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

morning air was beginning to give way to the promise of the afternoon’s warmth. Birds sang amid the leaves covering the tree branches, and a squirrel scurried into a fragrant bunch of wild hyacinths, sending their sweet scent into the air.
    Gwenyth inhaled deeply. Certainly such pleasant smells were found nowhere near Penhurst. Animal droppings and unwashed bodies filled the air there. And ’twas so quiet here, she thought, as she hung the bed linens on a low tree branch. She could almost hear time pass, almost feel the whisper of God’s hand moving in the swaying trees.
    If Aric had chosen to remain here for the peace of this place, he had indeed found a wondrous spot.
    Thwack! The noise rent the peace of the day. Gwenyth turned to the sound, only to hear another thwack coming from the side of the house.
    That man! The first moment of peace she had known since their disastrous marriage, and he seemed bent on ruining it. The odd clamor came again. The mangy mongrel. Gritting her teeth, Gwenyth lifted her skirts and hurried to the source.
    As she rounded the corner, a tongue-lashing ready to spring from her mouth, she stopped short. There Aric stood, an ax in one enormous hand, eyeing a fallen log before him.
    He was completely naked from the waist up.
    Gwenyth drew in a shaky breath at the sight. Whatever she had been about to say fled, forgotten at the sight of his male body. Taut golden skin stretched over a chest seemingly fashioned of steel. Hard ridges covered his belly as he drew a deep breath. Curves formed beneath his flat brown nipples as he grabbed the ax and lifted it. Swells of sinew protruded from his shoulders and arms as he swung it down to split the log. If she had half as much talent with a knife and wood as Aric, she would be tempted to carve a likeness of his form for herself.
    Dear Lord, her mouth went dry just looking at him.
    “Bring that basket to me,” he said suddenly between swings of his heavy blade.
    Gwenyth only half heard him. “Basket?”
    His taut cheeks looked as though he repressed a smile. “Aye, the basket under the eaves, beside the door.”
    Nodding, she reluctantly looked away from her husband and drew in a calming breath. Why did her heart race merely from looking at the man? ’Twas not a good sign, she felt sure.
    She retrieved the large basket, noting its woodsy smell and the wood chips lingering in the bottom. He was beginning to store wood for the next winter, giving it ample time to cure. Such made sense, and he certainly seemed fit to do so. Still, watching him—in his state of near undress—complete the mundane chore was not wise. She must deliver the basket and go inside until he finished.
    But when Gwenyth reached Aric again, her eyes simply would not heed good sense. They led her gaze up the firm length of his calves and the muscle-hardened span of his thighs as she stood before him. His brown hose conformed to the heavy bulge of his man’s staff.
    Swallowing hard against a rising tide of tingling heat, Gwenyth let her gaze wander up to his unyielding stomach and hard chest. He watched her in silence, his eyes veiling his thoughts. Did this magnificent man truly think her as beautiful as the carving suggested? Warmth surrounded her, whether from the sun or Aric’s proximity, she could not say.
    “Set the basket down, Gwenyth.”
    Nodding, she did as he bid, then found her gaze attached to him again. He released the ax and stepped near her.
    She was close enough now to see the light thatch of pale hair between his tight nipples and the myriad scars that covered him. A faded gash that began beneath his left nipple and ended near his waist had once been a wicked wound. Nicks and slices, old now, also dotted the sleek surface of his arms and shoulders.
    He looked like a hardened battle warrior, no stranger to the lift of a lance and the thrust of a blade. Was it possible? What of his magical ways? He looked like no soft mystic who sat about all day turning children