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

Séan exhaled a puff of smoke. ‘Two years ago, Bevan had taken Fiona for a visit to Laochre. Only a month had passed since they’d lost their daughter, Brianna, from a fever. Both were grieving. At Laochre, they were attacked, and Bevan told Fiona to stay in the donjon. He prides himself upon his skills in battle, you know. Bevan slew more than thirty men on the day Strongbow attacked.’

The room grew hushed, and Séan continued. ‘Our tribe fought against the Norman invaders—’ he glanced at Genevieve, not wanting to offend ‘—and though Fiona was not the sort to disobey, she did this day. It must have been a madness brought forth from the battle, or a fear for Bevan’s life. She left the fortress in search of him.’

‘Bevan saw her running from a group of Norman soldiers, and he heard her cries for help as they pursued her. He fought with all his strength to prevent them from carrying her off, but a soldier struck him across the head. No one could reach her in time.’

‘What happened then?’ Genevieve asked.

Séan cleared his throat and set the pipe aside. His features turned sorrowful. ‘Her body was found later. Burned. She must have escaped into one of the cottages that was set on fire by the Normans. Had she not left the fortress she might be alive still.’

The mood in the cottage had shifted to one of sadness, and Genevieve sensed the evening drawing to a close. She thanked Séan for his hospitality and he sent her home with the promise of a barrel of his finest ale for a bridal gift.

When she reached the gates of Rionallís, activity in the bailey drew her attention. A large group of men, weary from battle, were giving their horses to the stable boys. Genevieve searched the crowd of men until she located Bevan.

His armour was caked with mud, and bloodstains covered his face and clothing. A rough beard covered his cheeks and chin, and his green eyes seared her with intensity. Genevieve ran to him, and he dismounted.

‘Are you hurt?’ She touched the blood upon his face, checking him for injuries.

He shook his head. ‘Only a few marks. But we defeated the Normans who were attacking Lionel’s people. I have his vow to help us, should we ever have the need.’

Genevieve remembered Hugh’s threats and felt grateful to have another ally.

‘Are you going to force me to stay outside?’ Bevan asked, his voice tinged with humour. ‘Or will you help me to get warm?’ The tenor of his voice held a double meaning that made Genevieve’s skin flush.

‘Come inside.’ She took his hand to lead him into the fortress, but he paused, bringing her palm to his lips.

‘Did you think of me?’ he asked softly.

She nodded, her heart racing. He had not forgotten his promise, from the looks of it. Tonight he would bed her, and she would do her best to be a good wife to him.

But, oh, she feared the marriage bed. Though Bevan had awakened such feelings within her, she knew it would all change once he joined his body with hers. She loved it when he kissed her and touched her, but the joining would be painful. Mayhap he would get that part over with quickly. She hoped so.

‘Would you like food and drink?’ she asked, her nerves making her speak faster than usual. ‘I could have them bring you something. Meat, or cheese, or bread?’

‘Tá, I am hungry.’ He leaned in and kissed her, his mouth leaving her no doubt as to what he was hungry for. She shivered when he released her from his embrace. ‘Have a bath prepared for me. And send the food and wine above stairs. I would like your company while I eat.’

After she had left to give the orders, Bevan’s body warmed with anticipation. All the time he had spent fighting he had kept the image of her in his mind. He had imagined Genevieve waiting for him, and he looked forward to teaching her the pleasures of loving. He wanted to watch her come to fulfilment with her heart in her eyes.

He was already halfway up the stairs when Ewan interrupted.

‘Hugh Marstowe was here during your absence.’ Ewan rested his hand atop his sword hilt. ‘I sent a few men to follow him.’

‘Why did he come?’ Bevan remembered the way Sir Hugh had challenged him at Tara. The man wanted Rionallís, and he did not doubt that Marstowe would threaten Genevieve.

‘He claimed he wanted to congratulate Genevieve on her marriage. But his eyes were hungry. He wants this place,’ Ewan said. ‘And he warned her of what would happen if you died.’

Norman bastard.

‘Why did you let him in?’

‘I didn’t want to. Genevieve allowed him to enter. But I kept our men fully armed. He didn’t harm her.’

Bevan was immediately suspicious of Genevieve’s motives. She knew what the man was capable of. Why, then, would she endanger herself?

‘How far did your men track him?’ he asked Ewan.

‘They were travelling towards Tara.’

To appeal to the King, no doubt. They would want to press their case again before Henry returned to England. Bevan gritted his teeth. ‘You did well to inform me of this.’

He met his brother’s gaze, and suddenly saw a hint of maturity there. Ewan had accepted responsibility for guarding Genevieve and he had succeeded. There was a glimpse of the man he would become.

He clapped Ewan on the shoulder. ‘My thanks, brother.’

Ewan gave an embarrassed nod before returning to the others in the Great Chamber. He busied himself with eating, though Bevan saw pride in Ewan’s posture. There was hope for the boy yet.

Above stairs, he stopped before the door to Genevieve’s chamber. No, their chamber now—though he had shared it once with Fiona. Instead of the anger he’d felt when Genevieve had ordered the bed destroyed, he now felt regret. But it was better with the old bed gone, allowing nothing of the past to intrude