’d always prided himself on his ability to control his emotions under duress. To always think coolly. Rationally. It was how he’d managed to best so many opponents, both on the battlefield and the jousting lists. That the redheaded wench could so easily test his self-control infuriated him.
“Youwillwed me,” he told her, grating the words between clenched teeth.
“I would rather wed a four-legged jackal,” Laoghaire hissed before she turned around and started to walk toward the vestibule.
Without thinking, Galen grabbed Laoghaire by the upper arm and yanked her back to his side. “Get on with it, priest!” he commanded the cleric. “We are now ready to take our vows.”
“Ye cannot force me to marry ye!” With a wild look in her eyes, Laoghaire tried to pull free of him.
His jaw tightened with anger, and Galen felt a muscle in his cheek begin to tick. If not for the fact that a priest was present, he would have soundly cursed her for attempting to make a fool of him. Fortunately, the only witnesses who were privy to the shrew’s spectacle—aside from the priest and Diarmid MacKinnon—were Robert Guthrie and his wife, Coira. And because his reeve had been a loyal retainer these last fifteen years, Galen knew he could count on Robbie’s silence, and Coira’s as well.
Refusing to relinquish his hold on Laoghaire’s arm, Galen looked his betrothed bride directly in the eye and said firmly, “We shall now be wed. And later tonight I will lie between your thighs and consummate our vows. You have no say in this matter. It has been ordered by the king of Scotland.”
“The Second Coming will happen before I lie in yer bed!”
Tempted to draw his blade and to force the matter at sword point, Galen instead turned to Laoghaire’s kinsman. “Explain to the wench why she and I must wed.”
Looking very much like a man caught between the proverbial stone and a very hard, jagged place, the young Scot cleared his throat several times before he said, “Laoghaire, ye must wed the earl because the king of Scotland wants this marital alliance between our clan and the House of Ogilvy. If the king is to ever rid Scotland of English forces, he canna have the Highland clans and the Scottish nobility at each other’s throat. Furthermore, to ensure the marriage is successful, the king has generously granted titles and lands to Angus, as well as to yer brother.”
Galen remained silent, the Scot having very succinctly put the case before her. What the younger man did not know, however, was that while he did stand to gain from the union, he’d been made to sacrifice greatly. Not only had he been forsworn to another woman—a woman ofhischoosing—Melisande Jardin would have been the perfect mate for him.
Nevertheless, I will do the king’s bidding and wed the Celtic virago.
And he would do so for one simple reason: to secure royal patronage. Because he had inherited the title—and all the land, property, and respect that came with the earldom—he now had the ear of the king of Scotland. And he wasn’t going to lose that advantage by refusing to comply with the king’s decree. Once the Bruce secured independence for Scotland, he would appoint his favorites to the royal posts of judiciar, chamberlain, chancellor, and treasurer. Those noblemen who had been loyal and steadfast stood to benefit greatly once the country stabilized.
“But how can the wedding take place whenhe—” Laoghaire shot Galen a scornful glance—“wasn’t the earl when the king made his decree?”
“Ye always knew that one day ye’d have to marry, for that is a woman’s path in life,” Diarmid replied, sidestepping her question.
“Humph! Don’t ye mean ‘lot in life?’”
Remaining commendably calm in the face of his cousin’s fury, Diarmid continued and said, “Marriage is the means by which a woman may bring honor to her family. In addition to enhancing the honor of our clan, ye will also enhance the bloodline of the Earl of Angus by being a fertile and fruitful wife.”
“As near as I can tell, I’m to be nothing more than a brood mare. Where is the love in that?”
“Love?!God’s death!” Galen bellowed, having stood silent long enough. Outraged that the wench would even broach such a ridiculous notion when the future of Scotland was at stake, he turned to the priest and said, “Get on with it.”
Quick as summer lightning, Laoghaire lurched toward her cousin. “Do ye not recall that we saw a raven just before we entered the castle?” she hissed in a frantic tone of voice. “’Twas an omen.”
“An omen,” Galen repeated, leveling her with a withering stare. “What sort of pagan nonsense is this?”
“’Tisn’t nonsense,” she maintained. “The raven that we saw was a harbinger of my death atyerhand.”
Galen was admittedly stunned that she could think, let alone utter such an outlandish thing. “I have no intention of killing you,” he told her.
“Ye would have dispatched me and my kinsmen to the grave quick enough on that ill-fated morning at Castle Maoil,” Laoghaire argued. “Did ye not threaten to raze my brother’s castle to the ground?”
“Yea, I did,” Galen acknowledged, not about to deny his actions, nor beg the lady’s forgiveness. “But much has changed in the intervening months, as well you know.”
“But I do not want to marry ye.”
“The betrothal contracts have been signed and the banns have been read,” Galen said pointedly, holding onto his patience with a thin thread. “What you want or don’t want is of no consequence. The bargain has been struck, lady, and you will keep to your end of it.”
“Or what?” she taunted.
“Or I will hold your entire clan responsible,” he said matter-of-factly, palming the hilt of his sword. “For it is their responsibility to ensure that you do your duty as dictated by the king. I, too, look upon this match as an unpleasant ordeal. But unlike you, I am willing to do the king’s bidding.”
“Are ye claiming that I am disloyal to the Bruce?”
