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

moved across the linen, the row of even stitches belying the nervousness she felt. She wished she had her psaltery, to lose herself in music.

Ewan was right. Bevan would return soon, and their marriage would take place.

Her needle moved across the linen as she visualized his face in her mind. Unbidden came thoughts of his kiss, and the way he had touched her.

Did he have any feelings for her at all? If he did, she sensed he fought them. According to Ewan, Bevan’s loyalty to his first wife transcended anything he might feel for Genevieve.

And therein lay another problem: Ewan’s dislike of Fiona and the strange details Genevieve had learned bothered her. All her instincts warned her that Fiona had held secrets—ones that Bevan knew nothing about. The one that bothered her most was Ewan’s claim that Fiona had left the fortress more than once, not returning until morning.

There was no plausible reason for it save one: infidelity. Genevieve knew Bevan had loved his wife completely. But would he still grieve for her if he knew the truth?

In her heart, she realised that she could never be the one to reveal such secrets. What good would it accomplish? It would only turn Bevan against her. Silence was the best course of action. She wanted to win his heart, but not at the cost of destroying his memories.

Loud voices interrupted her thoughts. Genevieve turned and saw her mother entering the Great Chamber. A smile of joy broke across Genevieve’s face. ‘Mother!’ Rising to her feet, she ran to embrace Helen.

Tall and slender, Lady Helen de Renalt wore her dark hair concealed beneath a veil. Genevieve knew her mother used plant dyes to prevent the silver strands along her temples. Fine age lines edged the corners of her eyes and mouth—lines that curved upwards at the sight of her daughter.

Her mother hugged her tightly. ‘Tell me what has happened.’

Genevieve explained, but could not keep the bitterness from her voice when she spoke of the beatings.

‘Only one missive arrived—a short time ago,’ Helen admitted. ‘Had it not been for his illness, I am certain your father would have come for you sooner.’ Her face was filled with regret. ‘And it was our fault for sending Sir Peter of Harborough and his wife. They are friends of ours, but I suppose Hugh deceived them.’

‘Sir Peter believed Hugh’s lies that I deserved punishment. He did nothing to stop him.’

‘I am sorry, daughter.’ Helen touched her face tenderly. ‘’Tis a good thing Hugh and Peter are already gone, for I would likely flay them both alive. Your father will have words with Sir Peter, of that you can be sure.’

Never one to dwell on unpleasant matters, Helen changed the subject. ‘I want to know about this Bevan MacEgan. Do you truly wish to wed him?’ Her mother spoke of the matter as though Genevieve had volunteered to throw herself from the top of a tower.

Hedging, she said, ‘He is a good man, and a fine warrior, but his heart will always be with his first wife.’

Helen sighed. ‘I did not ask about his heart, Genevieve. This is a marriage, not a love ballad.’

‘I know.’

‘I am not certain you do. I know the King wanted you to wed Sir Hugh, but he was not your only suitor. We could have wed you to any number of men. Had you been thinking with your head, you might not have ended up where you did.’ Helen added, ‘And I am not certain marriage to this Irishman is a good idea at all.’

‘Bevan is a strong protector, Mother,’ she argued.

‘But can you endure living here in Erin with him?’ Helen glanced around, as though she would rather be dead than dwell here.

Genevieve hid her smile. She had grown to love Erin and its green hills. She found it no hardship to live in a wild land filled with untamed beauty. ‘I can.’

Helen continued voicing her opinions on marriage, but Genevieve had stopped listening. Her gaze moved towards the entrance to the Great Chamber.

A small group of soldiers entered the room, followed by Bevan. He stood, awaiting her.

‘Mother, pray excuse me for a moment.’

Helen turned and frowned. ‘I am not certain about this man, Genevieve. He is little more than a barbarian.’

‘Go, Mother. Please,’ Genevieve said. ‘I would speak with him alone.’

Helen began to shake her head, but Bevan stepped forward. With a dark glare to Helen, he commanded, ‘Leave us.’

Her mother stiffened. ‘I shall stand over by the fire. If you have need of me I will—’

‘Mother—’ Genevieve warned. ‘Go to my chamber above. I will speak with you there later.’

With a shake of her head, Helen left. Genevieve lifted her gaze to Bevan. ‘I am sorry about this. I never meant to—’

He stepped forward, so close to her that Genevieve could feel his breath upon her face. His nearness disconcerted her, but she struggled to hold her ground. Her warrior’s green eyes glinted with a firm resolve. Reaching up, she touched the fresh scar on his cheek. ‘Your wound is healing well.’

He covered her fingertips with his own. His voice was a deep baritone as he leaned in. ‘The marriage will take place today.’

She knew how much he didn’t want to wed her. It hurt more deeply than she had imagined.

‘Why did you change your mind?’ she asked.

He did not respond, but said firmly, ‘I am holding you to your promise. After the wedding, we lead separate lives.’

Her heart bruised at his words, though she had expected them. ‘I know.’

‘Can you accept this?’he asked. ‘All I can offer you is your freedom to do as you please.’

‘I have no choice, have I, Bevan?’ Her voice sounded tired, but she managed to nod. ‘I will wed you and avoid a battle between our people.’ Her anger grew until her teeth hurt with the effort to clench them.

Bevan released her hands. ‘Go and prepare yourself. I will see you when the priest arrives.’

Genevieve’s eyes burned as he departed. He wanted nothing