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

she was grateful it was Bevan who had saved her. She had missed him more than she’d thought possible.

‘Your father is here. He sent Sir Hugh back to England. He will not trouble you again.’

She could hardly believe that Hugh was gone. It was as though the chains of her fear had shattered and fallen away.

Bevan’s intense green eyes burned into her. He released her, and the distant warrior’s demeanour returned. Suddenly she did not want to know the King’s decision.

‘I am cold,’ she whispered.

Bevan removed his cloak and pulled it across her shoulders. She felt the heat from his body, but it did nothing to warm the fear that froze her from within.

‘Your father approaches,’ Bevan said gruffly.

At the sight of her father, Genevieve ran to him. Thomas de Renalt caught her in his arms, hugging her with a fierce intensity. ‘Are you harmed? Tell me, daughter.’ Frowning at the bruise on her cheek, he turned his anger upon Bevan.

‘Who did this?’

Genevieve held her father back. ‘It is not as bad as it looks. It was my punishment from Sir Hugh for helping Bevan to escape.’

Thomas took her hand in his, squeezing it. With a knowing gaze towards his daughter, he asked, ‘Do you wish to wed Bevan MacEgan?’

Her father’s question took Genevieve by surprise. She watched Bevan’s face for a sign of encouragement. When he gave none, the spark of anticipation disappeared, and she felt torn at the question.

‘Why do you ask me this?’ She knew better than to think her personal wishes mattered where political alliances were concerned.

‘A new betrothal agreement was created. I have not yet given my consent.’

Genevieve sensed her father’s silent question. He wanted to know if she held reservations about a marriage to Bevan. Unlike most fathers, he had always listened to her opinion before making a decision about her future. Even with Hugh. What a fool she had been, she thought darkly.

‘Did you agree to this arrangement?’ she asked Bevan, afraid to hear his answer.

‘The King will grant Rionallís to me,’ he replied. When she looked into Bevan’s eyes, she understood that he wanted his property, and could only be granted that right if he wed her.

‘I can arrange a marriage for you when we return to England,’ her father suggested. ‘There are many men who have offered for you, and several would make a sound alliance.’

She considered her father’s suggestion, but with one look towards the unyielding determination upon Bevan’s face she knew that men’s lives were more important than her desires. If she did not wed Bevan, it meant war. She could not live with herself if she went back to England and wrought the deaths of her father’s men.

She cleared away the turmoil of emotions and lifted her chin. ‘I will wed him.’

‘Are you certain?’ her father asked.

‘Aye, Papa.’ She hoped that one day she would overcome Bevan’s antipathy. ‘I have made my choice.’

She did not look at Bevan, afraid of the resentment she might see. Though he had saved her from the soldier, had embraced her as a lover would, he would blame her for this marriage.

Thomas sighed. ‘Then I suppose you will be wanting your mother to help with the celebration. I will bring her here, for your sake.’

She embraced her father, and Thomas tucked her head against his chest. In that moment the gesture reminded her of when she had been a little girl, sitting upon his broad lap. A single tear spilled onto her cheek.

‘Well, let us not stand out in the cold,’ her father said. ‘We will finish the arrangements.’

As they entered the fortress, Genevieve risked a glance at Bevan. There was no sign of contentment or joy, only an impassive expression she could not read. She tried to bolster her courage. Somehow she would find a way to please him and earn his respect, if not his heart.

Chapter Eleven

D ays later, Bevan MacEgan and the Earl returned to Tara to finish the new betrothal agreement. The Norman King conceded that no cumals would be given as retribution to Sir Hugh, upon the Earl of Longford’s request.

While they were gone Genevieve returned to Rionallís, stripping away anything that reminded her of Hugh. It was then that they found the body of a female prisoner—the wife of the soldier who had tried to kidnap Genevieve. Her hair had been shorn, and Genevieve pressed her fist to her mouth, imagining the woman’s fear. Tears streamed down her face, for this might have been herself one day. She made arrangements for the woman to be buried, and a wave of sorrow enfolded her. Declan had lost both parents. Though he had his aunt to care for him, it was not the same.

She regretted both deaths. When Bevan had seen the soldier threatening her, he had not hesitated to kill the man. Her hand moved to her throat in memory. He had killed one of his own men on her behalf. The thought sobered her.

She knew not why he had done such a thing. In truth, Bevan remained a mystery to her. What had made him change his mind about the marriage? And what sort of husband would he be, once her father returned to England?

It was easier to start anew at Rionallís without Hugh’s presence. Yet it took two days before she gathered the courage to enter her former bedchamber.

Genevieve entered the room with an armful of fresh rushes, hoping to occupy herself with the activity. The maids worked alongside her, and she stacked peat in the hearth to provide a long-burning fire. The heavy loam scent enveloped the room in time, offering comfort.

She stared at the bed. Nausea twisted at her stomach at the memories it evoked. Hugh holding her down, striking her until she lay still beneath him. Her vision swam, and Genevieve clenched her fingers, fighting the surge of hurtful anger. Hugh had wanted to control her, to make her feel desire for him. He had bragged about his skills, ridiculing her