His Lady Bride (Brothers in Arms)

by Shayla Black

  Rising, Gwenyth leaned toward her brother-in-law and patted his shoulder. He looked up at her with sorrowful eyes, which quickly became hopeful pools of brown.

  She let that—and her anger—fortify her as she left the great hall to find her husband and his wench of a lover.

  Why his having a leman should disturb her, she did not know. Climbing the stairs to the solar, Gwenyth knew ’twas not as if she was devoted to him. Her heart did not pine for him. Did it? Nay. Such foolishness made her frown. She simply did not wish to be ignored, to be the object of servants’ sympathy and knights’ speculation.

  As she approached the solar, which contained their bedchamber, Gwenyth found herself wishing with each beat of her heart that she would find it empty.

  Such was not the case.

  Seeing the door ajar, she entered the series of rooms without a sound. Thankfully, the bed lay empty.

  But she heard the murmur of Rowena’s voice, followed by the rumble of Aric’s, behind the treasury door.

  Damn them both!

  Gwenyth clenched her fists as anger assailed her in hot waves that urged her to recklessness. The pain beneath prodded her as well. If they wished to fornicate, they would not do so in her rooms, so near her bed!

  She marched past the large tester, past the cool, blackened hearth and trestle table, until she reached the door. Upon taking the latch in her hand, she yanked the heavy wooden door open.

  Aric and Rowena stood inside alone. Together.

  Nay, they were not taking a tumble at the moment, but Rowena’s gown revealed enough breast to tempt a holy man. The wench had her hand upon Aric’s shoulder. She leaned into him, inviting him. By the moon and stars, he did not look to be declining her enticement, not with his head bent toward her and some taut expression on his face.

  The guilty pair looked up at her with surprise. Rowena sent her a faint smile and a shrug. Aric’s expression showed nothing.

  Gwenyth felt like exploding.

  She stalked forward and grabbed Rowena by the arm. “Out!”

  Rowena tried to break free. Gwenyth gripped tighter, refusing to let the bony bitch get the best of her.

  “Aric and I are simply…talking,” Rowena protested, though without much force.

  Resisting the urge to put her hands around Rowena’s neck and squeeze, Gwenyth gave the woman’s arm a good yank and led her toward the door. “I should hardly care if you elected to lift your skirts and hump a butter churn, you milk-livered strumpet. But whatever you’re about, you will not do it here!”

  Though Rowena resisted being dragged out of the treasury and through the bedchamber, it did little good. Within moments, she gave the smaller woman a shove into the hall, slammed the door, and barred it against further entry.

  Then she turned to her errant husband, hands on her hips, poised for battle.

  He stood there with a smile.

  Oh, how he must like this. He probably thought her jealous. The swine.

  “A butter churn?” he asked. “’Twould hurt a mite, I fear.”

  “And ’tis clear you care, you pox-mettled rogue. Saints thunder upon us if Rowena should bruise the flesh you choose to plough.”

  Aric frowned, his face a fine imitation of confusion. She did not believe it for an instant. Hadn’t Aunt Welsa always said men would lie to any woman for or about sex?

  “What?” He glared at her.

  Gwenyth cast her gaze upward, striving for patience. But she could find none this eve.

  She let out a frustrated groan. “I see it suits you to pretend innocence, you urchin-snouted lewdster. Very well. What I cannot understand is why you sniff after her skirts. Have I lately denied you any husbandly demand you have made upon me? Nay. In sharing your bed, have I ever said nay to anything you have wished of me, of my body? Not once.”

  His silver eyes turned flat, icy. “As you say, not once.”

  A muscle worked at the side of his jaw, and his large body turned tense. What had he to be angry about? That she had broken up his tryst with the scrawny harlot, most like.

  Her temper rose another notch, until she thought anger would burst from the top of her head.

  “I scarce understand—” She broke off, too furious to find words. “If you wish to bed a wench who wants you only for your money and title, so be it, you ill-bred idlehead!”

  With that, she turned for the door, determined to leave before he could see the tears threatening her eyes.

  As she reached for the latch, one of Aric’s huge hands clamped around her wrist and dragged her back to him, flush against the length of his massive body. His fingers twisted in her hair, and with them, he forced her gaze up to the tense lines and narrowed eyes in his face.

  “Aye. So be it,” he growled.

  Then his mouth seized hers.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Aric could scarce believe Gwenyth accused Rowena of her own crime. Rowena, at least, had never pretended desire or affection for him. She had let it be known that she shared her delicate beauty in exchange for the security of shelter and food.

  Fiery Gwenyth, on the other hand, pretended warmth and want and caring, so that a man felt betrayed by the truth she sought to veil in lust. ’Twas madness! The kind for which physicians bled men to cure them. Aric hardly knew whether to shout at Gwenyth or swive her senseless.

  For the moment, he gripped her face between his hands and took her lips, even as he grappled to accept her brazenness.

  Then her mouth parted beneath his. He hardened instantly.

  Damnation. Like the veriest of witches, her sweet kiss cast a spell over his good sense. And he let it, for now he knew what she was about. Now he would not be tempted to believe that she actually cared for any comfort but her own.

  But that did not stop him from wanting to believe it.

  With a growl, Aric tore his mouth from hers, sides heaving with the effort to inhale air, clear his mind of her sweet female scent. ’Twas foolishness, she leading him to demise, him following so willingly!

  Slowly, she opened her eyes, looking deliciously dazed.

  “Aric,” she called like a siren, her voice a breathy whisper.

  She swayed toward him, and her breast brushed his palm. Her lush mouth had swollen tender and red from his kiss. Aric felt the tight ache for her pulse deep in his groin.

  Why could he not want Rowena? Her exchange was simple, like a merchant’s trade, as was his wife’s. But Gwenyth inflamed him, seemed to ask for his soul, then have no notion why he should resist. He could not understand such himself.

  Aric looked down into the bottomless blue depths of Gwenyth’s passion-hazed eyes, the flush that pinkened her cheeks, her shoulders, the swells of her breasts. Her mouth seemed to beg the return of his.

  Gnashing his teeth, he reached out and gripped her arms, searching within his mettle for restraint, praying for it.

  His prayers were in vain.

  Fury and lust twined inside him with an emotion so foreign he could not name it. Dark and irresistible, the feeling compelled him to touch her, taste her as he had not since the first night he had taken her.

  With a groan, he gave in, need pounding, pounding mercilessly within him.

  He swept her against his body, one large hand slipping beneath her buttocks to hoist her against him. With it, he lifted her from the carpet beneath and carried her to the big tester bed. When he sat her upon it, she stared up at him with enormous eyes, depths deepening with heavy-lidded expectation.

  In that moment, he vowed she would feel desire—genuine and powerful—before he would give in to his own longing.

  Grabbing fistfuls of his black woolen tunic in his hands, he jerked the garment over his head with a vicious yank. Her eyes widened as they made their way from his face, to his torso…and lower.

  Needing surcease from his ache, he twined his fingers in her hair again and possessed her mouth in a single sweep, lips clinging, tongue claiming. She responded with a high-pitched catch of breath and a silent in
vitation into the honeyed depths of her mouth.

  He plundered, hoping ’twould be enough. As he ended that kiss only to begin another, he wondered if he would ever have enough of her.

  The thought angered him more.

  Aric leaned into her, until she lay back on the mattress, looking temptingly muddled. His mouth made its way to the swells of her breasts, warm with a flush. For a moment, he paused to palm the weight of her flesh, test the hardness of their tips.

  As she cried out, he tore into the embroidered belt about her small waist and flung it to one side with a grunt. About her, the purple outer gown fell to each side, revealing the silky white smock beneath. None too gently, he thrust the gown off her shoulders and tossed it to the far side of the bed.

  He cast a quick glance at her face, only to find her breathing labored, her moist lips parted, and her eyes seductively watchful.

  Upon stealing a quick kiss from her lush mouth, Aric moved down with determination to snare the rest of her treasures.

  Quickly, he reached her feet and extracted her leather shoes, then threw them over his shoulder in haste. With both hands, he found the hem of her chemise and pushed it up from her ankles, past the garters holding up her woolen stockings, above milky thighs beginning to part in enticement.

  Aric groaned and swept his palm across her flat belly as he exposed it. Farther up he went, cupping one breast as he gave the garment a final tug over her head.

  Finally, with the exception of her stockings and the ruby pendant, she lay gloriously naked, from the pert button of her nose to the dark thatch of hair guarding her femininity. And for a moment, he did naught but stare. That mystery feeling churned within him as he considered all the different ways in which to give her blinding pleasure, to prove he would not be toyed with.

  As wanton ideas tripped over one another in his head, begging for fruition, he began to sweat.

  Gwenyth, who had been surprisingly silent for a time, finally spoke. “Aric?”

  Did she think he would back away now? Aye, he realized as she held her arms up to him in invitation.

  Passion and purpose mated in his stomach, and he whispered, “Not yet.”

  Without warning, he took hold of her beneath the knee and drew her down until her legs dangled over the mattress’s edge.

  “Aric?” Her curiosity almost masked her alarm. Almost.

  “Not now.”

  Then he knelt beside the bed and took her thighs in his hands. He placed one on each shoulder. Gwenyth tensed as he leaned closer, and he exhaled so she might feel his breath upon her nether curls. She gasped and stiffened, the muscles of her thighs clenching in his hands.

  “Aric, may-mayhap you should leave me be.”

  “Never,” he croaked. “I intend for you to wonder if I’ve become a permanent part of you.”

  Before she could protest again, Aric parted her with a finger. Already she was wet with want, and her moan did naught to disguise her desire.

  Which only inflamed his.

  Fighting the vicious need tightening in his loins, Aric bent his head to her and sampled her honeyed musk. The scent of her surrounded him, the taste of her invaded him, as the tip of his tongue toyed with her pleasure center until it turned from firm to stiff and swollen. Whirling it about, he drew it into his mouth with a hard suck. Gwenyth bucked beneath him, grabbing handfuls of his sheets in her fists. With firm hands at her hips, he held her in place against his mouth.

  “Aric!” she cried.

  She neared a peak. He felt it in her tense body, heard such in her voice. He drew away, letting his mouth trail damp kisses upon her thighs.

  “Nay,” she protested as she lifted herself to him in offering, the musk of her arousal tingeing the air.

  He smiled as he used a finger to beguile her flesh again.

  Gwenyth’s breath came hard. Her eyes squeezed shut as if she were fighting to control the hunger in her body. Aric intended she never have that chance.

  Lowering his mouth to her once more, he dragged the rasp of his tongue over her pleasure center. She writhed against him desperately as he did it again, lapping her like a cat.

  She let loose a throaty cry of satisfaction as she stiffened against his touch, splintered around him. Aric felt her hips, her very woman’s flesh quiver as he drew out her release to the gasping end.

  He moved to lie beside his wife and peer at her. For a long moment, she lay upon his sheets, eyes closed, face provocatively flushed, breath quick and jagged.

  Then her eyes drifted open, shockingly blue, sexual, determined.

  Gwenyth sat up and leaned over him with resolute motions. Aric swallowed as he tried to rise, but his stubborn bride held him in place and moved her hands over his chest, the flat of his belly…then lower. A moment later, she all but ripped off his hose and threw them to the stone floor.

  Eyes glittering with challenge, Gwenyth claimed the aching length of him with a tight grip. Against his will, he groaned, needing her beneath him, needing to feel her desire. Aric sat up so he might ease her to the mattress and claim her body.

  Instead, Gwenyth pushed him back down and closed her mouth around him.

  Unbelievable sensation filled him. Her tongue played over his tip, and the fluid warmth of her mouth surrounded him.

  “Dear God.” The groan tore from his throat.

  She suckled and laved him, nipped and kissed him with sweet lips. His desire tightened like a bowstring. Though he tried to fight it off, a wave of satisfaction rushed toward him as she swirled her tongue around him once more.

  With a hissed curse, he gripped her arms and pushed her to her back. Aric stared at her—hard.

  He was dangerously aroused, and judging from the wide-eyed look of her anxious blue gaze, she knew it. He took a deep breath, then smiled again. She swallowed nervously.

  With a brush of his hand upon her thigh and a graze of his tongue upon her nipple, he mounted her. Gwenyth wrapped her arms around him hesitantly. Beneath him, she parted her legs so slowly Aric thought he would die waiting for her.

  Once Gwenyth was open, waiting beneath him, Aric entered her in one smooth thrust. And stopped. Within moments, she wriggled beneath him, urging him on. He refused to be rushed.

  “Aric…” she called to him.

  Settling his lips against her neck, he whispered, “I want you to feel me deep inside you. I want you to wonder where I end and you begin.”

  He thrust. She cried out.

  Then he settled in for a long, slow ride.

  Deeply, he delved into her rhythmically and greedily, plunging, plundering, melding their bodies. Beneath him, she writhed, clutching at the tense length of his back, his buttocks, as provocative moans slipped from her throat, urging him on.

  “More,” she called on a jagged breath.

  “In time,” he answered, struggling to cage his teetering passion.

  “Now!” she demanded.

  And despite his ravenous, reckless pleasure, he held on, knowing slowly built pleasure always burst the brightest.

  As if she could tolerate no more, she bucked hard beneath him as he filled her in hot, smooth strokes. Sweat dampened his temples, and he prayed he could last against the impossible pleasure rushing up to claim him. He held his breath, grinding against her, sheathed completely within her tight, hungry body.

  Then Gwenyth turned rigid, and with a toss of her dark head, screamed her satisfaction. Aric had no time for triumph, as she pulsed around him in gripping contractions, violently stripping him of control.

  He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in, as the arousal turned thick with sharp satisfaction. As if ripped from his body, the peak exploded within him, seeming to last a small eternity, staggering him. He felt as if he emptied all of himself into her: seed, blood, soul. It was both perfect and frightening.

  Gwenyth’s damp lush clung to him, limbs tangling, skin slick. He brushed a damp tress from her cheek and eased his mouth to hers on a sigh. He felt the wetness of her tears on his f
ingertips. His anger began to dissipate. A quick glance seemed to show she cried in release, not pain. Still, he could not stop his next words.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She sent him a weary frown. “Why? For making me feel like hot butter?”

  He smiled softly. “I meant not to hurt you.”

  Her slow, husky laugh dashed up his spine. “I should always be in such pain.”

  Nuzzling her ear, he whispered, “Aye, you should.”

  * * * *

  Aric awoke to the feel of Gwenyth’s soft lips upon his. He sent her a sleepy smile and stretched, pleased to hear her happy giggle. After brushing a long, glossy strand of hair from her face, he settled his hands on her face and smacked a kiss on her mouth. A new contentment, never before felt, curled through him in languid warmth. Aye, he could get used to this each morn.

  Mayhap he had been wrong about Gwenyth and her greed. Last night, she had given him more than her body. ’Twas as if she had invited him into her very essence with each touch. Afterward, she’d cried in his arms and let him hold her while sleep overcame her. The openness of her actions made him feel contrite. He had judged her against his own experience with Rowena. And though he knew not what they were, he wondered if Gwenyth had motives other than avarice for sharing his bed. After all, ’twas only natural that she should want a home and a secure future.

  She leaned over him, resting her chin upon his chest. “My, such a frown you wear. What could be so serious on this lovely morn?”

  How should he answer? He chose evasion. “All manner of castle duties have to be done this day.”

  Gwenyth hesitated. “I am willing—and trained—to help you. I swear I would make a fine chatelaine, if you would but give me a chance.”

  Chatelaine. Aric felt his warm content evaporate, replaced by disbelief. He swallowed, trying to force suspicion down. Again and again, it came up, and with it a healthy dose of anger.

  So Gwenyth, who lay warm and naked in his bed, chose this moment to ask for the command of the castle’s household, when he was happy and well sated. What ironic timing.

  Her scheming should not matter, given the fact women wed wealthy men for home and hearth. She did only what Rowena had, what his own mother probably had.