Read Online His Lady Bride (Brothers in Arms) by Shayla Black, Shelley Bradley - Free Book Online Page B

dresses, fine enough to take on a trip to London like Cousin Nellwyn, made her sigh.
    Then she caught sight of a beautiful silk in the deepest red, its surface glossy. What a magnificent dress this would make! She would look a lady indeed were she to wear something in this majestic shade. Aye, she could near picture herself now in a fine castle, surrounded by vassals and villagers, lords and ladies alike, beside a tender husband who always had a smile for her…
    “How much for this?” Gwenyth asked the merchant impulsively.
    He rattled off an amount that had Aric’s brows rising and her own stomach plummeting.
    “’Tis unnecessary,” said her husband curtly.
    “But I need new dresses.” She gestured to the stained woolen garment covering her body. “Can you not see that?”
    “Aye. That is why I have procured these fabrics.” Aric held up more of the gray woolen, as well as similar fabrics in an ordinary blue and an exceedingly dull brown. “These will serve you well and last long.”
    And make her look every inch a woman of no importance to anyone. She grimaced.
    “I find those disagreeable.” Ugly was a more appropriate word, but she couldn’t well say that to him. ’Twas unlikely he could afford better, though his robe last night had been expensively trimmed in fur. An indulgence, mayhap?
    With a shrug, she turned to the peddler. “My good man, mayhap we can work out a trade of some sort. I own several books.”
    The merchant scratched his graying head. “I cannot read.”
    Gwenyth bit her lip, her thoughts racing. All too soon, she realized she had nothing of consequence to offer the little man. She turned away, downcast. The picture of her future looked bleak indeed.
    “These fabrics are practical, Gwenyth. Come.”
    Aric settled with the old merchant, who smiled and pocketed the coin. Her husband nodded, as if pleased with the trade.
    Once again, no one cared that she was ill pleased. She had been twice a fool for hoping otherwise. No one since her parents had ever really cared. It seemed no one ever would.
     
    * * * *
     
    The following morning, Gwenyth looked about the untidy cottage as Aric attempted to set it to rights. Most of the mess had been her doing. Her shoes lay discarded in the middle of the floor. The bit of her evening meal she had not finished sat upon the little table near the hearth, gathering flies. The bed remained unmade, and the linens needed airing besides.
    Surprised that Aric had not demanded her assistance, she joined his efforts to restore the little place, somehow confused and grateful at once for his hush.
    Without a word, he handed her the straw broom that occupied one corner. As she grabbed the handle, Gwenyth raised her eyes to meet his. His very closeness made her feel flushed all over. Did he still work on the carving he had of her? Or did he merely stare at it and wonder how correctly he had guessed?
    She stared back. Then, unusually timid, she looked away to tend the floor. She swept the twigs and the last of winter’s brown leaves that littered the floor into a corner, aware all the while of her silent husband tidying the hearth.
    Did he watch her? Gwenyth could near feel his stare upon her back, caressing the curve of her waist, the arch of her backside. Purposely dropping the broom, Gwenyth bent to retrieve it and glanced over her shoulder. Aric did indeed watch her, and with an intense, soundless appraisal that made her tingle of a sudden. She whirled about and began fidgeting nervously with the broom.
    Had he been watching her thus all day? Why did he seem to want her so? And why did the realization he did make her unwisely pleased?
    “You cannot sweep the very dirt off the floors, Gwenyth,” he said suddenly, mere inches behind her.
    Gwenyth felt his warm breath against her neck, could almost feel his chest pressing against her back. Would he touch her now, as he had been since telling her the tale of Dog and his hare? That woodsy, musky scent of his she