His Lady Bride (Brothers in Arms) (35 page)

“Oh, Aric…” She took his hand in hers.

“Once I realized what Richard, then the king, had done, I was horrified by his actions—and my own. My grief and my guilt constantly plagued me. I could not sleep or eat. Battle sickened me, to know I was the cause of so much death…”

“Battle is the way of a warrior’s life.”

“I could tolerate it no more. So I left all behind and came here.”

Gwenyth sat tensely, staring. Aric could see the thoughts churning in her head.

“That is why you did not want to tell me your identity after we first wed.”

“I was ashamed,” he said with a nod. “I had planned never to return to that life.”

“And later, when I knew the truth of who you were, why did you not tell me all of this?”

“And put your very life in jeopardy? Nay.” He rose and paced. “I told no one, not Guilford or Drake or Kieran. I refused to risk having anyone else die because of me.”

Gwenyth stood, her eyes wet with tears. “Why did you not return to me after King Richard died in battle? Did you really mean never to see me again?”

“I knew not what to do. You must believe that.” Aric seized her shoulders in desperate hands. “King Henry imprisoned me in the Tower for a fortnight.”

Gwenyth gasped.

Aric went on. “When he released me, I thought of naught but retuning to you.” He swore, willing her to see the truth in his eyes. “Then Henry took away my lands and my title. I had naught to offer you. You had made it clear that life as a pauper’s wife held no appeal, and that you hated this cottage was in no doubt.”

“And you left me at Hartwich because you thought life in a castle—any castle—would please me?”

Aric nodded uncertainly. She had said as much many times over. Why did her question make the concept sound ludicrous?

“You thick-skulled clod! I waited for you. I cried for you.”

“Cried? For me?”

“Do not distract me with stupid questions—”

“Stupid?” he began to grin, hope tripping his heart.

She sighed in annoyance. “Vexing man! Would you stop flapping your lips long enough to let me tell you that I do not require a castle or title for my happiness?”

“You do not?”

Gwenyth shook her head. Her dark tresses, glossy even by candlelight, slid over her shoulders. “Whilst you were gone, I realized many things, mostly that I was not pleased without you. Then Nellwyn came to Hartwich.”

“I heard of Sir Rankin’s despicable actions.”

Impatiently, she nodded. “Despicable, indeed, but they made me realize that such a man, no matter his worth, could only make a wife miserable. One cannot make love to money, nor will it warm your heart. And Hartwich, for all its glory, held no appeal in your absence. I knew with certainty that Northwell would be no different without you.”

“What?”
he breathed, hardly daring to believe his ears.

“’Tis not so hard to comprehend. A place alone cannot make one happy. If that were true, I would have been well pleased to remain at Penhurst, no matter how badly Uncle Bardrick and Aunt Welsa treated me. But after my parents’ deaths, I hated every moment of life there.”

“And you came here to tell me that?”

“Nay.” Irritation flitted across her features. “I came to tell you I thought you a sniveling scapegrace for leaving me.”

Aric laughed and walked toward her. “Aye, but now that you are here and I am here…”

He curled his arms about her small waist and drew her against his body. Gwenyth felt perfect in his arms, and every part of him responded to that certainty.

“Now that we are here?” she breathed as her deep blue gaze fastened upon his face.

Smiling, he whispered, “Now that we are together, I will tell you I could not stay away from you.”

Her eyes lit up with bliss. “You need not stay away—ever. I do not require a castle or a title to please me.” She pressed her sweet lips to his, and Aric’s heart soared with gladness. “I require only you.”

“And I require you.” He captured her face in his palms and let his gaze delve into her blue eyes. “I love you.”

At her soft gasp and dampening eyes, Aric kissed her mouth with tender joy, forging a renewed union between them. With quiet need, he savored her mouth, releasing her when passion began to override his need to hear of her love for him.

“Gwenyth—”

“I never thought to hear you say you loved me.” Gwenyth’s voice trembled. Her hands tightened about his neck as she smiled. “I have loved you for so long…and I felt like a simpleton when you accused me of wanting you only for your wealth.”

He grimaced. “I was an idiot. I yearned so badly to believe you wanted me as a man, but feared you wanted me only as an earl with a grand castle.”

“I know.” She hugged, holding him close. “But now that we are here together, should we not go about life as husband and wife?”

Aric could not miss her meaningful glance to the cot. He smiled. “We could, but I fear Northwell will rot with neglect if we don’t tend it soon.”

“Northwell? But I thought—that is, you said…”

“Oh, did I not tell you?” he feigned confusion. “Let me think.” He tapped a finger to his chin as if deep in thought. “Nay, I suppose I did not. I have just arrived from London and King Henry’s audience.”

“
That
is where you have been?”

Nodding, Aric swept Gwenyth into his arms and pulled them both down to the cot.

Though laughing, she protested. “Aric, you must tell me what happened. He cannot be angry with you. You fought for him!”

“Indeed, he knows this and knows me to be a loyal subject as well.”

She sighed with relief. “My heart near stopped for thinking of you in the Tower, along with all the others he has branded traitor.”

“I feel fair certain we will have no more of that.”

“Good.” She nuzzled his neck with kisses—kisses that distracted him from his purpose.

“Gwenyth, Northwell?” he prompted, nearly choking on his growing desire to have her.

She feathered kisses along his cheek, toward his mouth. Aric swallowed a groan.

“What of it?”

“Naught…except ’tis ours again.”

“It is?” her voice held no more than passing interest.

“Aye, we can journey there today—”

“I am in no hurry, my lord, for I like the privacy here.”

With that, her mouth brushed softly against his own before settling over his lips for a kiss that heated his innards to a blaze.

“Privacy?” he whispered.

“Much of it,” she confirmed.

The idea held appeal for him as well. “We can wait a day or two.”

Her mouth formed an impish grin beneath his own. “Or a week or two.”

“My, you are a greedy wench,” he chided, laughing.

“Only where you are concerned, and only because I love you.”

The teasing left his face as he beheld his wife in his arms, her soft features open and welcoming. His heart expanded in his chest with happiness until he thought he might explode. Always he would remember this moment, just as he would always keep her by his side, no matter where politics led, no matter where they made their home.

“Gwenyth, my wife, I love you, too.”

He ended his whisper with a kiss that sealed their union in devotion and rapture, knowing she would forever be his lady bride.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Though we will never know for certain what exact sequence of events led to the tragic deaths of Edward V and his younger brother Richard, Duke of York, Alison Weir paints a vivid and terrible picture of the political intrigues and murders in her book
The Princes in the Tower
. I have borrowed Ms. Weir’s interpretation of the actions leading up to and directly following the disappearances and deaths of the two royal children. Sir Thomas More wrote some graphic accounts of the tragedy, almost entirely corroborated by physical evidence. It is from this account and others that Ms. Weir drew her theory. Any misunderstanding of these events is purely my own. My apologies to the Richard III Society, for I know you disagree with this analysis.

What we do know is the boys disappeared from public view during the late summer of 1483 and that the inhabitants of London surmised them dead by January of the next year. Although no hard evidence existed linking Richard III to the murders of his nephews, most of England believed him guilty. For this, he was an unpopular king.

The boys’ skeletons were finally recovered, buried in rocks and rubble at the base of a staircase within the Tower of London in 1674. At that time, King Charles II gave them a proper burial, befitting their station, in Westminster Abbey, where they can still be seen today.

King Richard fared no better. After his near-naked body was displayed at the friary in Leicester for two days, it was buried without ceremony. Today, the friary does not exist, thanks to Henry VIII and his dissolution of the monasteries in the 1530s. At that time, Richard’s grave was dug up and his body thrown out. According to local lore, his coffin found its way to a nearby manor, where it was used to build a horse trough and some cellar steps. Richard III was the only king since the Norman invasion of 1066 to have no burial place. In September 2012, Richard III’s body was found buried under a parking lot in the Grayfriar’s area of Leister. After some court battles, he was again buried at the cathedral in Leister in July 2014.

As for the battle that came to be known as Bosworth, history was not kind in preserving accurate information, and to this day, controversy stirs over the exact location and participants’ loyalties, including the Earl of Northumberland. In my telling, I blended several accounts and hope I have done such a momentous occasion justice.

Though no one knows the potential of England’s loss in the two princes who might have been king, the Tudor dynasty established England as the world’s supreme nation for some time. But England never stopped mourning the children cut down cruelly in youth.

I sincerely hope you enjoyed
His Lady Bride
.

HIS STOLEN BRIDE

Brothers in Arms, BOOK 2

By Shayla Black writing as Shelley Bradley

Coming August 18, 2014!

Click
here
to purchase.

Captives of Love…

Wrongly accused of murdering his father, Drake Thornton MacDougall wanted nothing more than to strike back at his guilty, duplicitous half-brother. So he made the fiend pay by abducting his bride-to-be. But as Drake carried his captive off to a windswept Scottish isle, he soon found that vengeance wasn’t the only thing on his mind. Lady Averyl Campbell proved herself no biddable maiden, but an alluring, strong-willed beauty who could tame his dark moods with her touch. When danger and treachery threatened to part them, Drake realized that only she could heal his tormented soul, for she had won his love.

NO PRINCE CHARMING

The Secrets of Stone, Book 1

By
USA Today Bestseller
Angel Payne and Victoria Blue

Available Now!

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here
to purchase.

Excerpt

Prologue

April

Claire

Oh my God.

The words sprinted through my head, over and over, as I prodded at my lips in assurance I wasn’t dreaming. Or hopping dimensions. Or remembering the last half hour in a
really
crazy way. Or had hours passed, instead? I didn’t know anymore. Time was suddenly contorted.

Oh. My. God.

What the hell had just happened?

Forget my lips. My whole mouth felt like I’d just had dental work done, tingling in all the places his lips had touched moments ago—which had been everywhere.

My mind raced, trying to match the erratic beat of my heart. “Christ,” I whispered. My voice shook like a damn teenager, so I repeated myself. Because
that
helped, right?

Wrong. So wrong.

It was all because of that man. That dictatorial, demanding…

Nerve-numbing, bone melting…

Man.

Who really knew how to deliver a kiss.

Hell. That kiss.

Okay, by this age, I’d been kissed before. I’d been
everything
before. But after what we’d just done, I’d be awake for long hours tonight.
Long
hours. Shaking with need…shivering with fear.

I pressed the call button for the elevator with trembling fingers. Turning back to face the door I’d just emerged from, I reconsidered pushing the buzzer next to it, instead. The black lacquer panel around the button was still smudged by the angry fingerprints I’d left when arriving here not more than thirty minutes ago¬—answering his damn summons.

Yeah. He’d “summoned” me. And like a breathless backstage groupie, I’d dropped everything and come. Why? He was my hemlock. He could be nothing else.

I was even more pissed now. At him. At me. At the thoughts that wouldn’t leave me alone now, all in answer to one tormenting question.

If Killian Stone kissed like that, what could he do to the rest of my body?

No.
That kind of thinking was dangerous. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up as if the air conditioner just kicked on at full power.

It had been a while since I’d been with a man. At least like…that.

Okay, it had been a long while.

For the last three years, career had come before all else. After the disaster I simply called The Nick Years, Dad had fought hard to help rebuild my spirit, including the doors he finagled open for me. Wasting those opportunities in favor of relationships wasn’t an option. My focus had paid off, leading to a coveted position at Asher and Associates PR, where I’d quickly advanced to the elite field team for Andrea Asher herself. The six of us, including Andrea and her daughter, Margaux, were called corporate America’s “miracle cover stick.” We were brought in when the blemishes were too big and horrid for in-house PR specialists, hired on a project-by-project basis for our thoroughness and objectivity. That also meant the assignments were intense, ruthless, and very temporary.