His Rebel Bride (Brothers in Arms Book 3)

Read His Rebel Bride (Brothers in Arms Book 3) for Free Online

Book: Read His Rebel Bride (Brothers in Arms Book 3) for Free Online
Authors: Shayla Black, Shelley Bradley
Tags: Historical, Erotic Romance, Shayla Black, Shelley Bradley
“Is there a way out?”
    All three of them turned to look at Maeve.
    With a sigh and a strained smile, she turned away, her soft footsteps retreating.
    “Good lady!” he called after her, feeling as if his last hope had left him. Jana, Fiona, and Brighid had not the mind between them to help him out.
    “Maeve has a plan,” Brighid assured with an impish grin. “Maeve always has a plan.”
    By God’s oath, he hoped so. Though he could do little until she decided to reveal what that might be. Zounds, he hated idleness.
    “Why do men stare at Fiona’s breasts?” Brighid asked suddenly, much unexpectedly.
    Kieran sent a wide-eyed glance up to the girl, then to Fiona’s…assets. How, by Saint Michael’s balls, was he to answer that?
    He simply would not. Instead, he stared impatiently up at the afternoon sky and waited. Finally, Maeve reappeared, a castle guard trailing in her wake.
    Wordlessly, she pointed to Kieran, trapped in the mud.
    With no more than a nod, the guard retrieved a rope from the ground and tossed the end down to him.
    He felt the smile break his face.
    Now he could get out of this mud pit and begin to establish authority. He could meet the O’Shea sisters, pick one to wife, breed her, then leave this backward land and return to the mercenary life that called his name.
    Such could not happen soon enough to suit him!
    The rope made its way close enough that he reached out and grabbed hold. With a good tug, he established that someone or something held the other end in place.
    He lifted himself by the arms, the mud making a loud sucking noise sound as his feet emerged from the sludge. Once they were free, he planted them against the wall and began climbing his way out.
    In three steps, he made his way to the top and emerged into the sunlight, surrounded by four women. The castle guard disappeared. Flynn stood away from the women, glaring in his direction.
    Kieran turned to his savior. Maeve crossed her arms over her chest and met his stare with a flat expression.
    Still, he felt a charge of sexual energy leap through him.
    She would be an interesting, spirited woman to bed, all calm and logical on the outside, all fiery need on the inside.
    After a lingering glance, he murmured, “Thank you, Maeve.”
    “Thank me not. I do not want your appreciation.”
    Though her voice held contempt, her eyes held an awareness of him as a man. He saw it plainly. And he smiled.
    “Nonetheless, you have it. Now excuse me.”
    After executing a courtly bow, despite his muddy attire and squelching boots, Kieran made his way toward Flynn.
    Now was the best time to show the Irish at Langmore—Flynn O’Shea especially—who was master here.
     
    * * * *
     
    Maeve watched Kildare stride toward her brother with long, purposeful steps. Flynn glared in return, stiffening as the Englishman came closer. Concerned, she frowned.
    Before Flynn could speak, much less move, Kildare took the final step of his approach—and swung his fist into her brother’s jaw.
    She heard an audible smack, a solid connection with his flesh. Flynn staggered back, head reeling as he clutched the side of his face.
    Beside her, Fiona and Jana both gasped, while she felt herself gape in incredulity.
    Kildare behaved as if he knew—or cared—not about their horror. He charged her brother again, this time planting a fist in his stomach. Flynn grunted and doubled over.
    How dare the beast! She had convinced Flynn to release him from the mud pit, and he wasted no time in harming her brother in return.
    How English.
    “Touch him no more!” she shouted.
    The rogue spared her not a word nor glance.
    Flynn recovered from the last blow and swung at Kildare’s face. The rogue ducked, grinning.
    “Hit me,” he invited. “If you can.”
    “I’ll be doin’ it soon, I tell you,” Flynn promised, then charged with raised fists at Kildare again.
    As Flynn rounded his fist in attack, the Englishman caught his wrist in a solid grip. The thwack echoed

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