His Lady Bride (Brothers in Arms) Read Free Page B

long before! “Tried? Is that what you call it? My cousin’s unborn babe could have said more to stop this farce.”
    He whirled on her again, hovering just inside the doorway, the simple green tunic covering his massive chest mere inches from her face. His eyes resembled angry storm clouds as he stared down at her. “And what did you try?”
     “I-I told them I wanted this not. I kicked, railed, I screamed—”
    “Aye, and everyone between here and London heard you.”
    Gwenyth gasped, and the beast turned away with a smile, evidenced by a flash of surprisingly straight teeth and the curve of his wide mouth, before retreating inside the little cottage. With much foot stomping, she followed. The oaf would feel the full measure of her fury!
    At the door, she stopped as her gaze fell upon the dwelling’s interior. A ramshackle bed sat upon the dirt floor next to a blackened pit of a hearth. A pair of his braies lay strewn across the single chair, and a tiny table with a teetering leg and a pitcher with a broken handle filled the rest of the small space. The lone window had no glass. Nay! Gwenyth closed her eyes in despair.
    For half her life, she had lain upon the cold stone floor every night at Penhurst and wished to reclaim her position as lady of the castle, of the fine home she’d been born to. Most of all, she yearned for a place where she belonged, where the people within saw her as a prize, not a burden, something her Uncle Bardrick had taken great pains to remind her she was.
    She’d always known he much enjoyed being Lord Capshaw and showing his two daughters off as great ladies. Still, she had imagined he would see his brother’s only child well wed. Hadn’t he brought the exceedingly handsome Sir Penley Fairfax to the keep for just that cause?
    She had thought so for the past fortnight. Now she knew better, damn Uncle Bardrick’s eyes!
    Instead, he had married her off to the only man within twenty miles who frightened everyone, even Sir Penley. He had married her to a pauper of reputedly dark powers.
    Gwenyth shivered as her memory dredged up the tales of his powers. His taming of the wild dog that had slaughtered pigs, chickens, and even cows all over the village had started the rumors of his magical abilities. That alone made people suspicious. Uncle Bardrick’s cook had exchanged cross words with the lone warlock over the purchase of food, then promptly died the next day. The castlefolk thought that all too eerie. And then the drought started soon thereafter, and had not been eased by blessed rain in nearly six months. That convinced everyone the hermit was a sorcerer. ’Twas likely true, she acknowledged with a sigh.
    Bristling braies, had she been hasty-witted in insulting him? What would he do to her now?
    “Well, do you plan to stand in the door all night or come inside?” asked the stranger.
    What choice did she have? ’Twas either die by Uncle Bardrick’s hand or test fate with the sorcerer. “I shall come in, but do not assume I mean to be your wife.”
    With tiny steps, Gwenyth made her way into the dwelling, treading on the tips of her toes through the dirt to the room’s lone chair. She stared at the seat, currently occupied by his undergarments, wondering how she could stay with the man for even one night. This was—indeed, he was—everything she did not want, even if he was handsome in that overpoweringly male way.
    The man did nothing to move his undergarments from the chair. Weary and impatient, Gwenyth tapped her toes against the earthen floor and waited. Finally, he heaved a giant sigh and crossed the room to retrieve his braies. She sat.
    “As you can see, I did not expect a lady.”
    “Are you certain?” She needled. “Your paltry protests against this union make me think you lie, hermit.”
    He stretched his solid length out on the small bed, nearly engulfing the mattress. His long, muscled legs, encased in clean brown hose, were mere inches from her knee. Gwenyth