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

After he’d finished, he went outside to find her. The frosty winter air cut through his cloak, but while traversing the grounds he saw her in the inner bailey. He stood back, watching as she helped the laundress with a steaming cauldron. Genevieve used a long pole to stir the laundry. The heat from the boiling water dampened the strands of hair at her temples, and her cheeks shone from exertion. A linen veil kept her hair back from her face.

The way she fitted in with his people, engaging in their everyday tasks, made him realise that she could belong here. She knew their language, and there was none of the cool demeanour of a Norman noblewoman. Already they did not view her as an outsider—a fact that troubled him.

She saw him and raised a hand in greeting. Bevan nodded in acknowledgement, but returned to the fortress without speaking to her. He entered the Great Chamber and went above stairs, to the old chamber he’d once shared with his wife.

He had never considered that she might make changes to Rionallís. The original bed was gone, and in its place stood a smaller one. The wooden frame was new, along with the coverings.

The tapestries were gone, too—the ones Fiona had woven with her own hands, working long hours, sometimes into the night. He remembered coming up behind her to steal a kiss while her fingers worked on the loom.

His memories had been stripped away, leaving behind only poor substitutes. The walls were bare, the room devoid of any decoration. Hurt and resentment rose up within him. Had they sold the tapestries? What had happened to the bed where he used to fall asleep with Fiona’s warmth pressed against him? Their child had been conceived in that bed, and now it was gone.

Moments later the door opened, and Genevieve stood at the entrance. She offered a smile of greeting. ‘Good morn to you.’

‘Where is the bed?’ he asked. ‘And the tapestries?’

Her smile faded. When she did not answer, he gripped her by the shoulders. ‘Where are they?’

‘I know not where the tapestries are,’ she said. His fingers tightened upon her, his fury so great he knew his grip would bruise her delicate skin.

‘I ordered the bed destroyed,’ she said. ‘I told them to burn it.’

Burned. He couldn’t understand why she would do such a thing. He should never have given this chamber to her. It would have been better to lock it up, giving him at least one place where he could hold fast to his memories.

Now they were gone, seared into ashes. All because of her orders. Bevan closed his eyes and released her. He feared what he might do, and so he stepped away.

‘Why?’ he demanded.

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Because I couldn’t face it again. I could never lie there with you without remembering the way Hugh used to beat me.’

‘I never intended to lie with you,’ he said coldly.

Her face blanched, and she swiped at the tears. For a moment it was as if he were standing outside his body, as another person. He knew his words cut her deeply, but he could not stop them.

‘Leave me,’ he said, his voice weary. ‘And make no more changes here. This is my home, and I want it the way it was.’

When she did not move, he shouted, ‘Go!’

She fled, and he buried his face in his hands. He regretted marrying her, letting her make changes. Rionallís was not, and never would be, the same.

Genevieve sat beside her parents at the midday meal, the food tasting like dust in her mouth. Bevan’s rebuke had hurt, and she could not anticipate what else might provoke his temper.

She endured another hour of the meal, forcing herself to drink a goblet of elderberry wine. Her mother retired up to her chamber, and Thomas de Renalt reached out to touch Genevieve’s hand.

‘So glum are you? Is aught the matter? Did he harm you?’

An embarrassed look crossed her father’s face at the mention of her wedding night. The servants had shown him the sheets, and she knew the bloodstains had satisfied him. Even so, guilt suffused her at the deception.

She shook her head. ‘He did not harm me, Papa.’

‘The Irishman will make a good husband for you, I am certain,’ her father stated. ‘His fighting skills are legendary among his people.’

‘He was forced to wed me,’ she said. ‘What kind of a beginning to marriage is that?’

‘Some of the best marriages have inauspicious beginnings,’he commented. ‘And they turn out rather well in spite of them. Give it time, Genevieve. You shall remain here, and King Henry will have loyal Normans near to him whenever he has the need.’

A bitterness rose up within her. ‘Aye, I will remain here. Wed to a man who despises me.’

‘Now, now. You are a grown woman, Genevieve. Not a child. Sulking does not become you.’

She knew he was right, and he successfully coaxed a smile. ‘Will you stay for a time?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. Henry has ordered our return to England within a sennight. But I will send a servant to you—one who will summon your mother and me if MacEgan lays a finger upon you.’

‘Bevan would never do that,’ Genevieve said. ‘He nearly killed Hugh for harming me.’

The Earl gave a nod of approval, laying a hand upon her shoulder. ‘I am sorry for what happened. Had I known of it sooner I would have come for you. You must know this.’

Genevieve bowed her head, hiding the tears that threatened. He squeezed her hand. ‘You are a beautiful woman, Genevieve, with a loving heart. Go to your husband. Show him who you are.’

‘It will be all right,’ she said wearily.

Her father smiled. ‘You will conquer this warrior’s heart, my Genevieve. Of that I have no doubt.’

Genevieve embraced him, and he tapped her chin with his finger. ‘We depart on the morrow for England.