Galan’s gaze narrowed, although his mouth quirked in wry amusement. “You seemed to enjoy yourself.”
His masculine arrogance riled her. “I wasn’t of my right mind,” Tea snarled, balling her fists by her sides.
Galan’s amusement faded. “What?”
“My sister prepared me a potion to calm my nerves, so I could go through with this farce of a handfasting,” she told him, biting out each word. “The woman you wedded wouldn’t have cared if she was handfasting a hog, or mating one.”
Galan’s body stiffened and his face went stony. When he spoke his voice was calm and deathly cold. “So you don’t recall last night?”
Heat rushed through Tea at his words. She remembered more than she wanted to, although she was not about to admit that to him. Instead she shook her head. “I do not remember much.”
Galan’s lip curled and he gave her a look that made her squirm. He folded his arms across his broad chest and regarded her under lowered lids. “I think you’re lying.”
Anger flared in Tea’s breast. “I don’t want this marriage.” She stepped up to him, raising her chin to meet his gaze squarely. Not for the first time, she was glad of her height. She did not like the thought of a man looming over her. “When my brother told me I had to wed you, I considered throwing myself off the cliffs into the sea.”
Galan held her gaze, his calm infuriating. She was trying to bait him but he refused to be drawn into it. “Such hate, such venom, Tea,” he murmured. “Do you not want peace, like your brother?”
“My brother is a coward,” she snarled. “I will never forgive what your people have done to mine—or forget.”
Galan mac Muin stepped back from her then, deliberately distancing himself from her bitter words. He continued to hold her stare but gave a regretful shake of his head. “Perhaps it would have been better if you had thrown yourself to your death. For now you are wedded, and there is nothing you can do about it.”
With that, he turned and walked away.
Tea watched him go, rage and loathing churning within her so violently that her bile rose once more. Retching she turned, fell to her knees and was sick again.
Galan strode back toward the camp.
In just a few moments everything had changed. He had just spent an unforgettable night with his bride, experiencing pleasure he had never known existed. Tea had been everything he desired in a woman, and the way she had given herself to him, her reactions as he took her again and again, had left him floating three feet off the ground at dawn.
Only to come crashing violently back to earth a short time later.
Had a changeling come while he went to fetch them food and drink, and spirited his wife away, leaving a nasty barbed-tongued shrew in her place?
He could not believe that she had spoken the truth, that she had taken some potion that had made her submit to him. Yet if he thought back to the ceremony, he remembered thinking she resembled a warm corpse. Her gaze had been unfocused as if she was not even there. He had thought she had merely overindulged in strong drink, but the reality was far different. The bride who feasted and drank next to him later had been very different to the woman who had just cursed him. She had barely said a word to him all evening, but whenever their gazes had met, he had seen her desire for him. And then when she had—
Stop it.
It was lies, all lies. Tea hated him. The venom in her eyes had been a slap in the face after what they had shared together. It should not have bothered him—for this was no love match—but it did.
Galan ducked inside his tent. He halted there, his gaze going to the pile of furs where the two of them had lain entangled.
It had been a mistake to return here.
The sight of the rumpled furs reminded him that despite one night of intimacy, he and Tea were still strangers to each other.
Inhaling deeply, and cursing himself for even caring, Galan left the tent.
Tarl was waiting for him. Hair rumpled from sleep, his face creased into a grin, his brother gave him a wink. “I was wondering when you’d emerge. Managed to drag yourself away then?”
Galan gave him a sour look. “You’re too late—we’ve both been up for a while.”
Tarl raised an eyebrow. “So where’s your lusty bride?”
“Not so lusty this morning. We’ve just argued.”
Tarl barked out a laugh and folded his arms across his chest. “What is it with you and women? She seemed keen on you last night—what did you say to enrage her?”
“I didn’t have to say anything. Her brother forced her to wed me.”
Tarl’s smile faded. “That makes no sense. We all saw the pair of you at the feast. I thought you were going to take her then and there on the table. You both looked as if you’d found your other half.”
Galan brushed past him. He was in no mood to discuss this. “Appearances are deceiving—you were wrong.”
***
Tea stood by her pony, waiting while The Eagle and Wolf warriors finished packing up the encampment. It was late afternoon and the air was chilled. She wore a thick woolen mantle. She had deliberately pulled the hood up, to warn off any who were foolish enough to approach her.
Tea had kept away from everyone over the long morning, shunning company—even her sister’s. She had been terribly ill after her confrontation with Galan, and had remained behind the boulder for a while till her stomach quietened. Even now, queasiness lingered and her skull throbbed as if a gnome with a hammer had taken up residence inside it.
Later, she had sat, pale and sullen at Galan’s side while The Eagle and The Wolf feasted together once more. During this meal, Galan ignored her—focusing his attention on Loc, seated to his left. The two men discussed the new peace between their tribes, and the plans they both had to rebuild the villages and forts within their territories that had been lately decimated by war. They also talked of trade between the two tribes—something that had not occurred in many years.
Tea had barely taken in a word. All she had been able to think about was how she had shamed herself; shamed the memory of both her parents.
The shadows were growing long by the time both tribes packed up camp and readied themselves to leave. Neither would reach home by nightfall—instead they would have to make camp in the open. However, Loc had insisted on the delay, for there were many things he and Galan had to discuss before they parted ways.
Tea was still brooding, waiting for her husband and his band to finish their preparations for departure, when Eithni drew near.
Dressed in a heavy fur cloak ready for travelling, her sister’s face was tense, her brow furrowed. She stopped before Tea, peering under the shadowed recesses of her sister’s hood.
“Tea, are you well?”
Grinding her jaw, Tea took a deep steadying breath. “Not particularly.”
“I told you not to avoid strong drink last night,” Eithni murmured. “I wish you had listened to me.”
Tea’s gaze narrowed. “I only shared a cup or two of mead. What does it matter?”
Eithni’s expression tightened, her shoulders sagging slightly. “I’m sorry, Tea—this is all my fault.”
Tea’s frown deepened. “Excuse me?”
Eithni looked pained. “There was more in that draft besides All-Heal,” she began hesitantly. “Loc told me to prepare a love potion, something that would make you see Galan in a different light. I added crushed apple blossom, chamomile and mugwort to the tincture.”
“You did what?”
Her sister dropped her gaze. “I know you don’t want to hear it,” she said quietly, “but you make a handsome couple. I think he will treat you well.”
Tea clamped her jaw shut. She did not want to shout at her sister, did not want the last words they shared to be angry ones. She had no idea when she would see Eithni again, so she swallowed her outrage and held her tongue.
Yet the fact remained—both her brother and sister had conspired against her.
“You drugged me,” she hissed. “I made a fool of myself because of you.”
Loc approached her then. His lean face was somber as he stepped up next to Eithni. Tea went rigid. Although she had managed to rein in her temper when speaking to her sister she was not sure she could manage the same with her brother. Eithni would never have betrayed her of her own accord—this was his fault. One word, just one inflammatory word, and she would explode.
Sensing her mood, Loc gave her a wary look. The three of them had been close growing up. Until now, Loc had been his sisters’ protector, defender. Now he was Tea’s betrayer.
“I know what you did.” She spat the words at him, fisting her hands at her sides to stop herself from lashing out. “How could you?”
“And I’m sorry for it,” he replied, although his tone told her otherwise. “But too much was at stake. I couldn’t have you ruin things. Understand that I’m doing this so that our children, and our children’s children may grow up secure and happy, without the threat of war.”
Tea stared at him, rage rendering her momentarily speechless. A few feet behind Loc, she spotted Forcus and her cousin, Wid. Her cousin looked worried as he watched her, whereas Forcus’s expression was one of schooled neutrality. If he was sad to see her go, he did not show it. Suddenly, she wished she had agreed to run away with him. Forcus would never have betrayed her as her brother and sister had.
Despite Tea’s fury, a hollow sense of loneliness settled upon her. Despair swiftly followed on its heels. Betrayed, isolated and now wedded to a man she despised—she had never felt so alone.