CHAPTER ELEVEN #3
Although inexperienced with the more intimate details of a marriage, she instinctively knew that she had Galen, quite literally, in the palm of her hand.
Lust-crazed, at that moment he wanted something from her.
And perhaps he wanted it desperately enough that he would finally agree to an annulment.
I’ve been given an opportunity, one which I do not intend to squander.
As she quickly formulated a plan, the steam from the water caused a bead of perspiration to trickle between her breasts.
Knowing there wasn’t a second to waste, Laoghaire affixed a smile onto her lips. Then, in what she hoped was an enticing tone of voice, she said, “Galen, will ye not consent to an annulment?”
Galen jerked abruptly, causing water to splash against the sides of the tub. “Will you not consent to kiss me?” he responded, his chest heaving.
“If I do, will ye—”
“Grant me but one kiss,” he said over the top of her voice, his gaze now fastened on her lips. “That is all I ask.”
One kiss in exchange for an annulment? ’Tis more than a fair bargain.
As Laoghaire wordlessly nodded her consent, a small shiver of excitement coursed through her.
She recalled how, earlier in the day, he gently kissed her hand.
It had been a rare moment, one laden with gallantry and affection.
Moreover, it had not been lust she experienced then, but something softer, more poignant. And exquisitely tender.
Unable to tear her eyes from Galen’s mouth, she watched as he leaned forward.
Her lips having gone dry, she wet them with her tongue.
Galen smiled slightly and inched closer.
Laoghaire felt the animal heat of his body, and it incited a radiant surge that was strangely pleasurable. Nervous, she gulped in a shaky breath.
“Keep moving your hand,” Galen said, as he angled his head to one side.
She nodded while she waited . . . anxious . . . expectant . . . uncertain what would transpire. In the next instant, her breath mingled with his . . . just before their lips touched. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes as Galen’s mouth moved across hers with a barely repressed hunger.
Acting purely on instinct, Laoghaire clutched the top of Galen’s shoulder with her free hand and pulled him closer to her.
And even though Galen kissed her with a passionate intensity, to her delight there was also a discernible sweetness to his kiss, his lips momentarily gentling as he suckled her lower lip.
“Open your mouth,” Galen murmured.
When she did so, Laoghaire was shocked to feel his tongue thrust between her teeth, filling her mouth.
She instinctively shied away . . . only to entwine her tongue with his when she realized it made for an indescribable pleasure, one that aroused her greatly.
That pleasure intensified when she suddenly felt a damp hand cup her breast. Without thinking, she brazenly pressed herself more fully against Galen’s palm, and a shudder coursed through her at feeling the firm press of his hand.
She then felt Galen tug at the laces on the front of her kirtle.
Before she could comprehend what was happening, his hand slipped beneath her linen chemise and his thumb strummed across the pebbled knot of her nipple.
God’s heart!
The pleasure was so keenly wrought, Laoghaire whimpered. Her body felt hot and achy, and her heart pounded against her breastbone like a minstrel’s tabor. All the while, her right hand kept moving up and down Galen’s hardened rod, water churning in the wake of that rhythmic motion.
“Sweet Jesu,” Galen groaned into her mouth, just before he yanked his lips away from hers and pulled his hand out of her bodice.
Firmly clasping her head between his hands, he pressed his forehead against hers.
In the next instant, his entire body shuddered forcibly and Laoghaire felt his manroot jerk against her curled fist. Again, Galen groaned, but this time the sound was deeper, harsher.
Then, suddenly, his body went very still.
Laoghaire’s breath caught in her throat and she had to remind herself to exhale.
Belatedly realizing that he’d just expelled his seed, Laoghaire removed her hand from Galen’s manroot.
Still clasping her head between his hands, Galen kissed her tenderly before he released his hold on her and scooted to the other side of the tub. As he did so, Laoghaire pulled her hand from the water.
“Thank you, lady wife.” His words of gratitude were accompanied with a warm smile.
Her spirits buoyed, Laoghaire shyly returned his smile. “I will immediately notify my family of the annulment. When my cousin Diarmid returns from Perth, he can—”
“I agreed to no such thing,” Galen interjected.
Devastated, she searched his face, but the cloud of passion had completely vanished. As had all traces of affection.
I just lost the bout. The power is his once more.
Folding his arms over his chest, Galen’s gaze narrowed. “In fact, when you saw that I was in a weakened state, you tried to use that to your advantage.”
Laoghaire saw no profit in refuting the accusation, well aware there was more than a kernel of truth in it. “You may have spilled your seed, but I am still your wife in name only,” she argued, refusing to be cowed by his fierce scowl. “Agree to the annulment, Galen . . . I beg you.”
“I will not put this marriage asunder,” Galen rasped, his scowl deepening. “Nor will you ever again broach the subject.”
“Or what?” she bristled, unable to rein in her wayward emotions. “Will ye lock me in the dungeon?”
His gray eyes darkened with a mercurial gleam. “Don’t tempt me, lady wife.”
Still seated on the stool, Laoghaire tightened the laces on her gaping bodice, completely disheartened. Galen had so thoroughly crushed her hopes of an annulment that the sting of bitter tears now pricked her eyes.
’Tis hard to believe that only moments ago the knave begged me for the pleasure of a single kiss.
As though he could read her thoughts, Galen said, “I asked you only for a kiss. I never agreed to an annulment, as well you know. You are my wife, Laoghaire. And you shall remain my wife until the day you die. Now hand me a drying cloth,” he ordered, gesturing to the neatly folded stack of cloths that had been placed on a nearby chest.
Incensed by Galen’s insufferable arrogance, Laoghaire lurched to her feet, the abrupt motion causing the stool to tumble onto its side. For several moments she glared at him through a red haze, her fury so great it enlivened her every thought.
And now her every action.
Spinning on her heel, Laoghaire rushed toward the massive bed.
Galvanized by a ferocity that was unlike any she’d ever before experienced, she grabbed hold of the black wall hanging with the rampant red lion.
Sick to the back teeth of seeing the standard, with a muttered oath she yanked it from the wall.
Bunching the fabric in her arms, she returned to the tub.
“Dry yerself with that!” she yelled at Galen, flinging the standard into the tub. “And I don’t want that thing—” she pointed an accusing finger at his groin—“in me! Ever!”
Galen’s face turned red with outrage as he rose from the tub, water sluicing off his naked body. “When I get my hands on you, wench, you will rue your actions this day!”
Suddenly worried what might happen if he did get a hold of her, Laoghaire sprinted toward the door.
“Come back here!”
“Ye can rot!” Laoghaire hollered over her shoulder as she stormed from the bedchamber.
Dame Winifred Guibourg stood in the shadows, flabbergasted to see the countess, tears streaming down her cheeks, charge up the stairs that led to the battlements.
However, she’d been even more astounded by what she overheard through the bedchamber door just prior to that, Angus and the Highland harridan having been in the midst of a belligerent row.
’Tis obvious that theirs is not a match made in heaven.
Indeed, from what Winifred had gleaned, ’twas no marriage at all, having yet to be consummated. Moreover, the Celtic giant was desperate to have their vows annulled.
There is hope yet for Melisande!
Hearing the door to the battlements swing open, only to slam shut in the next second, Winifred smiled, elated with the unexpected turn of events. She knew that an unconsummated marriage had no validity in the eyes of the Church.
“And I daresay King Robert would be none too pleased,” she murmured softly.
All of which meant the earl could legally cast aside the Highland bitch, freeing him to marry the woman he was to have originally wed.
My daughter was to have become the countess. Not that Celtic creature who was more pagan than Christian.
But in order for the plan to work, she knew that Melisande would have to be nudged, her daughter far too demure. In addition to charming Angus, she would have to make him see her with new eyes. Most importantly, Melisande would have to make herself sexually available to the randy earl.
I’ve never known a man who didn’t think with his prick, Galen de Ogilvy being no exception.
Again, Winifred peered at the circular staircase, the flickering flame of a nearby torch casting strange, demonic-like shapes onto the curved stone wall.
Yea, I will see to it that my daughter takes her rightful place at the earl’s side.