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

few yourself?’ He knew his younger brother had a fondness for the pastries.

‘Tá.’ Ewan walked alongside him. ‘Bevan, may I tell you something?’

‘What is it?’

‘Genevieve is a good woman. She’s a better wife than Fiona. There are some things you didn’t know—’

He bristled at the remark. ‘Do not speak of Fiona in that way.’

‘But it is true,’ his brother insisted. ‘Fiona was never as faithful to you as you think she was.’

‘Enough.’ Bevan’s earlier good humour vanished. ‘I do not wish to speak of this again.’ He returned in the direction of the inner bailey wall without sparing his brother another glance. He knew his marriage to Fiona had had its faults, but his wife had always been loyal to him. He knew it, no matter what Ewan might say. And he refused to believe otherwise.

Genevieve cuddled Declan in her lap, though the toddler was far more interested in the apple pastries she had set before him. As for herself, she had no interest in food. The thought made her slightly queasy, although she forced a smile onto her face. Ever since that morning she had felt more tired than usual.

‘How has Declan fared since I saw you last?’ she asked Sheela.

‘He misses his parents,’ Sheela said, her face darkening in sorrow. ‘I heard what happened to my sister’s husband. He should not have betrayed the MacEgans. Now my nephew has neither parent to comfort him.’

‘I am sorry,’ Genevieve said.

‘Was there no justice for their deaths?’

‘It is complicated,’ she replied, thinking of Hugh. No one had seen or heard from him since his visit. ‘But I know Bevan will see it done.’

‘Good.’ Sheela studied the Great Chamber, a concerned expression upon her face. ‘I am glad to speak with you alone. There is something which troubles me, and I think you need to know it.’ She lowered her voice. ‘My husband and I live in the north—many days’ journey from here.’

Genevieve’s stomach clenched again, but she closed her eyes to clear the illness away. She placed her hands upon her cheeks to cool them. ‘Go on.’

Sheela hesitated. ‘I know not how to say this to you, nor do I know if ’tis true. But you must find out.’

Genevieve was puzzled. ‘What is it?’

‘Do you remember I told you I saw Fiona MacEgan this past summer?’

Genevieve nodded. ‘You had mistaken someone else for her.’

Sheela shook her head. ‘No.’

Genevieve grew confused at Sheela’s words. A spinning sensation gripped her stomach, but she nodded for the woman to continue.

‘I discovered from others that it was she. Fiona MacEgan did not die in battle, as your husband believes. And if what I have learned is true, your marriage to Bevan is invalid.’

It was as though Genevieve’s life began to unravel with Sheela’s words. ‘No.’ She denied it, tension pounding at her temples. ‘Bevan buried her himself.’

‘Her body was burned. No one could know for certain,’ Sheela corrected. ‘They identified a woman wearing her jewels.’

Genevieve shook her head, unwilling to believe it. But she steeled herself. ‘Why would you think this?’

‘The Normans I spoke with say she left of her own accord. She was in love with Raymond Graham, the Baron of Somerton.’

Genevieve had heard the name. The Somerton lands were near the Welsh border, to the north of her father’s. ‘How do you know if their words are the truth?’ she managed to ask.

Sheela’s face was filled with compassion. ‘Find out. I pray for your sake that it is not. But were it me I would want to know.’

Genevieve needed to lie down, to clear her thoughts. ‘Please, make yourself welcome,’ she told Sheela. ‘I must attend some duties above stairs. We will speak of this later.’

Sheela placed her hand on Genevieve’s sleeve. ‘You do not look well. Shall I come with you?’

‘No. I am fine,’ she lied. At the moment, she didn’t want anyone near. She had only Sheela’s suppositions, but the possibility of its truth shook her to the core.

A terrible voice inside her questioned whether to tell Bevan. Her sense of honesty conflicted with her desire to remain with her husband. If she said nothing, her life would stay the same. But it would be a lie. She had more honour than that.

The deepening sensation of illness strengthened, so she lay down upon the bed. She would rest for a moment. And later she would tell Bevan what she had learned.

When Bevan returned at sunset, he opened the door to their chamber and found Genevieve lying upon the bed, her eyes closed. Her skin was as pale as moonlight, her breath rising and falling like the ebb of the sea. When he caressed her face, her cheeks felt fiery to the touch.

‘Genevieve?’ Lifting her into his arms, he stroked her hair, attempting to revive her. All at once his thoughts dwelled upon his daughter, Brianna. He had not been there for her when she had fallen ill. She’d been hardly more than a babe when he’d lost her. And still the memory of it filled him with a crushing sadness.

Genevieve opened her eyes. ‘I must have fallen asleep, I fear.’ She tried to muster a smile.

‘I will send for Siorcha.’

‘No.’ Her voice sounded frail, and fear seized him once more. ‘Bevan, there is something I must tell you.’

‘Shh…’He held her in his arms, covering her mouth with his fingers. ‘Do not speak. Rest now and regain your strength. Whatever you have to say can wait.’

She laced her fingers with his, and her hands were cold. ‘Thank you for bringing Declan to me,’ she whispered.

‘I will summon the healer,’ he insisted.

Genevieve did not protest, for she understood Siorcha’s presence would reassure Bevan. When at last the healer arrived, she examined Genevieve under Bevan’s watchful eyes. She gave Genevieve a powder mixed with wine to drink, to help her sleep. It was then that Genevieve remembered Siorcha had been with Fiona and Bevan’s daughter when she died. It occurred to her that the healer might have the answers she sought.

Yet she did not