His Lady Bride (Brothers in Arms) by Shayla Black, Shelley Bradley Page B

tried again and brushed his fingers across her knee, pulling away before she could protest. Her cheeks flushed a fetching rosy pink.
    “I did,” he said. “Dog had found a rabbit, you see. He stood over the creature barking so loud he no doubt rose the dead for nigh on twenty leagues.”
    “I see.”
    “But what I saw next was even more unusual.” He smoothed a stray lock of her glossy black hair away from her shoulder, retreating when she fixed a narrow-eyed gaze upon him.
    “Now, Dog is something of a manly dog,” he went on. “I have seen he is fierce in the hunt and in his pride. Yet he stood before this hare, so much smaller than himself, barked his terror, and emptied his bladder like the veriest of infants.” Aric clapped a firm hand around her back when she smiled. “Is that not odd?”
    “I cannot picture Dog so.” She smiled skeptically.
    “’Tis true, I vow. I laughed heartily.”
    Gwenyth nodded, her full mouth upturned. Her skin shone so radiant in the candle’s glow, her hair so lustrous. Aric’s urge to touch her grew. He gave in to it, reaching for her hand.
    “You know,” he began, “you have not insulted me for the whole of the day. Does that mean I have succeeded in not rising your ire, little dragon, or have you run out of spirited slurs?”
    At his suggestion, Gwenyth raised the dark arches of her brows and yanked her hand from his. “I shall always have a slur for you, you reeky ratsbane.”
    “I should be surprised if you did not. I suspect your dolt of an uncle knew not how to handle that unruly tongue.”
    For a heartbeat, Gwenyth said and did nothing. Aric wondered if ’twas a mistake to bring up the family who had shown her such grievous disregard. For all that he and his own father had rarely spoken of more than matters of war and politics, Aric had never suffered anything close to contempt from his father. Then Gwenyth smiled, that mischievous little grin that brightened her face and made his blood run hot.
    “Aye, Uncle Bardrick and I have quarreled a time or two over my words.”
    Aric reached out to nudge her side. As his fingers closed about the soft curve of her waist, he felt his desire rise again. The thought of her bare skin gleaming beneath his hands, her passionate whisper in her ear confirming her desire…such made a man eager indeed.
    “Give over. What did you say?” he asked, turning his attention back to the moment at hand.
    Gwenyth’s smile became a sparkling laugh. “Once, about two years past, my uncle decided he needed to raise an army and join the Yorkists in their fight for the throne. Those were hard times at Penhurst, for the winter before had been very long, and our foodstuffs were nearly gone. Uncle Bardrick invited some important lords to Penhurst for a feast. I don’t recall who. I do recall, though, my great anger that he would take food from the very mouths of babes to further his ambition.
    “When the guests arrived, he ordered me to serve them mulled wine, which I did—along with an herbal sleeping draught. When all of his guests began snoring at his table, Bardrick roared at me. Everyone in the castle watched. Before I could stop myself, I called him a beslubbering boil-brained dimwit. I spent two days in the pantry for the misdeed, but ’twas worth it to hear the laughter of the others. Even better, uncle Bardrick’s guests left for fear he’d tried to poison them, so the feast he had planned never took place.”
    Aric laughed. That spectacle he would have enjoyed immensely. But he expected such spirit from Gwenyth. Though she had known the half-witted baron would punish her, Gwenyth had fought her battle in the only way she could and had won. She was clever, his wife.
    She was also weary, he thought, watching her yawn.
    “Sleepy, are you?” he asked
    “Aye. The nights are still cool. I did not rest well last eve.”
    Aric who had been awake half the night fighting his bloody nightmares, doubted she had suffered much, but he