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

her standing in the bailey, his thoughts fired with the promise of making her his wife.

Chapter Fifteen

G enevieve wondered what had brought about Bevan’s change of attitude, but instead of it filling her with joy, she felt only wariness. Self-doubts plagued her, with little voices reminding her that she had never been able to please Hugh. How long would Bevan’s desire for her last? Would he, too, become dissatisfied with her?

She tried to drown out the voices by working. Over the next few days she occupied herself with any task that would busy her fingers.

Ewan had remained behind to look after Rionallís, on Bevan’s orders. Genevieve wondered how long her husband would be gone, and Ewan reassured her that it would likely be a matter of days. In the meantime, he took it upon himself to learn more about the ribbon Hugh had sent, despite her protests. He insisted that it could not be pushed aside.

Genevieve suspected that he was more interested in having a reason to spy on others than to uncover the mystery. But it kept him occupied, so she ignored it.

With the help of the servants, she swept the hearth and recovered the floors with fresh rushes. When she found herself scrubbing the walls, searching for cobwebs, she decided she had done enough.

Bevan had forbidden her to touch the chamber he had shared with his first wife, save for cleaning. The new bed reminded her of his promise to consummate their marriage, and she wondered if he would keep it. Would he love her upon it? Or would the ghost of his wife haunt him still? She did not fear his touch any more, but she worried about pleasing him.

Her gaze travelled to a chest against the wall. She knew its contents well, from even before Bevan had forbidden her to open it. Inside were a woman’s gowns, a length of rose-coloured linen, and an infant’s bonnet. Only months ago Genevieve had tried on a gown, though it had been too short for her. She had wondered about what their lives must have been like.

Now she knew, and understood the sorrow that went with that knowledge. Love lay in that chest, tucked away with packets of herbs to preserve it. His memories were there.

She opened the chest again, lifting the gowns aside, holding the bonnet in her palm. So tiny. The grief he must feel she could not imagine.

Had he truly let go of them? Or had she merely incited his lust? She wanted him to love her in the way he had Fiona.

Why open this Pandora’s Box? Why let herself dream again when he held the power to break her heart? Genevieve closed her eyes. Though it might make her a fool, a fool she would be.

All at once, Ewan burst in. He sounded out of breath from running. ‘A small party of Normans. To the north. I’ve ordered the men to be on guard.’

Genevieve rose to her feet. ‘And their intent?’

Ewan shook his head. ‘I do not know. But I’ll find out.’

He departed the chamber with all haste, and Genevieve stifled the rush of nervousness. She straightened her attire, ensuring that her hair was properly covered. Below stairs, she gave orders for refreshments and a footbath for the guests. She would treat them as such until she knew the reason for their visit.

Some time later, Ewan returned. A scowl rested upon his face. ‘Sir Hugh Marstowe is with them. Shall I give the order to attack?’ His eyes gleamed with excitement.

Genevieve’s heart seized. She steeled herself, trying to remember that she was well protected, even without Bevan.

‘How many of them are there?’

‘Only ten. A short battle it would be,’ Ewan urged.

She knew she should deny Hugh entrance and have the guards send them away. It was the right thing to do.

And yet she thought again of the frail ribbon he had sent. What did Hugh mean by it? What did he want? She had already wed Bevan, and their children would inherit Rionallís. If there were any, Genevieve thought with a sigh.

She recalled her husband’s promise and her body warmed at the memory. Before she gave herself up to Bevan’s embrace there was one memory left to excise: the terrible night when Hugh had tried to force himself upon her—and nearly succeeded.

He had held her down, crushing her with his weight. ‘You cannot deny me,’ he had said. ‘I am to be your husband.’

His fists had bruised her, tearing away her clothing until she lay exposed to him. She had fought him, but his strength had overpowered her.

‘If you do this, I shall hate you forever,’ she had whispered.

And for some reason he had stopped. His wrath had not diminished, nor his lust, but her words had stayed his hand. He had tried to woo her once more, insisting he could give her pleasure. She had sobbed until finally he’d left her alone.

The devastating fear had been with her ever since. She would never be free of it until she faced him.

Here was a chance to reclaim her pride, to look upon the face of her enemy and let him see that she would not be beaten. Her hands trembled as she straightened her léine.

‘Allow them to enter. I will speak with him.’

Ewan looked incredulous, but Genevieve added one further order. ‘And I want twenty guards in the room with me. Along with yourself.’ She offered him a faint smile. ‘You will protect me, will you not, brother?’

Pride burst over his face, and he nodded. ‘I will.’

As the moments passed, she paced. With each step her heart hammered faster, until she felt the fear starting to overtake her.

‘Genevieve.’ She turned, and Hugh gave her a thin smile. His face was clean-shaven, his fair hair cropped short. He wore only light armour, his conical helm tucked beneath his arm. ‘I see you received my message.’

‘What do you want?’ she asked. To her surprise, her voice sounded calm.

‘I wanted to apologise for my past actions,’