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

‘Do you always greet women thus?’ Genevieve blurted out, then covered her mouth. The man had done nothing more than compliment her, but his handsome looks made her uncomfortable. Too often a handsome face hid a treacherous heart. She had learned that from Hugh.

‘Tá.’ Bevan’s voice interrupted from across the room. ‘He has his eye on many women, Connor does.’He strode towards them, his face glistening with drops of water. The dark bristle of his unshaved beard shadowed his cheeks, though it did not cover the matching scars. His feral looks made Genevieve’s skin grow warmer as she thought of their conversation the night before.

Though he had stayed with her to look after the boy, he had avoided her, behaving as if he could not bear to be near her. Genevieve did not understand what she had done wrong. And yet during a few stolen moments she had caught him watching her, his expression inscrutable.

She held the child tighter, pretending to give the boy her full attention.

Connor leaned closer. ‘And has my brother his eye on you? If so, I could battle him for you.’

‘Leave her be.’ Bevan leaned against the trestle table, glaring at Connor. ‘Did you find the men?’

Connor’s expression turned serious. ‘We brought back three of them. Two died in captivity. One went missing.’

‘You were not detected by Hugh’s men?’

‘Your people helped us. And Sir Hugh was not inside the rath.’ Connor glanced at Genevieve. ‘He’s looking for her.’

Invisible threads of apprehension wrapped around her throat, making it difficult to breathe. She’d known Hugh would not give up.

‘He knows where she is,’ Bevan said.

‘Tá. But he is also aware of our strength. He hasn’t the men to attack Laochre. I saw them returning to their encampment later that evening.’

Genevieve’s shoulders drooped with relief. She wouldn’t put it past Hugh to slip through their defences. His battle skills were deadly, honed from years of experience.

With a glance towards the child, Connor added, ‘It is the boy’s father who has gone missing. But I’ve learned he escaped on his own.’

‘Is he here?’ Without waiting for a reply, Bevan ordered, ‘Send him to me. He’ll want to see his son.’

Connor’s gaze shifted to one of unease. ‘He was here. Except he’s disappeared again. Something is wrong. The men told me Sir Hugh holds his wife captive. He wanted him to turn traitor against us.’

Genevieve held the child tightly, stroking his hair. She pressed a kiss upon his temple, praying for the safety of his mother. For if Hugh had the woman in his possession, he would show no mercy.

‘There was no woman there when we freed the men,’ Connor added. ‘I know not what has happened to her.’

Genevieve’s vision swam with unshed tears as she held the boy close. Though she wanted to believe everything was all right, in her heart she knew the truth. If the Irishwoman held no use for Hugh, he would kill her.

‘Then we must find him,’ Bevan emphasised. ‘And his wife.’

‘I’ll see to it.’ Connor shot his brother a roguish look. ‘While you are visiting the High King, that is.’

He reached inside his tunic and withdrew a sprig of holly, its berries red and glistening from melted snow. ‘For you.’He offered it to Genevieve, raising her hand to his lips.

At his kiss, Genevieve tried to pull her hand away. Connor’s excessive attentions reminded her too much of the way Hugh had once courted her.

‘I’ll be leaving for Tara on the morrow,’ Bevan said, behaving as though nothing had happened. ‘Patrick has agreed to lend soldiers from Ennisleigh to accompany me.’ With a nod to his brother, he added, ‘Look after her, won’t you?’

Connor placed the sprig of holly into her hand, his smile becoming more heated. ‘Oh, I believe I will be taking very good care of her.’

Bevan’s words made Genevieve feel as though she’d just been handed over to another man. And she found she did not like the notion.

‘I can care for myself, thank you both.’ Rising to her feet, Genevieve balanced the boy on her hip. As she left the Chamber and continued through the first set of doors, the boy struggled in her arms.

‘Da!’ he cried out, arching his back.

Genevieve stopped and turned around. She thought she saw a flicker of motion, but back in the Great Chamber, Connor and Bevan remained deep in conversation. The boy whined, trying to pull away. Genevieve hushed him, bouncing him against her shoulder. She saw no one. But her spine prickled and she grew suspicious.

In time, his fussing gave way to quiet crying. At last he tucked his head beneath her chin and pulled her hair close for comfort. Her heart gave a tug, and she wished for a moment that the boy were her own son.

She climbed the stairs, and his relaxing body succumbed to sleep. A softness filled her while she held him close. Her thoughts of children abruptly shifted to the marriage bed.

She knew the necessity of submitting to her future husband in order to bear a child. And yet a cold darkness flooded her at the thought of yielding beneath a man. With Bevan it might not be so bad. He, at least, knew the beatings she had endured, and would not raise his fists to her.

But then, she had offered herself with the promise of granting him his freedom. She had sworn not to make demands of him. Bevan would not want to share her bed even if she somehow overcame her fear. He had made it clear that he still regarded her as the Norman enemy. Even if he stayed with her at Rionallís as her husband, she doubted if he would ever change his mind.

In the next few days her father would decide her future while she waited at Laochre. She hated this lack of control over her future. There had to be some way to guide the hand of fate. She mulled over the possibilities.

Above stairs, she