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

Bevan shook his head slowly. ‘I must find her,’ he said. ‘And when I do I will bring her back to Éireann.’

‘And if she will not come?’

His shoulders lowered. ‘I know not what she will say. It has been two years. Much has changed.’

‘Do you still love her?’

He hesitated, pity filling his eyes. ‘I do not know what I feel for her.’

Genevieve turned away so he would not see her tears. Why had she let herself care for him? Why did it have to hurt this much?

She took a deep breath and steadied herself. ‘What of Rionallís?’

‘We will live at Laochre until the issue is resolved in the courts.’ He looked away for a moment. ‘Perhaps your father will allow me to buy the land from him.’

Genevieve wanted to argue—but what good would it do? She closed her eyes, wishing that somehow she could undo the day’s events.

‘I still care for you,’ she whispered. ‘In spite of it all.’

Her words were a knife in his heart, for he wanted her too. But he could not have her. He was married to Fiona, and the stolen moments he’d had with Genevieve had been nothing but a sin.

He couldn’t say anything. To answer her would only cause them more pain. ‘It has been a long day for both of us,’ he said. ‘You should sleep.’

‘Where?’ Genevieve asked brokenly. Her gaze travelled to the bed, where only that morning they had lain in each other’s arms, skin upon skin.

‘It does not matter. I will sleep below stairs with the men.’

‘But—’ She reached out to touch him.

He stepped away. ‘Don’t you see, Genevieve? You are no longer my wife. It is over between us.’

Without another glance, he closed the door behind him, leaving her. He waited a few moments, and then heard the sound of her tears. His own eyes burned, but there was nothing to be done for it.

Bevan leaned with his back against the door, his head bowed. Though he shed no tears, his grief was no less than hers. The only way to atone for his sin was to bring his wife home again and try to make her happy.

And he would not see Genevieve again.

Bevan rose at dawn, packing only the barest of necessities to take with him. He broke his fast in the quiet of the morning, and stopped only to wake Ewan by nudging the sleeping boy on his pallet.

Ewan stretched, uncurling his long limbs. ‘What is it?’he mumbled, yawning.

‘I am leaving for England. I want you to send for Connor, and the two of you will look after Rionallís and Genevieve while I go.’

‘You’re going to find her, aren’t you?’ The look of distaste on Ewan’s face revealed his feelings on the matter. ‘I don’t see why you won’t keep Genevieve. I like her. She prepares better food.’ Ewan scowled, rubbing his eyes.

Bevan shook his head in exasperation. Always thinking of his stomach, was Ewan. ‘If Fiona is alive, I have to find her. She belongs here.’

‘She didn’t want to stay here,’ Ewan pointed out.

Bevan knew it, but he would have to convince her otherwise. Guilt plagued him for dishonouring his first wife. He had allowed himself to share the intimacies of marriage with another woman. Fate had granted him his wish—to have his wife alive again. He had no choice but to bring her back.

Ewan was right, however. Bevan did not know how he would convince Fiona to return if she had left willingly.

‘If I do not return within a fortnight, send Patrick to the Welsh border. He’ll know what to do if I am taken captive.’

‘You’re going alone?’ Ewan stared at him as though he’d grown a second head. ‘You can’t go alone!’

‘I can hardly take an army with me,’ Bevan said. ‘The Baron will not exactly give up Fiona without a fight. And I see no reason to start a war if I can convince her to come back of her own free will. I intend to disguise myself as one of the peasants. I’ll have more freedom to observe the castle.’

‘It’s dangerous. What if she betrays you?’ Ewan asked.

Bevan donned his mantle and cloak. ‘I can only hope she will not.’

But Ewan’s remark left him shaken. Had Fiona betrayed them to the Normans during that first battle? They had managed to drive the enemy back, but at great cost.

Bevan knew it was a risk, but it was one he had to take. More than anything else, he had to know if she was still alive. For the past two years, he had dreamed of holding her in his arms again, of loving her.

He didn’t know if he still loved her any more. Both of them had been unfaithful, though his infidelity had been unintentional. What would he say to her when he saw her again? A heaviness settled over his heart. He was supposed to be overjoyed. Instead, he felt sadness that his marriage with Genevieve had ended.

It had never been a real marriage, he knew. But it had felt like one. He had loved watching her wake up in the mornings, stretching and trying to steal the coverlet from him. He would never have that again.

Bevan cast a look up the staircase, to where Genevieve slept above. Better to leave without saying farewell. He would face the uncertain future without the memory of looking upon her one last time.

The wintry air was crisp, laced with the pungent aroma of peat smoke. His destrier was saddled and loaded with the supplies he’d requested.

‘Where will you stay before the crossing?’ Ewan asked.

‘With the Ó Flayertys,’he replied. His brother Trahern had fostered with the family, and his mother’s cousins lived in Leinster.

Somerton’s lands were just beyond the Welsh border, and it would be safer to make the northern journey on their own shores before crossing the waters to England.

‘What do you want me to tell Genevieve?’ Ewan glanced above. ‘She’ll be angry with you.’

‘Tell her what you like. But keep