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

drew the bow back farther. “Why should I be fearin’ any Englishman, I ask you? You’re all naught but—”
    A soft gasp interrupted the man’s haranguing. Kieran then saw a familiar blond head peek over the top of the hole. Young Brighid gaped, her pink mouth as wide as her blue eyes.
    “Flynn! Your plan worked. He is trapped!”
    So this was Flynn O’Shea, already protecting what was no longer his. Kieran frowned. He should have guessed such.
    The O’Shea man scowled at the young maiden. “Of course it did. ’Twill be a fine day when you learn some faith in me.”
    “She will learn faith, Flynn, when you think a plan through.”
    Though he could not see her, he recognized Maeve’s sweet, lying voice as it made a dulcet path to his ears.
    “And what do you mean by thinking a plan through?” Flynn directed a scowl over his shoulder.
    “If you kill him, Henry Tudor will simply send another, possibly with a large army.”
    Flynn’s scowl mutated into a thoughtful frown. Apparently the simpkin had not considered that. Whether ’twas true or not, Kieran decided to seize upon it.
    “Aye. Even now King Henry awaits my word…or lack of it before he sends his real warriors.”
    Kieran looked from Flynn to Brighid, still hovering about the imprisoning hole. Suddenly the girl smiled. “’Twould be a shame to kill him. He is more than passing handsome.”
    Splendid. Though he never wanted a female barely beyond childhood to think him fine-looking, now was a particularly bad time, for Flynn O’Shea looked enraged by the comment.
    “Is he kind?” asked another woman, her whispered voice one he did not recognize.
    Over the top of the hole appeared another blond head, this one belonging to a young woman of perhaps sixteen years. She was lovely, with golden pale cheeks and an ample bosom. At least the women at Langmore were easy to look at. Such might make his time here more bearable.
    “Kind, Fiona?” Flynn gaped at the woman as if she were shandy. “He is English. Why should you be carin’ if he is kind?”
    At Flynn’s bark, the delicate creature looked as if she were going to tremble or cry—mayhap both. Kieran scowled.
    Maeve’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Perhaps we should consider why it would be better to accept a kind Englishman in our midst, rather than try to fight a mean one or any of them.”
    “Aye, and ’twould be such a shame to kill a man with so magnificent a face and form,” added the youngest girl.
    “Brighid! ’Tis the English who ruin our lives, kill our men, take over our homes,” said yet another woman.
    The latest addition waddled up beside Brighid, dark hair glistening in the sun, but she did not spare him a glance as she chastised the girl. He could see little of this woman’s face from the deep hole, but ’twas clear she was well rounded with child.
    “Mayhap he is different, Jana,” Brighid defended, then offered, “He likes to kiss women, sometimes twice even. He said so.”
    Jana struck back. “I should kill myself before I let an Englishman kiss me, as should you.”
    “I want no kiss, but…if he is kind,” interjected Fiona, “mayhap he would not make war.”
    At this point, Kieran would have gladly kissed an eel to earn passage from this cold mud pit and see the end of this odd argument, rather than watch with vexation.
    Kieran opened his mouth to speak—just what, he was not certain. He never had a chance.
    “Can you not see his just being here tells us he will make war, I ask you?” That from Flynn, who again pointed his bow down at Kieran’s chest.
    “Aye.” Dark-haired Jana looked at him finally, her brown eyes narrowed with hate in a pale, tired face. “He looks a war-making man. Naught but English arrogance.”
    “But he winked at me!” defended Brighid. “An enemy never does that.”
    “You are too trusting,” scolded Jana.
    “You must be careful with trust,” added Fiona.
    “Even Fiona agrees,” Jana said with some triumph.
    “But