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

had ended. Bevan had gone to join his kinsmen. All the men of Rionallís had risen, forming a line with swords.

‘What is going on?’

‘The games are about to begin. The men will compete to show off their fighting skills. There are prizes for the winners.’

‘What kinds of prizes?’ She yawned and let Ewan lead her closer, to a bench where the women sat watching. A burly soldier had stripped off his tunic, revealing a heavily muscled chest. The other men removed their outer garments as well, to the shrill cheering of the women.

‘It depends. Sometimes an animal, like a cow or a pig. Sometimes money. Sometimes a kiss from their choice of maiden.’

He’d better not kiss his choice of maiden, Genevieve thought when she saw Bevan among the fighters. The jealousy had returned, though she tried to keep more ladylike thoughts in her head.

Trahern raised his arms, and the crowd cheered. With a mighty swing, he rammed his fist into the first soldier’s gut. The man gasped, stumbled, but held his ground.

‘What is he doing?’ Genevieve asked, horrified.

‘A test of strength. A man has to be able to handle pain in battle,’ Ewan explained. ‘Trahern is the strongest here.’

Trahern continued down the line, felling some of the men with his punches, cracking the ribs of a few others, Genevieve was certain. When he reached Bevan, a hush fell over the crowd.

‘Bevan is wounded,’ she whispered, remembering his shoulder. ‘He wouldn’t harm his own brother, would he?’

‘Especially his brother,’ Ewan commented.

But even as Trahern’s fist shot towards Bevan, her husband caught the man’s wrist. Neatly twisting it, he moved in such a way that Trahern lost his balance and hit the floor. Bevan rested his boot upon his brother’s throat.

‘You’ve still not learned to best me in all your travels, I see.’

Trahern gave a hearty laugh. Grasping Bevan’s wrist, he hauled himself to his feet. With a wicked roll to his hips, he leered, ‘I can best you in one area, brother. At least, that’s what the women tell me.’

Genevieve joined in the laughter, but her concentration was focused on Bevan. The mead had gone to her head, and she thought what a fine warrior she had married. Without the tunic, his corded muscles gleamed in the firelight.

Mine, she thought.

Her body grew warmer as she imagined what it would be like if he cast off his vow and made her his wife in truth.

Mairi slid onto the bench beside Genevieve. ‘The next contest is one of the sword. Bevan is the best of all, but he’ll not compete in this one.’

‘Why not?’ Genevieve’s gaze followed her husband as he donned his tunic.

‘The prize for this sword competition is a kiss. The winner may choose a lady, and she must grant him that boon.’

‘Can anyone enter?’ Genevieve asked, as she watched Bevan sit closer to the competitors.

‘Tá. There, you see—the first match is begun.’

Two soldiers faced off with their swords, parrying blows and lunging. The heavy clang of metal echoed in the stone chamber as the fighters were surrounded by a throng of cheering spectators. A few of the women had moved closer, primping and awaiting the winner to make his choice.

At long last one of the swordsmen drew blood, and the loser bowed in defeat. The winner took the hand of one of the maidens and drew her into a lusty kiss.

Seeing the hearty embrace of the two lovers made something stir inside of Genevieve. Though it might be wrong, she could not banish the thoughts from her mind. As swordsman after swordsman joined in the competition, the idea grew stronger in her head. She wanted to destroy the memory of Hugh forever and face her fears.

The crowd had grown quiet once more as the last fighter stepped into the circle, his sword drawn.

‘Will no one fight me?’ he demanded.

The swordsman was Ewan. Surrounded by the other soldiers, his thin body appeared gangly and weak. Genevieve remembered the long hours he’d trained, and how he’d been practising his footwork.

They expected him to lose, she realised. His reputation as a poor fighter made them reluctant to humiliate him.

But she believed he had promise as a fighter, young though he was. She moved closer to the crowd and took a sword away from one of the bystanders. The hilt warmed within her grasp, and she steadied her wrist from its heavy weight.

The bystander started to protest, but Genevieve silenced him with a hand. She held out her sword, smiling at Ewan. ‘I will fight you.’

Chapter Fourteen

L oud guffaws and jeers met her challenge. Genevieve straightened her posture and glared at the onlookers. Bevan shook his head, intending to stop the swordfight. Before he could reach her, she tilted the sword towards him. ‘Step away, husband. This is my challenge, not yours.’

‘I’ll not allow you to—’

Genevieve brandished the sword, poking it towards his chest. ‘You may fight me after I fight him.’

The crowd roared at that, and Trahern grabbed his brother across the ribs, holding him back. ‘I want to see her fight.’ He grinned, giving a nod of encouragement to Genevieve.

‘Can you best a woman, boy?’ one jeered.

Their laughter infuriated Ewan, and he started to lower his sword out of humiliation.

‘Do not listen to them,’ Genevieve said. ‘Show them how you’ve been practising.’

He looked doubtful, but Genevieve repeated, ‘Show them.’

When he didn’t move, she decided she would have to initiate the fight by swinging her sword at him. He waited until the last moment before blocking the blade.

‘Is that all you can do?’ she taunted. She was rewarded with a glower from Ewan.

He circled her, and struck with an arm-numbing blow. She barely defended herself from his first strike.

His sword moved in the patterns they had practised together over the past few days, and Genevieve saw he was trying to go easy on her. He didn’t want to fight her, but he didn’t want to make it appear that he was incapable of fighting a woman.

She was going to have to