Read Online Mary Reed McCall by The Maiden Warrior - Free Book Online
Authors: The Maiden Warrior
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came streaming from doorways and milling among the men, all talking and laughing at once.
Stiffly, Gwynne dismounted, Owin and Dafydd staying close by her as they waited for an indication of what they should do next. But Aidan seemed oblivious to the awkward way he’d left them. Instead, he peered around the courtyard, as if looking for someone in particular.
She shouldn’t be surprised, she thought, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling. Why should de Brice care for their comfort? He was naught but an English oaf.
A stable boy came up with a nod and led her mountaway to the stables for a brush down and some food; she continued to glare at de Brice, hoping he’d look her way and realize his discourtesy. But he was too engrossed in his search, undoubtedly awash with lust as he searched for sign of his precious Lady Helene.
In the next instant, a woman came bursting through the main doors of the keep, her face wreathed in smiles—and all Gwynne’s worst imaginings were realized.
The creature was the essence of femininity, but of that sensuous sort that made other women bristle and men stare with mouths agape. Her rich auburn hair hung to her waist like rippling silk, a crowning glory for her creamy skin and seductive, thick-lashed eyes. And though she was young—no more than seventeen, Gwynne guessed—she’d been blessed with a figure only the gods themselves could have crafted: all graceful lines and curves, set off to perfection by the lush crimson gown she wore.
Forcing herself to pull her gaze from the sight of the bewitching creature throwing herself into Aidan’s arms, Gwynne dared a glance at Owin and Dafydd and saw to her annoyance that they too seemed besotted; Owin’s eyes might as well have left their sockets and rolled to the ground to do homage to the woman, he was gawking so openly. Gritting her teeth, Gwynne jabbed him none too gently in the ribs, making him double over and cough.
But at least he’d stopped staring.
Then she looked back to de Brice and his ladylove, and her initial jab of dislike expanded to a flood of animosity. The woman had pulled away from Aidan, who had obviously just mentioned the presence of Gwynne and her men in their party. The lady glared now in Gwynne’s direction as if she’d like to flay her alive.
Resisting the urge to scowl back at her, Gwynne instead raised her brow and favored her with a cold look. Ah, but de Brice seemed to have chosen a jealous womanas his future mate. If anger wasn’t making her gut twist so strangely right now, the knowledge would have made her feel positively gleeful.
With a jerk of her head, she directed Owin and Dafydd to come with her as she approached the pair. The long length of cloak swishing round her legs reminded her that she should attempt to use a more ladylike gait, but her usual saunter came through nonetheless.
When they reached Aidan, he was saying something in hushed tones to his lady—most likely scolding her for her less than welcoming attitude. She’d resorted to pouting, though on that perfect face of hers, the expression still managed to look entrancing. Her elegant nose wrinkled as she flicked her gaze up Gwynne’s sapphire-cloaked length, stopping with what might have been surprise, or perhaps just wariness, when she met Gwynne’s silver gaze.
With a sigh, Aidan stepped back a little so that the women could see each other better, though he directed his comment to his lady. “Allow me to introduce our Welsh cousin, Gwynne ap Mo—ap Morrison.”
Gwynne noticed that his voice sounded rather sharp—not at all the tone she’d have expected a love-besotted man to use with his betrothed. He continued, she saw to her astonishment, with a look on his face almost as if he intended to forcibly compel his fiancée to accept the situation.
“Gwynne will be staying with us for the time being and is in need of understanding and comfort after the ordeal she has been through. She and these, her two serving
Stiffly, Gwynne dismounted, Owin and Dafydd staying close by her as they waited for an indication of what they should do next. But Aidan seemed oblivious to the awkward way he’d left them. Instead, he peered around the courtyard, as if looking for someone in particular.
She shouldn’t be surprised, she thought, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling. Why should de Brice care for their comfort? He was naught but an English oaf.
A stable boy came up with a nod and led her mountaway to the stables for a brush down and some food; she continued to glare at de Brice, hoping he’d look her way and realize his discourtesy. But he was too engrossed in his search, undoubtedly awash with lust as he searched for sign of his precious Lady Helene.
In the next instant, a woman came bursting through the main doors of the keep, her face wreathed in smiles—and all Gwynne’s worst imaginings were realized.
The creature was the essence of femininity, but of that sensuous sort that made other women bristle and men stare with mouths agape. Her rich auburn hair hung to her waist like rippling silk, a crowning glory for her creamy skin and seductive, thick-lashed eyes. And though she was young—no more than seventeen, Gwynne guessed—she’d been blessed with a figure only the gods themselves could have crafted: all graceful lines and curves, set off to perfection by the lush crimson gown she wore.
Forcing herself to pull her gaze from the sight of the bewitching creature throwing herself into Aidan’s arms, Gwynne dared a glance at Owin and Dafydd and saw to her annoyance that they too seemed besotted; Owin’s eyes might as well have left their sockets and rolled to the ground to do homage to the woman, he was gawking so openly. Gritting her teeth, Gwynne jabbed him none too gently in the ribs, making him double over and cough.
But at least he’d stopped staring.
Then she looked back to de Brice and his ladylove, and her initial jab of dislike expanded to a flood of animosity. The woman had pulled away from Aidan, who had obviously just mentioned the presence of Gwynne and her men in their party. The lady glared now in Gwynne’s direction as if she’d like to flay her alive.
Resisting the urge to scowl back at her, Gwynne instead raised her brow and favored her with a cold look. Ah, but de Brice seemed to have chosen a jealous womanas his future mate. If anger wasn’t making her gut twist so strangely right now, the knowledge would have made her feel positively gleeful.
With a jerk of her head, she directed Owin and Dafydd to come with her as she approached the pair. The long length of cloak swishing round her legs reminded her that she should attempt to use a more ladylike gait, but her usual saunter came through nonetheless.
When they reached Aidan, he was saying something in hushed tones to his lady—most likely scolding her for her less than welcoming attitude. She’d resorted to pouting, though on that perfect face of hers, the expression still managed to look entrancing. Her elegant nose wrinkled as she flicked her gaze up Gwynne’s sapphire-cloaked length, stopping with what might have been surprise, or perhaps just wariness, when she met Gwynne’s silver gaze.
With a sigh, Aidan stepped back a little so that the women could see each other better, though he directed his comment to his lady. “Allow me to introduce our Welsh cousin, Gwynne ap Mo—ap Morrison.”
Gwynne noticed that his voice sounded rather sharp—not at all the tone she’d have expected a love-besotted man to use with his betrothed. He continued, she saw to her astonishment, with a look on his face almost as if he intended to forcibly compel his fiancée to accept the situation.
“Gwynne will be staying with us for the time being and is in need of understanding and comfort after the ordeal she has been through. She and these, her two serving
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