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

we know next to naught about him. What if he is kind and not here to make war at all?” said Fiona again.
    Flynn tossed another dark look over his shoulder. “’Tis all the English do is make war, I tell you. Are you listening?”
    “Well…” she hedged, softly spoken. “I had hoped that you were, perhaps, wrong.
    “Wrong?” Flynn thundered.
    “It has been known to happen more than once,” Jana snapped.
    “See, he might well be kind.” Fiona’s voice trembled.
    “Kind men give kisses,” Brighid confirmed.
    Kieran shook his head to clear it. Their logic completely baffled him. He wanted naught more than to make his way from this pit, which grew colder by the moment, and throttle the lot of them.
    “Flynn, it might be best if you put the bow down,” said Maeve calmly. “Now, if Kildare was here to make war right away, I think he would have come with his army. Since he did not, we must believe he has some peace in mind. As for whether he is kind or kisses the lasses, neither matters as long as we keep the roof over our head, our people alive, and our crops left to us. We may not like the earl’s presence among us, but we have little say in the matter at this moment, unless we would like to risk the wrath of the English king.”
    Maeve’s logic impressed Kieran. The rest of the group seemed addle-pated and mad. His clever peasant apparently had a swift, sharp mind.
    “She does have the right of it,” Jana conceded with a resentful curse.
    “Of course Maeve is right!” declared Brighid with a toss of blond curls over her shoulder. “She is always right.”
    “Aye. Mayhap we should simply pray for peace. I want no more of war,” said a small-voiced Fiona.
    “Peace?” barked Flynn. “Let the Tudor bastard make war, I say.”
    “Why?” quizzed Maeve. “You cannot possibly fight him and win. We have not the men, the weapons, the—”
    “There will be no peace! I’d sooner cozy up with a swine, I tell you. I care not for the wrath of the English king.”
    Maeve sighed. “You will care very much when he sends an army trouncing to Langmore to tear it down and kill us all.”
    “He would not dare,” growled Flynn.
    “The fact he executed Geralt and plans to see Quaid dead, along with others we know, should tell you different.”
    Kieran cared not who Geralt or Quaid were since Flynn actually seemed to be considering Maeve’s words. She was amazingly calm in the face of her overwrought brethren.
    “King Henry seems determined to hold the Pale,” continued Maeve. “I see no reason not to believe him. Flynn, instead of fighting him in open war, we must choose the battles we can win. Besides, if you kill this earl, ’twill be less than a month before they send another. And that one will be less likely to show mercy.”
    The dark-eyed man glared at Kieran, then glanced at Maeve again. Briefly, Kieran wondered at the relationship between all of these people. Was Maeve even a peasant at all? Flynn had once been master here, and Kieran did not believe the man would ever allow someone so lowly to speak to him thus.
    He frowned. Was Maeve his wife?
    Shuddering at that thought, Kieran turned his gaze up again. Jana rubbed a hand across her pregnant belly. Brighid toyed with her hair. Fiona clasped her hands nervously while Flynn gritted his teeth and held his bow. Only Maeve projected an unruffled visage, as if she were correct and merely waiting for everyone to understand that.
    Finally, Flynn cursed, the ripe expletive hanging in the air, before he threw down his bow and arrow.
    “Pull him out, then. I will not kill him…yet.”
    With a dark glare, Flynn turned away.
    The four women stood around for a moment. Kieran felt more mud seep into his boots and wished someone would do something to help him find a way out now.
    “How do we free him?” Fiona asked hesitantly.
    “I know not,” admitted Brighid. “Usually we just wait for them to die and bury them in the hole.”
    “True,” echoed Jana.