Galan’s heavy tread stopped behind Tea, and she felt the weight of his gaze settle upon her.
“Tea,” he spoke her name softly, his powerful voice a low rumble. “Are you awake?”
Tea ignored him, feigning sleep.
“I know you’re awake—you’re not breathing,” he continued, a faint edge of amusement creeping into his voice. “You’re a poor mummer.”
Irritation surged through Tea. She rolled over and fixed him in a hard glare.
He met her gaze, his own steady, before favoring her with a slow smile. “That’s better.”
“What do you want?”
“We have not spoken all day—it’s time to break the silence between us.”
“I have nothing to say to a Dun Ringill dog.”
Galan gave a heavy sigh and shrugged off his cloak before unbuckling the heavy leather vest that covered his strong torso. “Your insults become repetitive, wife. Surely you have better names for me than that.”
Stinking pig turd. Maggot spawn. The insults rose within Tea but she choked them back. He was deliberately baiting her, and she would not give him what he wanted.
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