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

a more secluded area, away from those who might overhear their conversation. ‘I have spoken to Bevan about an arrangement.’

His piercing grey eyes stared at her, as though assessing her worth. Genevieve waited for him to explain the proposition, but she sensed hesitation in his tone, as though he knew not how to broach the subject.

‘This is about Rionallís?’ she guessed.

‘Tá. I know a way to bring peace among our people, and I believe you wish to do the same.’

His sincerity and calm manner put her at ease. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I want you to wed Bevan. His alliance with your family would divide Rionallís between you, and I believe your king would welcome the union.’

Though at one time Genevieve might have considered this as a solution, she knew Bevan would never agree. ‘Your brother would die before wedding a Norman.’

Her prediction did not deter Patrick. ‘He will obey if I command it.’

Turmoil and disappointment gathered in her heart. She knew Patrick’s offering was the best solution—a way for her to protect her family from war. But in return she would have to spend her life with a man who didn’t want her.

‘Will you agree if I bring the matter before King Henry and our High King?’

‘My opinion holds no bearing. You must have my father’s approval before a betrothal can be made.’

‘I sent word for him to meet us at Tara. His messenger brought a response today. He has agreed to join us there.’

A combination of numbness and relief settled over her. At last her father would come. She didn’t know if he had received any of her missives, but she felt certain he would help her end the betrothal to Hugh.

But would he want her to wed Bevan? She had her doubts. In all likelihood her father and Bevan would war against one another, fighting for the rights to Rionallís. Unless she stood between them.

She wished Papa would come to Laochre and take her home again, avoiding the problem entirely.

‘What is your opinion, Lady Genevieve?’ Patrick asked quietly. ‘Will you wed my brother if it mends the breach between us?’

She had no choice. No more than Bevan did. It was the only way to avoid bloodshed. ‘If my father agrees, I will do it.’

The blizzard slowed, thick snowflakes cloaking the ground in white. Genevieve decided to walk out of doors, to think about her conversation with Patrick.

Clad in a woolen brat that surrounded her shoulders, and a cloak to protect her gown, she stepped out into the freezing cold. Snowflakes whipped against her face, and she could hardly see beyond a few feet in front of her.

Beyond the outer bailey wall a blanket of snow covered the hills of Erin. As she studied the horizon, she wondered what Hugh’s intentions were. Not for a moment did she believe he had given up his pursuit.

She had been at Laochre for only a few days, and yet she could not let go of her fear. She sensed she was being watched, though the idea was foolish. At night she awoke at the least sound, imagining an unseen assailant. It bothered her to know that she was behaving like a coward even now. She despised the way Hugh controlled her, even in his absence.

Though she had escaped his physical presence, his grip upon her emotional state angered her. Gritting her teeth, she took a few steps forward. Then a few more, until she stood at the entrance to the outer wall.

‘It is not wise to venture forth in such a storm,’ the guard said, blocking her path.

‘I will only go to the bottom of the hillside,’ Genevieve promised. Only far enough to face her fears. She had remained inside the fortress, hiding from the threat of Hugh’s men. Though he was not here, she still felt his controlling presence.

‘I’ll not venture beyond where you can see me,’ she promised. With that, the guard relented.

Genevieve trudged through the thick snow, the hem of her gown growing damp. There was a peacefulness here, the muffled silence of winter’s beauty. She saw a single tree, its branches laced with a snowy covering. All around her the green of the hills had fallen beneath a glistening mantle of white.

No one was here to threaten her. She inhaled deeply, breathing the scent of freedom. Snow danced across her face, and she thought of the feast yestereve, when Bevan had kissed her.

Though he did not seem to hate her, was it even possible to gain his friendship? She disliked the idea of escaping one marriage only to endure another prison.

Their alliance would prevent a battle over Rionallís, but only if her father and Bevan agreed. Although Patrick claimed he could command his brother to wed her, such would only increase Bevan’s animosity. He would grow to resent her presence, unless she could convince him she would be no threat to him.

The idea rooted and began to blossom. If she persuaded Bevan to wed her knowing that she held no expectations from him, it might not be so bad. They could marry and maintain their distance from one another.

The more she considered the plan, the better it seemed. She was afraid of his reaction. But perhaps if she presented it in a way that offered him complete freedom, he might understand her reasoning. The arrangement would protect her family, which was of the greatest importance. Her former dreams of wedding a husband who would love her had faded into reality. She had learned the hard way not to trust her heart.

In the distance, Genevieve heard a faint noise like the call of a bird. It was the only sound to break the stillness. She nearly turned away, but then heard it again. Frowning, Genevieve moved in the direction of the noise. She studied the landscape, searching for the source.

When she heard the cry for a third time, it dawned on her what she was hearing. She picked up her skirts and raced towards it. Ignoring