His Lady Bride (Brothers in Arms) by Shayla Black, Shelley Bradley
Authors: Shayla Black, Shelley Bradley
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determine that.”
Her belly flipped over at his suggestion. Heat followed, warming her face, nearly melting her resolve.
Finally, when he rose and moved toward her, Gwenyth came to her senses. Her future with Sir Penley was at stake. She could not give the recluse her maidenhead, no matter how handsome his face or how kind his heart.
“The devil plague you,” she murmured, then darted out of the house, hearing his laughter behind her.
Aric should not have this effect upon her. He could help her with her dreams in no way except by leaving her untouched and allowing her to seek an annulment.
Unless he could be persuaded to make rain.
Aye, that might bring an end to her plight. If ’twould only rain, Uncle Bardrick might welcome her back to Penhurst. Sir Penley might still be waiting for her.
She dismissed the notion he knew not what to do with a woman. The hermit could know naught of such an esteemed man as Sir Penley.
But how to persuade Aric to end the drought? Gwenyth wondered if he could accomplish such a feat. Was he truly a wizard of black powers or simply an ordinary man?
She frowned and plopped into his chair under the eaves. Certainly if he had no powers, he would correct the castlefolk and defend his goodness. Aye, so he must have some magic.
How did he conjure up his powers?
Gwenyth had never heard him utter any incantations. In her two days at the tiny cottage, she had seen nothing that resembled a book of spells. He was possessed of no crystals and had not looked upon his reflection in the nearby river. Tapping her toe impatiently against the soft earth, Gwenyth vowed she would solve this mystery somehow.
Then her foot struck something solid.
She peered down and found a faded blue cloth covering Aric’s whittled block of wood. Was this the magic? ’Twould explain why it held him so enthralled.
Biting her lip, Gwenyth lifted the cloth and grabbed the wood. Raising it to her gaze, she peered at it, realizing ’twas not a mystical symbol or figure but a naked woman. The exquisite carving was long of leg, full of breast, curved at the waist and hip. The woman’s hair was long, and the impassioned face—
Was her own.
Gwenyth gasped. The carving’s square chin and round nose were like hers. The hair touched to the curve of her elbow, as her own did. The too-generous mouth could belong to no other.
He had spent nearly every moment of their few days together carving an image of her nakedness?
From inside, Gwenyth heard Aric curse. The sound startled her back to attention. Lest she be caught, she put the carving on the soft earth again and covered it with the cloth.
He had thought of her naked. Often, ’twould seem. Gwenyth rose from the chair, feeling a fine sheen of sweat cover her. Aric had pictured how she would look with one leg curled beneath her and an arm wrapped coyly about her waist whilst exposing the rest of her body in complete abandon.
At once, she felt flattered, uncertain, and utterly afraid to be alone with him for the seemingly endless days and weeks stretching out before them.
Merciful heaven, what should she do?
“’Tis fixed, I think,” Aric called from the doorway.
Dazed, Gwenyth stared at him. His black boots were made large to accommodate his size and extended to the knee. His gray hose made prominent the thick muscles running the length of his thighs—and emphasized his generous manly endowments.
God’s nightgown, he thought that should fit inside her? Gwenyth jerked her gaze away to the faded wooden door beside him. Suddenly, being here alone with Aric seemed unwise. Though he was considered her husband, he was still a stranger.
“My lady?”
Gwenyth’s startled gaze flew to his. “Fixed?”
“Aye, the table you wanted repaired.” Scowling, he slid his stare from her face to the carving upon the ground, then back to her face once more. “Why do your cheeks turn red, Gwenyth?”
No reason, except that she saw now that he was powerfully built all over,
Her belly flipped over at his suggestion. Heat followed, warming her face, nearly melting her resolve.
Finally, when he rose and moved toward her, Gwenyth came to her senses. Her future with Sir Penley was at stake. She could not give the recluse her maidenhead, no matter how handsome his face or how kind his heart.
“The devil plague you,” she murmured, then darted out of the house, hearing his laughter behind her.
Aric should not have this effect upon her. He could help her with her dreams in no way except by leaving her untouched and allowing her to seek an annulment.
Unless he could be persuaded to make rain.
Aye, that might bring an end to her plight. If ’twould only rain, Uncle Bardrick might welcome her back to Penhurst. Sir Penley might still be waiting for her.
She dismissed the notion he knew not what to do with a woman. The hermit could know naught of such an esteemed man as Sir Penley.
But how to persuade Aric to end the drought? Gwenyth wondered if he could accomplish such a feat. Was he truly a wizard of black powers or simply an ordinary man?
She frowned and plopped into his chair under the eaves. Certainly if he had no powers, he would correct the castlefolk and defend his goodness. Aye, so he must have some magic.
How did he conjure up his powers?
Gwenyth had never heard him utter any incantations. In her two days at the tiny cottage, she had seen nothing that resembled a book of spells. He was possessed of no crystals and had not looked upon his reflection in the nearby river. Tapping her toe impatiently against the soft earth, Gwenyth vowed she would solve this mystery somehow.
Then her foot struck something solid.
She peered down and found a faded blue cloth covering Aric’s whittled block of wood. Was this the magic? ’Twould explain why it held him so enthralled.
Biting her lip, Gwenyth lifted the cloth and grabbed the wood. Raising it to her gaze, she peered at it, realizing ’twas not a mystical symbol or figure but a naked woman. The exquisite carving was long of leg, full of breast, curved at the waist and hip. The woman’s hair was long, and the impassioned face—
Was her own.
Gwenyth gasped. The carving’s square chin and round nose were like hers. The hair touched to the curve of her elbow, as her own did. The too-generous mouth could belong to no other.
He had spent nearly every moment of their few days together carving an image of her nakedness?
From inside, Gwenyth heard Aric curse. The sound startled her back to attention. Lest she be caught, she put the carving on the soft earth again and covered it with the cloth.
He had thought of her naked. Often, ’twould seem. Gwenyth rose from the chair, feeling a fine sheen of sweat cover her. Aric had pictured how she would look with one leg curled beneath her and an arm wrapped coyly about her waist whilst exposing the rest of her body in complete abandon.
At once, she felt flattered, uncertain, and utterly afraid to be alone with him for the seemingly endless days and weeks stretching out before them.
Merciful heaven, what should she do?
“’Tis fixed, I think,” Aric called from the doorway.
Dazed, Gwenyth stared at him. His black boots were made large to accommodate his size and extended to the knee. His gray hose made prominent the thick muscles running the length of his thighs—and emphasized his generous manly endowments.
God’s nightgown, he thought that should fit inside her? Gwenyth jerked her gaze away to the faded wooden door beside him. Suddenly, being here alone with Aric seemed unwise. Though he was considered her husband, he was still a stranger.
“My lady?”
Gwenyth’s startled gaze flew to his. “Fixed?”
“Aye, the table you wanted repaired.” Scowling, he slid his stare from her face to the carving upon the ground, then back to her face once more. “Why do your cheeks turn red, Gwenyth?”
No reason, except that she saw now that he was powerfully built all over,
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