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

at the memory. ‘Fiona and I never left Brianna’s side for a moment. I don’t think either of us slept for three days.’

When the steam had cooled, Genevieve refilled the basin with fresh hot water. ‘And Brianna was better afterwards?’

‘One morn she woke up and informed us that she wanted honey cakes to break her fast. I think we would have given her anything she wanted, so thankful we were. She demanded that I take her out riding that day.’

‘And did you?’

‘No. Though I considered it.’ He ruffled the boy’s hair, smoothing a stray cowlick. ‘Isabel told me they haven’t found his mother. I ordered some men to search the pond.’

Genevieve winced at the thought of them finding a body. She couldn’t conceive of how such a young boy would be alone, or why. He had been dressed warmly, as though for a journey. From the manner of his clothing he was not of the noble class, and yet not a slave either.

‘His father was one of my men,’ Bevan said. ‘I can only assume he was captured with the others, at Rionallís.’

Genevieve shivered. No doubt the boy’s father was dead by now. Hugh would not allow a single enemy to live, nor any man to threaten him.

‘Are you going after them?’

‘My brother Connor has already left with a group of soldiers. I asked to go, but it seems I must go to Tara instead.’

He didn’t look at her, and Genevieve recognised his resentment. Were it not for her, he would be back at Rionallís. ‘What if Hugh attacks your brother?’

‘He can take care of himself. Connor’s fighting skills are strong. He’ll not be taken captive.’

She reached out and touched the child’s shoulder. Her eyes met Bevan’s. ‘I know you want to be with them.’

‘I know my duty.’

But beneath his tone she heard the underlying meaning. He believed his duty was to his men, not being forced to wed a woman he didn’t want.

She drew back from him and took the basin, forcing herself to concentrate on the child’s needs. She emptied the cooled water and refilled the container with hot water. They kept up the pattern, not knowing whether their efforts were in vain. After a few hours, Genevieve reached out for the boy. ‘I’ll keep trying the hot steam. If you like, you may retire.’

Bevan shook his head. ‘No. I’ve a need to be here.’

Though his words were purely for the child’s sake, she became aware of Bevan, of the contrast between strong warrior and tender father. His fighting spirit fascinated her, just as it frightened her. He could easily be as dominant as Hugh, taking whatever he wanted. And yet he had never asked more of her than she had given.

His kiss had been gentle, though it had drawn out such yearnings within her. She sensed that he guarded his feelings, locking them away inside. If he were ever to release them, she wondered what sort of man would lie beneath the surface.

Genevieve rose and brought the basin back to the table where Bevan sat. ‘When are you leaving for Tara?’ she asked.

‘In three days. The High King intends to settle the property dispute of Rionallís there.’

Now was the time to tell him of her conversation with Patrick. She had to convince Bevan to accept the compromise. Yet the rigid cast to his face gave her pause. She was afraid of what he might say to his brother’s proposition.

‘Patrick believes we should wed.’

‘I’ll not wed you to regain what rightfully belongs to me,’ Bevan said.

The painful finality of his words cut her down. She sensed the fury behind them, the frustration of being forced into an arrangement he didn’t want.

But somehow she set aside her hurt feelings and gathered a strength she hadn’t known she had. ‘You are trying to push me away because I am the enemy,’ she whispered. ‘And yet I am the only woman you could marry. I would not expect a true marriage from you.’

Moving closer, she laid her hand upon his shoulder. His muscles were hard, his skin warm beneath her fingers. ‘I would not expect you to…share my bed.’

His pulse quickened beneath her palm.

‘You could come and go as you pleased, just as you do now.’ His breathing tightened, and she could see the effect she was having upon him. ‘Rionallís would be yours without raising a finger. Without losing a single man in battle.’

He caught her wrist in his. ‘You know not what you are doing, Genevieve.’

The nearness of him, the warm male scent, had her blood racing. His mouth was only a breath away from a kiss. She shivered, afraid of this warrior who could not forgive her for being a Norman.

‘Will you consider it?’

He said nothing, but his thumb moved upon her wrist in an unmistakable caress. His firm lips softened, his green eyes drinking in the sight of her. He desired her, though he denied it.

She pulled away, and a tendril of hope was suspended in the space between them. ‘Think upon it, Bevan. You would have your freedom and Rionallís, too.’

Chapter Eight

T he soldier entered the darkened fortress, its torches casting shadows upon the walls. He moved towards the men he had fought alongside in battle. Friends, rivals—they did not deserve what he was being forced to do.

The Gaillabh wanted him to betray the MacEgans. If he did not, they would hurt his wife, Kiara. The soldier swallowed back his helpless rage, knowing he had little choice but to follow their commands.

‘What happened?’A guard blocked his path, recognition dawning over his face. ‘We thought you were dead. The Normans—’

‘I escaped,’ he said. ‘The others are still held captive.’

‘Are they alive?’ his friend asked.

He nodded. ‘For now.’

‘Good. Bevan has sent a rescue party. Connor went with them days ago.’

‘And why did Bevan not go after them himself?’

‘Our king forbade it.’ His friend walked alongside him into the inner bailey. ‘But they should arrive back soon. If they’re still alive.’

The soldier did not mention his wife,