His Lady Bride (Brothers in Arms) by Shayla Black, Shelley Bradley Page A

oft than not. I am his only niece.”
    “Your beauty was at odds with his ambitions for his very plain daughters, so he wed you away. Can you not see he banished you not out of spite but fear?”
    “Nellwyn and Lyssa are not plain,” Gwenyth defended. “Besides, you have not seen Lyssa.”
    Aric sent her a skeptical stare, visible in the golden moonlight. “Aye, little dragon, Nellwyn is plain, and if her sister looks anything like her, neither has much hope of ensnaring a man with her charms whilst you are about.”
    Gwenyth frowned at him, determined not to be swayed by his praise. “Do you insult my cousins in one breath and flatter me in the next?”
    “I but speak the truth. Nellwyn knows she possesses not one tenth of your beauty. ’Tis why she comes to torment you with her good fortune.”
    Gwenyth regarded him with outrage. “What rot! She alone has been kind to me in the years since my parents died.”
    “Kind for her own purposes. Besides, Nellwyn’s chattering mouth alone could drive a man to flee his castle and country. ’Tis no wonder Sir Rankin has so many lemans.”
    “How would you know such?” Gwenyth stared at Aric, uncertainty spilling within her. He had spoken before as if he knew Sir Rankin. Certainly he claimed to know Sir Penley. Who was Aric? Who had he been in the past?
    He grimaced. “Gossip, little dragon. Naught more. But if Lady Lyssa can talk at the same speed as her sister, Sir Penley may soon find the war between the Yorks and the Lancasters less active than the war at home.”
    Somehow Aric’s explanation regarding his knowledge did not ring true, but she also knew he would tell her naught else. “Lyssa speaks sparingly.”
    With a grin, Aric turned to her. “And why should she not? Nellwyn can say enough for both of them and still keep talking.”
    Gwenyth gave him a mock punch in the arm. “Stop. You are terrible to speak so of my only family. And should I ever meet your family, what would you say if I were to speak so terribly of them?”
    Aric paused, his silence so long Gwenyth thought he might not answer her at all. Wind swept the hill as crickets chirped, frogs croaked, and stars twinkled. Still, her husband picked at the grass beneath them. Then he sighed.
    “My parents are gone and I have no sisters. If you knew my younger brother, you would soon see any pestering he receives is much needed.”
    Never had Aric shared anything about himself with her. The fact he had told her this warmed some place inside her she could not quite name.
    “I should like to meet your brother.”
    Without pause, he shook his head. “That day will never come, Gwenyth. As I’ve said, the past is in the past.”
    Aye, he had said that, but she could scarce believe he intended never to see his only family again. “Do you not miss your brother?”
    Aric cocked his head in apparent consideration. “He is…younger and given to foolish fits of temper. We have little in common.”
    “But he is family!”
    With a shrug, Aric returned her stare. “I have friends for whom I have great affection. They are like family.”
    “And yet you plan never to see them again?” She pointed out his illogic. “Surely you miss them?”
    A musing smile flitted across his mouth, and something warmed his stone-colored eyes to a soft gray. “Aye, that I do. But what of you?” He turned to her quickly. “’Tis clear you miss your parents still.”
    A pang of emptiness settled in her belly when she thought of their ten-year absence in her life. “I miss them each day.”
    Aric nodded and reached for her hand, lacing her fingers between his larger, warmer ones. “Tell me of your life with them.”
    Did he really wish to know? Gwenyth peered into his hawkish face. The warrior countenance she could scarce credit on a sorcerer appeared attentive and curious.
    “Life as a child was…free of cares. There was laughter, little war, and festivals aplenty. The serfs had much to eat and decent homes. My father