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

silk on a goat and it’s still a goat.” But she could not deny he was a very attractive goat.
    Crossing herself for such lascivious thoughts on a religious day, Maeve began to back out of the room.
    Suddenly, Kildare tossed the knife on the table before him, rolled the tension from his shoulders, and turned.
    He caught her staring.
    But his chest only drew her gaze more. The firm bulges of his shoulders and the hard swells of flesh sculpting his chest prefaced the ridges of his tight abdomen.
    Then he smiled that grin, as if he knew a secret and wanted to whisper naughty words across her skin as he held her naked against him.
    Dear God, this perfectly formed man was her husband? How was she to resist such masculinity, coupled with his bawdy humor, his energy, his smile?
    She must remember he hailed from England. He was here to subjugate the Irish. He could see Quaid dead tomorrow, if he wished it. And he had no aversion to battle.
    How could such a man capture her attention?
    Quaid had always been gentle, soft-spoken, sharing her serious nature.
    Aye, and he had never ensnared her interest so deeply.
    “A good day to you, sweet Maeve. Did you cease speaking to me altogether, or is your muteness momentary?”
    Kildare teased her, as if he could read her restless, confused thoughts.
    Maeve closed her eyes in mortification. ’Twas likely he could read her mind. No doubt her thoughts were plain upon her face. She held in a grunt of frustration.
    “As I’ve said, I am not your sweet anything,” she snapped and began to walk around him, toward the kitchen.
    When she spotted Jana’s baby cradle perched upon the table beside Kildare, she paused. Was he so heartless as to take a bed from a babe not yet born? He had no use for the cradle.
    “What do you do with that? Her babe will come any day, and she will have need of it.”
    He nodded, the glint in his dark hair shining by firelight. Maeve wondered if ’twas as silky to the touch as it looked, then thrust the thought away.
    She was not a simpleminded girl to lose her head over an enemy possessed of more brawn than heart. She was an O’Shea, the most learned in her family. In her heart, she was betrothed to another, so had no reason to ogle the man, especially a man who would take a cradle from a babe.
    Kildare frowned. “I am finishing the cradle, not taking it from her.”
    Glancing down at the baby bed, Maeve could see now the remaining corners were rounded for rocking, as they had not been before. In fact, he had added some curves to the spindles and finished the rough edges off. It looked beautiful.
    Geralt, God rest his soul, had not much talent with wood. Kildare, however, did. ’Twas no surprise the man was good with his hands.
    At that thought, she swallowed.
    Maeve looked at her husband again and could not look away from his striking blue-green eyes—and the consideration within them. Something within her softened, despite her wishes.
    Why, blast him, had he done something kind?
     

CHAPTER SIX
    Kieran stared at the marks in his candle-clock, waiting eagerly for Maeve to come to his chamber. He had no notion what she might do with her half of their hour together.
    He had a fine idea of what to do with his.
    But since he agreed to give her at most a fortnight before consummating their marriage, he would have to content himself with less—for now.
    Frowning, he tried to recall a time he had done something with a woman as comely as Maeve other than take her immediately to his bed. Naught came to mind.
    With a yawn, he glanced past the open door, down the narrow hall. No sign of his bride.
    Annoyance chafed him. The first of their hours alone, and already she defied him. Somehow, Kieran felt no surprise.
    Making his way out the door with a mutter, he strode down the hall until he reached the chamber Maeve shared with Fiona.
    The door stood ajar and he peeked in.
    There Flynn stood, chest puffed forward, looking mightily pleased with himself. Maeve stood before