His Rebel Bride (Brothers in Arms Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

only served to irritate him more.
    Without fail, his first act as Lord Kildare would be to repair the bridge. He would also carve another path to Langmore’s door around the bog, in case the bridge should become impassible again. If he had to make such a road with his bare hands, he would do it.
    Ridiculous backward people, not fixing a vital bridge. ’Twas as if they wanted to keep visitors away, or simply cared not for their guests’ discomfort.
    Again, he frowned. Why would anyone want to discourage peddlers, traveling priests, or family?
    Cursing, he smacked Lancelot’s rear. The horse scurried out of the water and up the next hill. Kieran mounted after the next rise, much annoyed.
    A few minutes later, shivering in the winter wind, he found himself nearly beside Langmore’s walls. To his right stretched a well-worn path dusty from frequent use. Down the wide lane he looked, all the way to the river.
    He spotted a bridge, one very much intact.
    The path disappeared around the bend after that, no doubt leading to the road on which he had been traveling when he spotted sweet Maeve.
    By Saint Peter’s toes, that little redheaded imp had duped him! She had completely lied with those lush red lips and smiled while doing it.
    Shivering with cold, tunic ruined, Kieran vowed he would repay her tenfold—at least.
     

CHAPTER TWO
    A minute later, Kieran arrived in front of Langmore’s gatehouse. He stared up at the massive gray stone structure, passing glad it stood strong and intact. The crenellated towers looked to be at least eight feet thick, though the curtain wall was not as tall as he might have liked. Still, ’twas a sturdy place. That he could be glad for.
    After he got his hands about that wench Maeve’s neck.
    The drawbridge lay lowered, yet no sentries stood in sight. Eyes narrowed, Kieran dismounted and stamped onto the drawbridge. Did these lax Irishmen never fear invasion, siege, war? Such made no sense.
    Resolved to fortify the more human aspect of castle defense at the first opportunity, he barely noticed the noise—a scrape of metal upon wood. ’Twas the sound he did not quite recognize as that of a pin being withdrawn from the drawbridge.
    At least not until he began falling.
    With a curse, Kieran lost his hold on Lancelot’s bridle and plummeted down, down.
    Finally, he landed with a thump , sinking into knee-deep mud. It oozed coldly into his already quaggy-wet boots. He cursed roundly.
    Using a tense hand, Kieran raked damp hair from his eyes and looked about. ’Twas a dark pit, one that towered many feet above his head. He looked at the nearly black walls for any way he might crawl out.
    He was not surprised to find none.
    Foolish! His mind had been so engaged on the peasant Maeve, he had thought little of the dangers in coming to a hostile keep, knowing his own men to be but a day or two behind him. Aye, he was lord here, but the O’Sheas had not yet accepted him. He would do well to remember that.
    If he got out of here alive.
    “Are you the Englishman who thinks he’s come to run Langmore?” demanded a hostile Irishman above him.
    Peering up, Kieran was nearly blinded by the sun until the man’s big body blocked the light.
    He encountered the most determined dark eyes he had ever seen. The black Irish eyes spit hatred and promised a fight.
    Kieran felt no shock when he saw the man lift a bow from the ground and draw an arrow through it. The grim mouth smiled with glee when he pointed the arrow at Kieran’s chest.
    “’Tis nothing but a bloody leech you are, thinkin’ you can come to Langmore and dominate us. ’Twill be my pleasure to split your English hide in half.”
    Anger speared Kieran. ’Twas like an Irishman to fight unfairly without honor. His own father had done such. Apparently naught had changed.
    “Would you kill me, you craven coward, without a fair challenge?” needled Kieran. “Do you fear a well-trained Englishman so much you would resort to murder?”
    The man