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

her here, whatever you do. Send for her parents to take her home again.’

‘This is her home,’ Ewan argued.

Bevan did not reply, but mounted his horse. Not a single flake of snow came down from the clear blue skies. The frozen ground crunched beneath his horse’s hooves, iced over after a freezing rain the night before.

‘God go with you,’ Ewan called out.

‘And with you.’ Bevan urged his destrier through the gates, heading north towards Dun Laoghaire, where he would make the crossing to Holyhead. As Rionallís grew more distant behind him he tried not to think of Genevieve.

‘He’s going to murder me,’ Ewan remarked as the Ó Flayerty lands came into view. ‘I promised him I would keep you at Rionallís.’

‘You promised to protect me,’ Genevieve said. ‘And you couldn’t very well do that if I was travelling alone.’

When Genevieve had awakened to find Bevan gone, she had refused to let him leave her behind. Until she saw Fiona for herself, she would try to hold onto their marriage. Fiona might not be alive now, even if she had been last summer. And Genevieve had to cling to her hopes, for she had nothing else.

During the past several nights they had travelled north, with Ewan protesting at every mile of the journey. But he had kept her safe, and now she would face Bevan’s ire for disobeying him.

Ewan greeted the men guarding the entrance to the Ó Flayerty fortress. The guards allowed them to pass, and Ewan helped Genevieve dismount. ‘I’ll care for the horses while you find him.’

‘Coward,’ Genevieve chided. But her own stomach churned. She did not know what Bevan would say when he saw her.

‘Tá. But I shall stay clear of his fists.’

‘He’d not beat you.’

‘He might. For endangering you, I think he wouldn’t hesitate.’ Ewan glanced at the entrance to the house and gathered the reins. ‘I’ll leave you to him.’

Genevieve squared her shoulders. She had gone over all her arguments until she knew she could present her side with cool logic.

A rosy-cheeked woman, heavy with child, greeted her with a smile.

‘I’ve come to see Bevan,’ Genevieve said, removing her cloak.

‘He is dining with my husband. I am Aoife Ó Flayerty,’ the woman said. ‘May I tell him your name?’

‘Tell him his wife Genevieve has come.’

Aoife looked surprised, but hid it with another smile. ‘You may dine with us. I’ll tell Ewan to join you when he’s finished with the horses.’

Genevieve followed Aoife to a crowded room where a harpist played a lilting tune. Platters of food were spread out, and torches glowed merrily from sconces set into the walls.

When Bevan saw her, Genevieve thought that Ewan might be right. He did have murder in his eyes.

Still, she faced him. She had come this far, and if nothing else he had to listen to her. Bevan spoke not a word, but took her shoulder in an iron grip. With a smile to his hosts, he half dragged her to an alcove in the corner of the room.

‘You should not be here, Genevieve.’

‘Neither should you,’ she shot back, startling herself with the unexpected anger that rose up. ‘Aye, Fiona left you. Her body does not lie next to your daughter’s. But that is all you know. She may not be there with Somerton. All of this could be for naught.’

‘I have to know,’ he told her. ‘And I will do it alone.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Until I see her for myself, you are still my husband.’

Gone was the timid woman he’d known, and in her place stood an indignant wife. Bevan halted the smile before it caught the corner of his mouth. ‘Am I?’

‘Aye, you are.’ She took his hand in hers, lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘And I’ll not give up my last few days with you.’

Her hand touched his cheek, and lust speared through him. Lug, but he wished he did not have to make this journey. He wished he could forget Siorcha’s testimony. Were it not true, he would take his wife above stairs and love her until morning dawned.

Yet, because of the revelation, he had no choice. He had broken his wedding vows, and he had no right to touch Genevieve or be with her.

But Fiona had broken their vows first.

Bevan tried to shake the argument away. He could not forsake his honour, regardless of what his wife had done. He would remain true to Fiona, despite his desire for Genevieve.

Later that evening, when they were alone, a single bed awaited them. He would take the floor and allow Genevieve to sleep on the bed.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, as he prepared his cloak upon the floor.

‘I intend to sleep.’ He removed his boots and tried to arrange the cloak into a pallet for sleeping.

Genevieve came over and sat down beside him on the floor. ‘Do not be foolish. You can share the bed with me. I promise I’ll not ravish you.’

He sent her a wary look. ‘You might.’

She laughed then, the tension broken. ‘Bevan, for one night let us forget about the morrow. Sleep beside me. There is no sin in that.’

No, but the thought of lying beside her without being able to touch her was a torment. He ached to hold her in his arms, to taste the sweetness of her skin once more. Just one last time.

He closed his eyes, fighting the temptation. Either way, he would not sleep this night.

She made the decision for him, flipping back the coverlet and sliding to the far side. She closed her eyes, turning her back to him. He suppressed a groan at the sight of her bare skin. He slipped in beside her, still wearing his trews, the straw mattress crackling under his weight.

‘Goodnight,’ she whispered.

‘And to you,’he whispered back. Her body lay only inches from him, and when she moved her skin brushed against him. Immediately he grew aroused, so he turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

He mentally counted, willing himself not to give in to his desire.