Her Irish Warrior by Michelle Willingham (top rated ebook readers txt) 📗

though he feared for Kiara’s safety. Had Sir Hugh kept her chained with the others? Or had he moved her elsewhere? He’d seen the look of interest upon the Norman’s face, and he prayed to God that she remained untouched.

‘And what of you? Did they harm you?’

The soldier shook his head. They had not harmed him, only because he was of use to them. His gut twisted at the thought of his wife falling victim to the Normans.

Dark fear and anger burgeoned within him. All of this was for a woman—Genevieve de Renalt. Were it not for her, none of it might have happened.

Sir Hugh wanted the woman, had spoken of nothing but Genevieve. And if he returned her safely to Rionallís, Sir Hugh would be appeased. The soldier felt certain that the Norman would let his wife go free in exchange.

‘Has Bevan returned?’ the soldier asked. ‘I must speak with him.’

‘He is in his chambers.’

‘And the Lady Genevieve?’ Anticipation caused a thin film of sweat to break out over his skin. He had to find her—find some way of bringing her back to Rionallís. Only then could he exchange her for Kiara.

‘She is still here.’ His friend added, ‘Some of us will accompany Bevan to Tara in a few days’ time. Will you come?’

‘I know not what my orders are yet.’He clapped his friend on the back, and was about to make his excuses when the man stopped him.

‘We found your son a few days ago.’

‘My son?’ Kiara had sworn she’d left young Declan with a trusted friend. He had not thought any harm would befall him. ‘What has happened?’

‘Do not fear. We brought him here. Your wife—’

The soldier’s expression tightened. ‘She is held captive by Sir Hugh’s men. She came to try and free us.’

‘The MacEgans will not rest until all are freed.’ His friend tried to set him at ease.

But the soldier could not voice his agreement. Bevan had abandoned them for days, without any attempt to retake Rionallís. The men had suffered in captivity while his commander had done nothing.

If the MacEgans had attacked immediately, Kiara would be safe. The soldier laid the full blame upon Bevan.

‘Where is my son?’ he asked.

‘Above stairs.’

He excused himself, but other friends greeted him before he could venture forth. With each good wish, each welcome, his guilt grew stronger. He had no wish to betray them to the enemy.

Cursing his weakness, he slipped into the shadows. As the minutes stretched, his breath grew steadier. After he had ensured his son’s safety, he would find Lady Genevieve and bring her back to Sir Hugh.

His heartbeat hastened at the fear of failure. Stealthily, he opened the door, not knowing what he would find inside the chamber. The only sound came from the crackling of the fire at the hearth. He saw Bevan sleeping in a chair, and at the sight of his commander the soldier stopped short.

If Bevan awakened, there would be questions.

The soldier’s gaze travelled over to the bed. There he saw Lady Genevieve, along with something else that made his heart stop.

His son, resting in her arms.

The soldier closed the door, his plan no longer possible. It was as if God had asked him to choose between his wife and his son.

And the soldier had no answer for it.

A low cry woke Genevieve from her sleep. The young child stirred in her arms, murmuring for his mother.

‘We will find her, love,’ Genevieve whispered, pressing a kiss to the boy’s forehead.

She had hardly slept that night, in between holding his head over the steam and trying more poultices recommended by the healer. Just before dawn he had slipped into a more restful sleep, and his breathing seemed easier. Genevieve now believed that he would live, though it would be a while before his full strength returned.

In his sleep he cuddled close to her, and Genevieve felt a pang of tenderness for him. His baby-fine hair was soft, like featherdown. He placed his thumb in his mouth, sucking for comfort.

Genevieve eased the boy to a sitting position. She saw Bevan slumped in a chair, his head resting on the table. In spite of the awkward circumstances between them he had stayed all night, refusing to leave the child’s side.

He had said nothing more about her proposition, and heat rose in her cheeks at the memory of his refusal. She had thought he might consider the arrangement, only to be rebuffed.

Genevieve held the child in her arms, tiptoeing towards the door. Bevan did not awaken, and she brought the boy below stairs. He had barely eaten in two days, and likely was hungry.

She had slept past Mass, and most of the family was already engaged in their morning duties. Genevieve spoke with one of the servants, asking for a bowl of broth.

The boy stirred in her arms. He opened his eyes, which were a greenish-brown hue, and regarded her solemnly.

‘What is your name?’ Genevieve asked.

He said nothing, but tangled his fingers into her hair, pulling it against his mouth. When the broth arrived, Genevieve helped him to eat. Relief filled her when he ate with a good appetite.

She had just finished feeding him when a man strode into the Great Chamber. His fair hair hung to his shoulders, and he walked with an airy confidence. When he saw her, he smiled.

It was one of those smiles that could make a woman’s bones melt. She nodded, and pretended to be fascinated with the boy. The man approached her and sat beside her on the bench.

‘You must be Genevieve.’

Her cheeks flushed. What had got into her? Stealing a glance up at him, she saw his smile broaden.

‘I am Connor MacEgan.’ He reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘He’s a good lad, isn’t he? Patrick told me you rescued him from the pond.’

‘Aye. They are still looking for his parents.’

‘That is true.’A shadow crossed Connor’s face, and Genevieve wondered if he knew something. Switching topics, he added, ‘You are fair of face, I must tell