His Rebel Bride (Brothers in Arms Book 3) by Shayla Black, Shelley Bradley

ill afford to become a challenge. Breathing deeply, Maeve forced herself to calm.
    “Perhaps we can compromise,” she suggested.
    “Perhaps,” he replied, then said naught for silent moments, his face full of possibilities.
    Maeve wondered what outlandish ideas he was mulling over.
    Finally he spoke. “We will compromise. I will not touch you with more than this hand”—he held up his right—“and my mouth.”
    Maeve hesitated. Logic told her he could not make love to her with his mouth and one hand. How seductive could that be? Yet his suggestion scared her in an elemental way she scarce understood.
    “Take the compromise, Maeve. ’Tis the best I will offer.”
    Certain Kildare spoke true, she nodded. But deep down, she feared she had just struck a devil’s bargain she would regret.
     
    * * * *
     
    She was not innocent.
    Kieran pondered Maeve’s admission all through the wedding feast, which was about as cheerful as a funeral, as well as the long, solitary night that followed.
    As he tossed in his cold bed, he wondered why her lack of maidenhood bothered him. He had long avoided virgins, preferring instead a woman who knew what to expect in a tryst—and what not to expect, like undying devotion. He wanted a woman who would not be tense or rigid with a maiden’s fears, a woman who knew sex could be both serious and fun. So why had he been disappointed to learn Maeve had shared another’s bed?
    Because they were wed, he supposed. While a man wanted some experience in a lover, he wanted a wife to come to him pure. But why? So he might make her truly his? Such a sentiment had never appealed to him for the permanency it implied.
    With a frown, Kieran rose. What was done was done. Maeve would come to his bed experienced in another man’s caresses. ’Twas up to him to put Quaid from Maeve’s mind and establish himself as her husband. He should be thankful there would be no blood, likely no tears or fainting.
    The thought merely gave him the urge to pummel Quaid O’Toole’s face instead.
    The thought of waiting even a few nights to claim his bride only frustrated him more.
    Aye, he had agreed to wait a fortnight to set her at ease. He had been through enough negotiations in war to know the tactics well. She wanted a concession, wanted to believe she had power. Kieran had granted it, but had no reason to doubt Maeve would share his bed—happily—in less than a fortnight. Seduction worked on other women; he had no reason to expect Maeve would not follow in kind. She was, after all, his wife.
    He had no doubt the castlefolk—and Flynn—laughed about the fact Maeve shared a room this night with her sister, instead of her husband. But that would be short-lived, and soon the people at Langmore would know Kieran no longer slept alone.
    Grumbling, he threw on his clothes. All this brooding was not good for his mood or his character. He left these black ponderings to Drake, who had been especially good at them. Even Aric had his dark moments. Not him. Life had too much to offer to waste the precious moments thinking in gloom.
    Instead, he would seek the outdoors, gather the army, continue the training, and be grateful for their slight improvement.
    Suddenly, thunder rumbled. Kieran turned to see lightning illuminate the dawn-tinged sky. Then rain began to fall like water poured from a bucket.
    Simply wonderful. Now he would be trapped inside for the morning at least. And if this rain was anything like the last, he might be caged in the keep all day.
    Would nothing go right?
    The storm reminded him how much he hated this infernal country, despite its beauty. Besides the fact it rained too much, Ireland held more than its share of mutiny, and now his wife would come to him with carnal knowledge of a damned rebel.
    Before he could stoop to unhappy thoughts again, Kieran thrust on his boots and headed out his chamber door, toward the great hall.
    Once there, he spied Jana, who sat in a chair, rubbing her belly, crying