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

found Isabel, instructing her ladies on tasks to be done for the evening. Baskets of greenery were being spread around the room, and Isabel herself held an armful of pine branches.

‘Oh, Genevieve.’ Isabel turned and smiled gratefully. ‘I could use your help, if you’re willing.’ She took the boy from Genevieve’s arms and handed him to the healer, an older woman Genevieve recognised. ‘Siorcha will look after him for now.’

She didn’t like the idea of relinquishing the boy, but Isabel seemed to understand her discomfort. ‘Siorcha has grandchildren his age, you needn’t worry. And his parents will be found soon.’

Genevieve kept silent, for she doubted if the boy’s mother lived. And there was no way of knowing where his father was. Though she sent up another unspoken prayer for both of them, she ached for the child’s loss.

Isabel placed another basket of greenery into Genevieve’s arms. ‘Tonight we celebrate Alban Arthuan. ’Tis similar to our Christmas celebration, but the Irish have their own unique customs. You will enjoy it,’ she promised.

Genevieve followed the women below stairs, but she did not believe she would find much to celebrate. With Bevan soon to be gone, she felt alone and uncertain. And Connor’s attentions, though friendly, threatened her sense of security. His forward manner bothered her, and she preferred not to see him this evening—particularly if Bevan was not there to shield her from unwanted affection.

As she helped the women hang garlands of greenery, Genevieve reprimanded herself for her cowardice. She needed to rely on her own strengths and face her fears.

She was tired of waiting for others to make the decisions affecting her life. She wanted to take control of matters, to prevent war between her family and the MacEgan family she had come to care for.

Bevan’s aversion to marriage cast a shadow upon her plans, but she believed he wanted to avoid bloodshed as much as herself.

Perhaps she should journey to Tara with them, to seek the aid of King Henry.

The Alban Arthuan celebration marking the beginning of the winter solstice was both enchanting and comforting. The warm flicker of candles, the roaring fire on the hearth, and the garlands of greenery reminded Genevieve of home.

Connor was charming her with humourous stories, coaxing a laugh out of her even as he brought her delicious morsels of food.

‘It is good to see you smile,’ he said.

‘I have not had reason to smile for some time now,’ she admitted. ‘I like your family.’

‘They are good people, yes.’ He took a sip of mead and added, ‘We protect those in need.’

His remark reminded her of the young boy, lost without his own family. ‘Will you be searching for the child’s parents?’

‘At dawn,’ he said. ‘But for tonight I intend to celebrate the solstice.’

Genevieve caught several women’s jealous glares as Connor remained by her side. But her mind had wandered, and she watched in a detached manner. She wondered if Bevan had gathered his soldiers from Ennisleigh. Was he returning to Laochre for the celebration? Or would he avoid her on this last night, pretending she did not exist?

Stop thinking of him. She berated herself for her errant thoughts.

‘Your attentions are elsewhere, I can see,’ Connor said, holding her palm lightly. ‘Shall I leave you alone?’

Genevieve shook away her reverie. ‘No. I am sorry. It’s just that I cannot seem to concentrate tonight.’

‘Dance with me.’ He took both of her hands in his. The warmth of his palms and the intensity of his gaze both captivated and frightened her.

‘I would rather not.’ But the music had grown sweet once more, and she savoured the notes that echoed inside the chamber. The delicate harpstrings tugged at her emotions, and she drank in the sound of each note.

‘Then listen.’ His hand cupped the back of her neck in a light caress. Genevieve started to move away, but reminded herself that Connor had done nothing untoward.

After they had listened to several songs, he managed to cajole her into a dance. Genevieve could not follow the rapid steps, but in time she gave up and simply let Connor whirl her around in his arms.

All the while she danced with him, she thought of Bevan. He did not seem the sort of man who would dance or make merry. She wondered what he had been like before he had lost his wife and child. She had seen him smile only once, and never had he laughed.

The wine she had drunk, coupled with her dizziness, made her lose her balance. Connor steadied her, embracing her in strong arms.

Her smile faded as she recognised his intent to kiss her. ‘Please don’t.’

His thumb trailed down her lips to her throat. ‘You care for him, don’t you?’

Her heartbeat thrummed in her chest as she tried to find the right words. ‘Bevan is my friend.’

‘Your feelings run deeper. Were it not for him, I would have stolen far more than kisses this evening.’ His arrogant smugness suddenly struck her as funny.

‘You believe that, do you? Just because you are handsome, it does not mean I am longing to kiss you.’

He broke into a laugh. ‘So you do find me pleasing? I’ll have to tell him that.’He cupped her face between his hands. ‘I think we should make him jealous.’

‘Bevan is not here,’ Genevieve said. ‘He went to Ennisleigh for soldiers.’

Connor caressed the line of her jaw. ‘He has returned, and has been watching you for some time now. Come now. One kiss.’

‘Do women never refuse you?’

‘Never.’He puckered up his lips. ‘Aren’t you curious as to what he’ll do?’

‘I don’t believe you. I think you are only trying to get me to kiss you. He’s not there.’

Connor expelled a hearty laugh. ‘That would be a good jest, lady. But in truth he is watching.’

Genevieve turned in the direction Connor pointed, just as his lips brushed against her cheek. He had not been lying. Bevan was standing against the wall, a cup of mead in his hand. She could not read the expression on his face, but