Her Irish Warrior by Michelle Willingham (best novels of all time .txt) 📕

‘His name is Liam,’ Isabel said softly. ‘For the uncle he never knew.’

Bevan saw the look of pride upon his brother’s face, and managed to mutter his congratulations. Isabel lifted the baby to her shoulder, and he thought of the time years ago when his own daughter had nuzzled into his neck. He forced his gaze away.

‘We’ve missed you, Bevan,’ Isabel said, giving him a light hug.

‘You look well,’ he responded.

‘Will you be staying with us longer this time?’ she asked, cradling the child in her arms.

‘Níl. Lionel Ó Riordan has asked for my sword against Strongbow’s army. His men are fighting in Kilkenny. I’ll be joining them after I’ve resolved the matter of Rionallís.’

Isabel’s face showed her disappointment, but his brother Patrick offered support. ‘If that is your wish. Tell me what happened. I gather Ewan got himself into trouble again?’

Tension edged upon him. Bevan inclined his head, and began to relate the story. At that moment his younger brother entered the Great Chamber.

‘What are you doing here?’ Ewan demanded. ‘I thought you were with Genevieve.’

At the mention of the name, Bevan saw his sister-in-law brighten with curiosity. ‘Who is Genevieve?’

Bevan sent a warning look to Ewan, but his brother ignored it. ‘She’s—’

‘Stay out of this, boy—’Bevan threatened.

‘—the woman we rescued,’ Ewan finished with a cocky grin. ‘In truth, she rescued us first.’

He dodged before Bevan could grab him, standing behind Patrick.

‘Really?’ Patrick mused. ‘Now, this is interesting.’

‘Very,’ Isabel agreed. ‘Who is she? And why isn’t she here?’

‘It was a temporary arrangement,’ Bevan said. ‘I’ve left her at Ennisleigh.’

He could tell Isabel was itching to ask more questions, but her husband silenced her with a warning look.

‘She’s a Norman,’ Ewan piped in.

‘A hostage?’ Patrick asked. His expression turned serious. ‘Not a wise move, Bevan.’

‘She’s not a hostage. She saved our lives. All she wanted in return was to escape her betrothed.’ Bevan shrugged, acting as if it were of no matter. He was going to cut off Ewan’s meddling tongue if the boy didn’t stop his chatter. To Ewan he said, ‘Meet me on the training field tomorrow morn, and we’ll see if your sword is as good as your mouth.’

Ewan’s grin widened, and Bevan wished he had not risen to his brother’s bait. He knew Ewan longed for more lessons in swordplay. Bevan loathed the training, for no matter how much he tried, Ewan never improved. His skills with a sword would get him killed one day, and all knew it. He would be better off serving the Church.

After they departed, Isabel turned to her husband. ‘Bevan hates the Normans. There’s more he’s not telling us.’

‘He must have been forced to it,’ Patrick said grimly. ‘He would never have brought her otherwise.’

‘I wonder what kind of woman she is?’ Isabel mused, putting her son to her breast to nurse. The infant latched on, making soft sighs as the milk flowed. ‘Why would she leave her home?’

Patrick shot her a suspicious look. ‘You’re not planning anything?’

‘Not yet,’ Isabel promised. ‘But I would like to know more about her. I think I may pay a visit to Ennisleigh.’

‘Do not interfere, Isabel.’

She lifted the babe to her shoulder for a burp. ‘I wonder if she’s pretty? Bevan has been alone for a long time.’

Patrick put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘Let him be, a chroí. He grieves for her still.’

Isabel raised her gaze to her husband. ‘Then ’tis high time he started living again. I shall find out what I can about this woman.’

The following morning, Bevan’s sword sliced through the air, nicking his brother’s arm. ‘Are you trying to let me kill you?’ he demanded. ‘Raise your shield!’

Ewan dodged another blow and stumbled, catching the tip of Bevan’s sword. Bevan turned at the last second to keep his brother from skewering himself.

In disgust, he sheathed the weapon. ‘That’s enough. Face the truth, brother. You were not meant to be a soldier.’

Ewan coughed, his head bowed towards the frozen earth. Bevan could see the frustration in his stance.

‘I could be,’ Ewan insisted. ‘I need more training.’

‘You’ve been training all your life,’ Bevan said quietly. ‘And I can’t protect you forever.’

‘I never asked you to,’ Ewan said, his voice hoarse. He rose to his feet, picking up his fallen sword. ‘I can look after myself.’

Bevan nearly said, No, you can’t, but he kept his mouth shut. ‘Go back inside.’

His brother raised his chin, and in his eyes Bevan saw rage, not acceptance. ‘I’ll prove to you that I can be a warrior. I swear it. I never meant for the Normans to capture me.’

‘No one ever intends to be caught,’ Bevan remarked. ‘But you were. You could have been killed.’

‘I am sorry.’ Ewan sheathed his own sword. ‘For all of it.’

Bevan knew he referred to the failed conquest of Rionallís, but he did not acknowledge his brother’s apology. Instead, he calmed his tone of voice. ‘You should find another skill. Not every man has to be a soldier.’

‘I am a MacEgan. That’s who we are.’ Ewan stared hard at Bevan, and in that moment Bevan feared that his brother would never accept reality. The fierce determination on Ewan’s face made it evident that he would die before choosing another path.

At the thought of another brother dying to the sword, a lump caught in his throat. His eldest brother, Liam, had died in the fight against the Normans—the same battle that had claimed the life of Fiona.

He reached out and tousled Ewan’s hair. ‘One day, perhaps,’ he said. The acknowledgement earned him a smile.

‘Are we going to see Genevieve again today?’ Ewan asked, his mood suddenly brighter. ‘I like her.’

Bevan made a noncommittal sound. ‘We are not going anywhere. I may arrange for her to return to England on the morrow. Or the next day. But you will remain here.’

‘Sir Hugh won’t let her go,’ Ewan reminded him. ‘Even now he might be raising an army.’

‘He does not have enough men to fight us. And Genevieve is safe at Ennisleigh.’

Ewan shrugged.