Her Irish Warrior

Author:Willingham, Michelle [Willingham, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance, General, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9781426801570
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2007-05-01T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

D ays later, Bevan MacEgan and the Earl returned to Tara to finish the new betrothal agreement. The Norman King conceded that no cumals would be given as retribution to Sir Hugh, upon the Earl of Longford’s request.

While they were gone Genevieve returned to Rionallís, stripping away anything that reminded her of Hugh. It was then that they found the body of a female prisoner—the wife of the soldier who had tried to kidnap Genevieve. Her hair had been shorn, and Genevieve pressed her fist to her mouth, imagining the woman’s fear. Tears streamed down her face, for this might have been herself one day. She made arrangements for the woman to be buried, and a wave of sorrow enfolded her. Declan had lost both parents. Though he had his aunt to care for him, it was not the same.

She regretted both deaths. When Bevan had seen the soldier threatening her, he had not hesitated to kill the man. Her hand moved to her throat in memory. He had killed one of his own men on her behalf. The thought sobered her.

She knew not why he had done such a thing. In truth, Bevan remained a mystery to her. What had made him change his mind about the marriage? And what sort of husband would he be, once her father returned to England?

It was easier to start anew at Rionallís without Hugh’s presence. Yet it took two days before she gathered the courage to enter her former bedchamber.

Genevieve entered the room with an armful of fresh rushes, hoping to occupy herself with the activity. The maids worked alongside her, and she stacked peat in the hearth to provide a long-burning fire. The heavy loam scent enveloped the room in time, offering comfort.

She stared at the bed. Nausea twisted at her stomach at the memories it evoked. Hugh holding her down, striking her until she lay still beneath him. Her vision swam, and Genevieve clenched her fingers, fighting the surge of hurtful anger. Hugh had wanted to control her, to make her feel desire for him. He had bragged about his skills, ridiculing her fears and insisting he could make her want him. It was the only reason he had not breached her, though he had come close.

‘Are you well?’ a young maid asked her.

‘Take the bed out of here. I don’t want to see it again,’ Genevieve said. ‘Burn it, if you like.’

The girl nodded. ‘I will see it done.’

‘Leave me,’ Genevieve ordered. The maids complied, and she stripped the bed of its coverings. One by one she fed them into the fire, watching them erupt in flames before fading into ashes.

In another few days she had to face her own marriage bed. Though she knew Bevan did not want her, he had to consummate the marriage to make it binding. Her nerves were so tight she closed her eyes to will the fear away. Once, she reminded herself. It need be only once. And she did not believe Bevan would harm her.

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