“By casting aspersions upon my countess, your death will not be quick and it will not be painless.”
Laoghaire tensed at the chilling tone of her husband’s voice. Galen was enraged by the priest’s vile behavior—she would have expected nothing less from him—but there was a depth to his anger that caused the hand on his sword hilt to visibly shake.
His eyes bulging, Father Giroldus stared at Galen with a pleading expression. “I beg you, my lord. Show a poor priest mercy.”
“It is far too late for that.”
At hearing Galen’s impassive reply, the priest cowered against the stone wall at his backside.
Grasping hold of his sword, Galen pulled the blade from its sheath. As he did so, Father Giroldus wheezed loudly while he clutched his throat with his hand.
Surprised by the unexpected turn of events, Laoghaire watched as the muscles tightened in Galen’s cheek, his eyes narrowed with a rage unlike any she’d ever before witnessed. He was a man devoid of all mercy. A man intent on righting a grievous wrong. A man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted—and what he wanted was the priest dead.
In the tense moments that followed, the combination of flickering flames and eerie shadows lent a heightened air to the confrontation.
If I do not stop Galen, blood will be spilt,Laoghaire thought worriedly, afraid of what would happen to Galen’s mortal soul should he slay the priest. And though she had also threatened Father Giroldus with her own blade, she had merely intended to geld the man, not kill him.
Acting on sheer impulse, Laoghaire suddenly reached over and placed a forestalling hand on Galen’s right wrist. “I pray thee, lord husband: Do not imperil yer soul because of one depraved priest.”
Even though Galen stared at her, long and hard, Laoghaire refused to relinquish her grasp on him. Finally, uttering a profane curse, Galen shoved his sword back into the scabbard.
The priest’s death sentence commuted, Laoghaire took several backward steps. As lord of the castle, it was for Galen to decide the lesser punishment.
“My lady wife is far more merciful than I, and you have her to thank for saving your wretched life,” Galen snarled at the priest. “Because I never wish to set eyes upon you again, you are hereby banished from my demesne.”
“But where am I to go?” the priest had the gall to whine. Everything about the man, from his beaded upper lip to his quavering voice, bespoke a fearful desperation.
Obviously uncaring of the cleric’s plight, Galen shrugged and said, “I care naught so long as it is far from Glenclova. And if you are not gone from Castle Airlie by nightfall, I will drive my sword straight through your evil heart.”
“That is only two hours hence,” Father Giroldus argued. “Can you not at least give me until the dawning of the new day?”
“I cannot. But count your blessings, priest, for you will have a full moon at your backside.”
“But there are gathering storm clouds in the western sky.”
“Then, I suggest you make due haste.”
Although his face grew pale, Father Giroldus made no further protest. Instead, he gathered his habit in his hand and scurried down the aisle.
Once the priest had departed the chapel, Galen turned to her. “While I am relieved that you were able to come to Aveline’s defense, how is it that you came to be in the chapel?”
“I sought heavenly guidance on a deeply troubling matter,” Laoghaire responded, wondering why Galen would even care. “How did ye come to be here?”
“I came looking for you. One of the sentries saw you enter the chapel, and so I came here to seek you out.” Gazing at her intently, he added, “I, too, have been perturbed by a—how did you phrase it?—a deeply troubling matter.”
“And ye now wish to discuss this matter with me?” she asked in a circumspect tone of voice.
Galen verified with a nod. “Yea, most fervently. I would have ye know the truth of this matter, given that I have not been as forthcoming as I could have been about my relationship with Lady Melisande.”
At hearing his admission of guilt, Laoghaire felt a heaviness lodge in her chest, right above her heart. No longer able to meet Galen’s gaze, she turned her head and stared disconsolately at the nearby altar. “While ye may have come here to confess yer transgression, do not expect me to absolve ye of yer sin.” Despite Galen’s preference for Melisande, she would not allow herself to become like the rushes strewn upon the castle floor, something that he thoughtlessly trod under foot.
Undeterred, Galen reached over and caught her chin in his hand. He then gently urged her to swivel her head back in his direction. “While I did dream about Melisande that day in the grotto, ’twas not in the way you think.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“But I do not wish to speak of the matter here in the chapel,” Galen told Laoghaire.
Still enraged by the priest’s depraved behavior, the recent atrocity had aroused the dark fires of his own past, and he suspected the longer he remained in the chapel the fiercer the flames would burn.
