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

into chickens.
    Without thought, she traced the long gash dividing his stomach with her fingers. He sucked in a breath but did not move. Gwenyth jerked her hand away from the warmth of his skin and glanced into his guarded expression.
    “How did you come by that scar? And all the others?”
    He lifted a tawny brow in question. “Do they bother you?”
    Gwenyth frowned. He cared what she thought of his appearance? Or did he mock her?
    “Nay,” she answered finally. “’Tis surprised I am, is all. I did not imagine that…” a sorcerer would have such warlike scars , she started to say. But his reply to that would tell her nothing.
    “Whence came you?” she queried instead.
    He hesitated. “Yorkshire.”
    Recognition flashed through her. “Aye, ’tis in your voice, that northern slur. But what manner of man are you? A sorcerer, truly?”
    “What do you believe?”
    What indeed? “I cannot credit a man of the black arts with a warrior’s wounds.”
    Again, a pause that told her Aric was measuring his words carefully. “I have known battle.”
    “More than once, ’twould appear. Yet you battle no more. Did you leave a baron’s service?”
    “Nay.” He crossed his strong arms over the width of his chest.
    “Were you trained for battle?”
    Once more, a pause. “Aye.”
    Gwenyth peered at her husband, her frustration rising. He answered her questions, yet managed to give her little information. “You were a mercenary, then? And left behind your means?”
    “Nay.”
    She balled her fists in frustration. “Might I have an answer of more than one word, you ruttish varlet?”
    Suddenly, Aric turned away and retrieved the ax. “Gwenyth, it matters not about my past, for that is done. You and I are wed, and we will stay wed. I’ll not be accused of madness or impotence. The past is a place I can never return, and I prefer to live my life here.”
    His answer gave her pause, not only because of the implacable tone, but the ease with which he had read her thoughts. Those words, coupled with his nightmares, told her something was unwell in his past. Had he run from someone? Something?
    “Here, in a shanty? You have talent as a warrior, yet you choose to live like a pauper? Such makes no sense! Have you always lived thus?”
    Aric locked his jaw, anger tightening his features. “Nay.”
    His reply filled her with surprise and hope. “You have lived in a castle?”
    “Aye.”
    Renewed vexation swept her. “Are we back to a single word again, as if you have no more word-stock than a child? If you mean to stay married to me and can take me from this terrible place, can we not go? Half my days I have dreamed of my own castle and my own lands. Servants and villagers who need me, as does my husband, to oversee it all. You look strong enough for battle, and if you have been trained, I could help you—”
    “Nay. Everything comes with a price, Gwenyth. Some are too high. Here we stay.”
    With his harsh, disheartening words, he threw the ax to the ground and disappeared into the forest.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
    For many long hours, Aric stayed away from their cottage, and Gwenyth could hardly contain her fury. How could the hugger-mugger announce his intent to keep her here, trapped in obscure poverty, then saunter away, only to return in the depths of night as she tossed and turned in his bed? Did he not realize he threatened her dreams of a future as a respected lady, dreams that included a loving husband and giggling children with plenty to eat?
    Shortly after dawn, Gwenyth glared at her husband—the man she swore would not have a permanent place in her life—as he calmly ate a hunk of dark, dry bread, then sipped some wine. Did he mean to say nothing of his absence? His declaration?
    Aric turned his attention to a small slab of cheese, seemingly impervious to her glare. That gorbellied gudgeon!
    Marching to the hearth, Gwenyth resolved he would listen well and grant her an annulment. He would release her this very