Her Irish Warrior Michelle Willingham (i read books .TXT) 📖

song to himself. Genevieve managed a smile, but as she watched the young boy she felt a pang of regret. Sheela would take Declan away, and Genevieve would not see him again.

During the past few days, while she’d nursed him to health, she had grown accustomed to waking beside him, his warm body cuddled next to hers. For a time Genevieve had allowed herself to dream that the boy belonged to her.

‘You look a great deal like Fiona MacEgan,’ Sheela remarked. ‘I saw her at a distance last summer, when my husband and I visited family in Leinster.’

Genevieve picked up her needle, trying to act uninterested though her curiosity was piqued. ‘I have been told I look like her,’ she said. ‘But you must have seen someone else. Fiona MacEgan died two years ago.’

Sheela frowned. ‘I was certain it was she.’ Then after a moment she shrugged. ‘But it could be that you are right. I did not see her except from far away.’

When they were about to leave, Genevieve asked if she could hold Declan once more. Taking him into her arms, she smoothed his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple. ‘I am glad you are well, little one.’ Declan squirmed to get back to his aunt, and Genevieve let him go, feeling a tug of regret.

One day, she promised herself. One day she would have a child of her own.

‘And you believe he lies?’ Sir Hugh asked his commander.

Robert Staunton gave a nod. ‘I do. His loyalty to MacEgan is stronger than we predicted. He will not betray him.’

‘Then kill the woman.’ Marstowe’s eyes glittered with impatience. ‘Send her body to the traitor. And prepare our men for attack.’

Staunton concealed his distaste. ‘My lord, would you not rather wait for the Earl? With his men to join ours we would be better prepared.’

‘No. I’ll not let it appear that our men are incapable of protecting my betrothed.’

It was a suicidal mission, and Staunton knew it. ‘I hear that MacEgan intends to journey to Tara.’

‘You said the man was lying.’

‘That may be true. But King Henry is holding court at Tara. You could bring the matter to his attention. I am certain the Irish could not withstand an attack by the King’s army.’

Marstowe’s expression changed and grew calculating. ‘You are right. The King would never allow an Irish barbarian to threaten one of his subjects. And the Earl would, of course, want me to bring it before our sovereign lord.’ He stared, lost in thought. ‘I was supposed to take Genevieve to Tara for the King to witness our union.’

He smiled. ‘This will work to our advantage. Have our belongings packed. We will go to Tara and ensure that King Henry knows exactly how my bride has been threatened.’

In his mind’s eye he was certain Henry would take his side. And as for Genevieve, he would cleanse all thoughts of the Irishman from her mind until the only man she desired was himself.

The faint sounds of music came from inside a chamber. Bevan frowned, following the tones into the solarium. The haunting song was one he’d never heard before, and delicate strings filled the room with sorrow. When he stood at the doorway, he saw Genevieve seated at the harp.

Lightly her hands moved over the strings, as though she didn’t want anyone to hear her playing. Her eyes remained closed as she lost herself in the music. He hadn’t known that she knew how to play.

He cleared his throat and she jolted, her hands moving back from the strings as though they were on fire.

‘I am sorry. I didn’t—I shouldn’t have—’

‘You needn’t apologise. You play very well. Did your mother teach you?’

‘No. When I was fostered in Wales I learned. One of my foster-sisters was from Ireland. She brought her harp from home and taught me.’

Colour heightened in her face, and he saw then that she had been crying. She rose and faced him. ‘What is it you want?’ Her eyes were red and swollen, and he wondered what had made her weep.

‘I am leaving now.’He searched for the right words, wondering if she was angry with him for the way he had touched her the night before. He should apologise for it, for his actions had gone further than he’d intended. ‘I wanted to see that you are well before I go.’

‘I am fine.’ She cleared her throat and regarded him with a cool expression. ‘Though I do not understand why you have forbidden me to see my father.’

‘He will come for you after we have settled the matter of my lands.’

‘I understand that those lands were yours,’ she said. ‘But my father is not the enemy. You were not there to defend Rionallís. My father protected your people when Strongbow attacked last spring, else your enemies would have destroyed the fortress.’ Her posture straightened. ‘He saved their lives.’

At the mention of Strongbow, Bevan felt his temper flare. Strongbow’s forces had landed at Hook Head, destroying raths and murdering hundreds of Irishmen only two years ago. It was during that battle he’d lost both Fiona and his eldest brother, Liam. Patrick had barely managed to defend Laochre.

And then, last spring, the invaders had attacked Rionallís.

‘Your people do not belong here,’he said, ‘and I’ll not surrender to your father what is mine. Nor will I be forced into a marriage not of my choosing.’

Genevieve’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘And do you think I choose to wed a man who does not want me? I know how much you despise my people, but I’ll not let blood be spilled for the sake of my pride.’

Gritting his teeth, he finished, ‘I am leaving. After I return we need not see one another again.’

She paled, and he noticed her trembling hands. A hollow feeling invaded his skin, but the words of apology would not come forth. Genevieve was right. He had not been there for his people. His grief had consumed him and he’d left his kinsmen to the mercy of