His Rebel Bride (Brothers in Arms Book 3) by Shayla Black & Shelley Bradley

Author:Shayla Black & Shelley Bradley [Black, Shayla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Shayla Black, Shelley Bradley, erotic romance, Historical
Publisher: Shelley Bradley, LLC
Published: 2014-09-14T21:00:00+00:00

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Maeve paced. Though her husband had not been alone with Desmond O’Neill long, she feared for him. Aye, O’Neill had long been devoted to the rebellion, but he wanted bloodshed in the name of freedom, even seemed to crave the sight of it red and running on the soil. And he’d begun to influence Flynn of late… And then there was the rumor that whispered word about the manner in which Desmond had driven away his English wife many years past. She knew not if ’twas true, but if it was, Maeve could see some frightening implications.

She shivered. Kieran should not be alone with the man, for he did not understand O’Neill’s nature. But she did. Aye, she had warned him, but had it been enough?

The sound of the latch on the door brought Maeve whirling about. Kieran marched through the door, his face a glower. Tension dominated his body. His mouth, usually smiling, pursed instead in a scowl.

Kieran took three long strides to the hearth, then turned, stalking back to the door. Twice again he crossed the floor, his frown becoming fiercer with each step.

What had happened with O’Neill?

She’d never seen him so agitated. In fact, she had only known his imperturbable charm. And though she knew what had likely incensed him, his sudden change still disturbed her.

“What happened?” she asked.

He stopped in midstride to glare at her. “What about this damned country makes all you people fanatics to free it?”

His question shocked Maeve into silence. From whence had such a question come?

“Truly,” he went on, “do you people see this place as God’s Promised Land or some such nonsense?”

Kieran began pacing again before she could answer, and Maeve sensed he did not really wish a reply anyway.

“It rains too much,” he ranted. “’Tis foggy nearly always. And you Irish find guileful ways of dealing with honest men.”

Of what did he complain? Maeve was uncertain but had no doubt the blast of heat she felt from him was anger, more than she had ever imagined Kieran capable of.

“If you will but sit—”

“Like your brother”—he paused at the hearth to spin toward the door again—“that day I first arrived, he trapped me in that mud hole, rather than fight me like a man.”

Aye, Kieran was indeed very angry. And his fury grew with each word. Had his father’s visit unleashed this uncommon display? Kieran’s mood before the man’s arrival had been a good one. Maeve searched her memory for anything else that might have upset him, but concluded it could only be Desmond.

Then why did he not talk about it?

“Your talk with your father, it did not go well?”

He speared her with a glare and bunched a fist, paced faster, and bit out a curse.

“And you,” he accused, stalking closer. “You lied to me about the bridge over the River Barrow. Did you hope I would drown in that damned bog? As it was, my horse nearly emasculated me. Would you have laughed if he had?”

Kieran’s anger was now approaching fury.

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