The Heavenly Surrender

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Oh please, Evert. She’s our daughter,” Genieva’s mother whispered.

  Genieva watched her father’s face hopefully. After all, they were her family—for all their faults, she loved them. She could hope for nothing more from them than forgiveness and understanding.

  “Very well. We’ll stay the day and one night,” Evert Bankmans agreed. “But I’ve got to get back to Chicago immediately.” Going to Genieva, he took her by the shoulders and glared harshly at her. “I’ll accept this, Genieva, and deal with it the best I am capable. I don’t, however, approve of what you’ve done.”

  “Choosing my own course, being that it was correct and legal, Father…was right for me. Brevan is more of a man than Andre Stewart could even fathom. I want a full life,” Genieva explained.

  “If you’ll be excusin’ me now,” Brevan muttered, striding toward the front door—and, no doubt, escape. “I’ve got a full day’s work to be finishin’ in an hour’s time before the sun sets itself.” He let the screen door slam behind him as he left.

  “Oh, yes,” Brenna said, fairly leaping to her feet. “Travis and I have ever so much to do yet in the day, we do.” Offering her hand to Genieva’s mother, she quickly shook hands with the woman. As she took Travis’s arm, leading him toward the door, she winked at Genieva.

  “It was mighty nice meeting you folks,” Travis said, shaking Evert’s hand. He tipped his hat at Genieva before he and Brenna followed Brevan out of the house.

  “He is magnificent!” Maureen sighed, walking to the window and watching Brevan saunter toward the barn.

  “He is not a horse, Maury,” Genieva reminded. “And he’s married.” For all the love Genieva held for her sister, she was not blinded by her sweet beauty. Maureen was an incurable flirt—even with men who weren’t overpoweringly attractive the way Brevan was. She felt very uncomfortable suddenly being witness to her sister’s obvious infatuation with Brevan.

  “Well, I’m glad he’s gone,” Genieva’s mother commented, putting an arm around Genieva’s shoulder. “He’s terribly large…and quite frightening. Is he as violent as he appears, Genieva? I’ve heard tell of the Irish temperament.”

  “He’s no brute, Mother. He’s an extraordinary man,” Genieva replied—thoughtful.

  “What next?” Brevan grumbled to himself as he stormed into the barn. “I’ve got me a whole crew of irritatin’ relations now.” As he began to toss the hay into the feeding troughs with a pitchfork, his mind repeated the conversation with the Bankmans.

  He’d gone into the kitchen for a glass of milk that morning—wondering where Genieva had run off to, for she was nowhere to be found. As he sat in his house relaxing for a brief few moments in the day, there came a knock on the door, and he’d opened it to find Genieva’s family staring at him—mouths gaping open in surprise.

  Brevan had been instantly furious with his wife—for she had never made mention of her family to him. Furthermore, as her father began to relate the reason for their unexpected visit and Brevan learned that Genieva was to have wed some wilty, choirboy type in Chicago, he was more agitated. Yet he’d bound his temper and waited patiently for Genieva to return from wherever it was that she’d gone off to.

  Brenna and Travis had arrived shortly after the Bankmans, and Brevan was forced to endure nearly an entire half an hour listening to their polite and insincere conversation. He spoke hardly a word himself—only listened as Genieva’s babbling sister related the circumstances in Chicago that had apparently caused Genieva to flee.

  When Genieva did return, looking at her family as if they were the angels of death sent to take her, Brevan learned all the more of Genieva’s arranged marriage. It became clear to him then why such a completely adorable woman would accept a marriage and situation offered by a stranger living nearly as far away from Chicago as possible. This angered him even more—that a parent would force a child into such an unhappy life. Brevan knew that were he ever to have children, he would let them make their own path—prayerful and hoping they would be good and happy adults.

  These thoughts brought his mind to settling on the farce he had concocted to convince Genieva’s father of the seriousness of her having married. A child? Whatever had made him think of Genieva carrying his child? He surely never intended for her to do so. Never! Why, that would entail…

  “Ya’re losin’ yar brain, ya are, Brevan McLean,” he mumbled to himself. Still, an image of a small girl with his wife’s color-shifting eyes and freckled nose kept presenting itself to his mind’s eye.

  He paused in pitching the hay. Leaning on the fork’s handle, he thought once again of Genieva’s eyes. He chuckled at the thought of the deep brown hue they assumed when her temper was provoked—of the near emerald green shade they blazed each time her jealous nature was uncovered. He winced as he thought of the grayish blue tint clouding her eyes each time she felt pain or deep sorrow. He inwardly chastised himself, knowing that at times he had been the cause of this color manifesting itself. An arrogant smile spread across his face then, as he remembered vividly the violet color her eyes had sparkled the few times he had held her in his arms and kissed her. Definitely the violet—that was certainly his favorite color of Genieva’s eyes.

  He felt his masculine pride welling in his chest as he thought then of the way Genieva’s body had melted to his when he’d taken her in his arms to defend her only moments before. Chuckling, he resumed his efforts in the barn, mumbling under his breath, “Well, at the least their bein’ here should provide some entertainin’ situations.”

  

  It was late afternoon before Brevan entered the house again. Genieva had endured several more arguments with her father and endless other comments from her sister about Brevan’s profound good looks. Thus, she was immensely relieved to see him walk into the kitchen—for his entrance ended all conversation.

  He smiled at Maury and her mother and went to where Genieva had three loaves of bread dough rising on the stovetop.

  Genieva saw Brevan approach the loaves and, going to stand next to him, warned, “Just one pinch.” Genieva had learned that not only did Brevan dip his fingers into cake batters and cookie doughs—he was destructive to bread loaves as well. There were many times she would come in to check on the rising bread only to find it looking like a hen had been pecking at it.

  “One pinch?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in daring.

  “One pinch, Brevan,” Genieva repeated. To her horror, he shrugged his shoulders and quickly pinched her smartly on the seat of her skirt. “Of the bread dough, Brevan!” Genieva scolded. “Of the dough!” He shrugged and winked slyly at her before pinching off a large piece of dough from one of the loaves and walking casually to the other side of the room.

  “Oh, my! Oh, dear,” Abigail gasped, as she began to swoon and fan herself once more. Genieva looked to her sister. Maureen was simply crimson with delight at what she had just witnessed. Genieva bit her lip to hide the amused smile forming on her own face. The expressions of her family, save the angry one of her father, were completely amusing.

  “Would yar sister be wantin’ to help me milk the cows then, Genieva?” Brevan asked. “It would seem they missed bein’ milked this mornin’.”

  “No, I don’t think that would be…” Genieva began. She did not want her flirtatious sister too close to Brevan.

  “Oh, I’d love to!” Maury exclaimed.

  “Oh, my dear, no,” Abigail objected, fanning rapidly. “Don’t let her do it, Evert.”

  “Let her go, Abigail. We don’t want Maureen bolting from her responsibilities,” Evert said pointedly to Genieva.

  Maury giggled and linked her arm through Brevan’s, leading him toward the front door. “I’ve never been on a farm before, Brevan,” she told him, flashing a dazzling smile.

  “Really now?” Brevan asked as they left.

  Genieva went to the window and watched them for a moment. After putting the loaves of bread to bake in the oven, she excused herself and left the ho
use, making her way toward the barn. As she approached, she could hear Maury talking to Brevan, and she quickened her step, for she recognized the intonation in her sister’s voice at once.

  “I mean…after all, Brevan, you are…how can I put this tactfully?” Maury flirted. “You are amazingly handsome, you know.”

  “Am I now?” Brevan asked.

  “It turns a girl’s knees to jelly just looking at you!”

  Enraged, Genieva opened the barn door and stepped in to see Brevan sitting on the stool milking one of the cows. Maury was bent over him, leaning as close to his face as she could conceivably be—trying to appear interested in the milking process.

  “Are you quite finished, Brevan?” Genieva asked, trying her best not to snap out the question. “Dinner’s nearly ready.”

  “Oh, Nieva,” Maury giggled, “do you actually do this most of the time?”

  “Yes, Maury. Milking has to be done every day. Why don’t you go in and ask Mother to check my bread for me?”

  Maury smiled at Genieva and nodded. She was nearly to the house when Brevan stood up from the milking. Instantly, Genieva glared at him, turning briskly on her heels and heading for the house.

  “Here now, lass,” Brevan said, catching hold of her arm and turning her to face him, “there’s nothin’ to be gettin’ yar skirt all wrinkled about.”

  As Genieva looked up at him, the emerald green of her eyes caused his eyebrows to arch in surprise. “Flirting! Shamelessly flirting with my own sister! And in the barn of all places!” she shouted in a whisper, glancing around to be certain no one was about.

  “Me? Flirtin’ with that wee, silly lass?” Brevan defended. He chuckled, amused. He continued, “Genieva McLean, I would no more flirt with yar shallow-minded sister than I would a dead woman!”

  “I heard you,” Genieva argued.

  “Ya heard her, Genieva. Not me. Think back on it now,” Brevan reminded.

  Genieva continued to breathe angrily—now humiliation accompanied her irritation—for she realized he was correct. Brevan had said nothing improper to Maureen.

  “She’s a watchin’ us now, she is,” he whispered then.

  “Where?” Genieva asked, turning to look around.

  “Aaahhh! Don’t look about, lass. We’ll let her think she’s not bein’ seen. And we’ll teach the bitter pill a lesson, too, we will,” Brevan whispered as he pulled Genieva’s body snugly against his own.

  “What…what do you mean?” Genieva stammered—thoroughly unnerved by the sensation of astounding elation that traveled through her body at his touch.

  “Don’t be lookin’ like ya’re not wantin’ me attentions, lass. She’ll be on to ya then,” Brevan whispered as he pulled her even tighter against his body. “Let yar arms go ’round me shoulders,” he instructed. As Genieva did let her trembling hands lock at the back of his neck, Brevan said, “Ya see now, that be lookin’ a bit more believable.”

  Genieva drew in a nervous breath as Brevan, pulling her hair to one side, let his mouth hover teasingly over her neck just below her ear.

  She flinched as his warm breath tickled her neck torturously, and he whispered, “Relax, Genieva. I’m not about to do anythin’ too…familiar out here in the broad, bright daylight.” Genieva’s insides began to quiver as his unshaven chin pushed the collar of her shirtwaist down—his lips planting a moist, lingering kiss at the back of her neck.

  “Why didn’t ya tell me about your family before?” he asked, holding Genieva’s neck in one hand—letting his thumb caress her throat.

  As Genieva’s eyes lifted to meet his, Brevan was momentarily distracted as he watched their very shading fade from green—gradually assuming a violet hue. He smiled, pleased in the knowledge that he alone had caused the tinted transformation.

  “I-I…” Genieva stammered, for she was completely preoccupied by his gorgeous face before her. “It wasn’t important,” she finished as every segment of her body wished only that he would grant her the ecstasy of his kiss.

  Brevan’s index finger softly rested against Genieva’s lower lip for a moment before he proceeded to trace the soft outline of her delicate mouth with his thumb.

  “Ah, but it was, lass. I might have been better prepared to meet them had I known they existed, ya see.”

  As Genieva gazed into the tantalizing blue of the Irishman’s eyes, her breath quickened at the remembrance of the mouth-watering taste of his kiss. He was toying with her again. No matter what his motive this time—whether he meant to simply mock her or to truly remove all doubt from Maureen’s mind of their relationship—he was taunting her.

  Abruptly, Genieva took Brevan’s delicious face between her hands, pulling his head toward hers as she issued a firm kiss. The blissful physical connection lasted longer than she had intended—for the feel of his mouth to hers was not something easily sacrificed. After a few moments, she did release him, stepping back. Upon seeing the satisfied grin spreading across Brevan’s face as he looked at her, however, she was embarrassed and wanted only to escape him.

  She tugged at the waist of her blouse, straightened her posture, and said, “There now. She’s seen us. Maureen should have no doubt now who you belong…where she can’t…”

  “Whose territory she’s tresspassin’ on, ya’re tryin’ to say,” he chuckled.

  “Yes. Yes, exactly.” Straightening her collar, Genieva turned to leave, adding, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Brevan. I’ve dinner to attend to.” She felt the fiery blush on her face and scolded herself for allowing it. But as she took her first step toward the house, Brevan caught her arm in one powerful hand, rather mercilessly yanking her around to face him.

  “Now, lass,” he began, gathering Genieva into his arms again. “Do ya really believe she’ll be thinkin’ that’s proof of a passion between us?”

  “Of course!” Genieva defended herself. “I’ve never in my life…she knows I would never…I mean…” she stammered.

  “Give yarself up to me for one wee bit of a minute, Genieva,” Brevan whispered. Genieva found it difficult to breathe—breathless in his arms. “’Twill be a heavenly surrender, and I’ll give yar sister a show she won’t soon forget, I will.” As his head descended toward hers, he added, “Ya’ll not soon forget it either.”

  “Please, Brevan. Don’t…” she breathed as his lips gently pressed hers.

  Instantly, Genieva melted into Brevan’s arms—his lips hovered just above hers for a moment. “‘Please, Brevan’ will do, Genieva,” he whispered just before his mouth locked with hers in an uncompromising, sincere, and ardent exchange.

  For those following few moments of nearly fatal, ecstatic delirium, Genieva was entirely unaware of anything else existing in the world. She heard nothing save the mad beating of her own heart—the quiet rhythm of Brevan’s breathing. The sweet and often powerful fragrance of the honeysuckle growing on the outer wall of the barn was replaced in her senses by the subtle yet masculine scent of Brevan’s shaving soap, still lingering on his face. She could feel only his arms as they held her next to his solid, capable body—his mouth moist, hot, and demanding on her own. Over and over, her heart and mind silently agreed—shouting to her inwardly—reminding her painfully again how deeply and completely she loved this man. Moments like these with Brevan made it difficult for Genieva to push that fact to the back of her mind. She winced as the knowledge of his not returning the cherished emotion upon her renewed itself in her heart and mind as well.

  Brevan ended it then, placing one last lingering kiss on Genieva’s forehead. As Genieva abruptly pushed herself back from him, she fancied she was swaying unsteadily for a moment and could not bring herself to look up at him.

  “There. The lass should know for sure and for certain where her place be now,” Brevan said—his voice low and unusual sounding.

  “Yes. Yes,” Genieva agreed, nodding as she turned to leave.

  “Ya may be wantin’ to change me bed sheets, Genieva,” Brevan added. “Unless ya’re not mindin�
� sleepin’ in them after I’ve been in them by meself near to a week.”

  Genieva stopped—turned to look at him. “What?” she asked.

  “Still…now that I’m thinkin’ about it again…I’d be offended if ya did, I would.” As Genieva’s mouth dropped open in sudden realization, Brevan chuckled. “Ya’ve got the look of havin’ seen the screamin’ banshee, Genieva. I’ve no intention of sleepin’ in the barn like the stock. And bein’ the perfect gentleman that I am…I don’t expect you to.”

  “But I…” Genieva began.

  “And bein’ that yar entire family needs lodgin’ for the night, that leaves one choice, it does.”

  “But I…” she stammered.

  “Ya’re right, lass. After yar kissin’ me like you just did…I’m a wee bit worried that ya’ll try to take advantage of the situation this evenin’.”

  “Me?”

  “Yet, I think ya be disciplined enough to keep yar hands to yarself, aren’t ya, lass?”

  Genieva could only stand staring at his attractive face—his mischievous grin. He was right. They would have to share his room. His bed, she thought, swallowing hard.

  “Go on with ya now, Genieva. It’s gettin’ late, and I’m hungry, I am.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You mean, your father and I must share one bed?” Abigail inquired of her daughter. Genieva had shown her father and mother into her room following a late supper.

  “We only have three bedrooms, Mother,” Genieva explained. “Maureen needs one, and I…” She stumbled over the words. “Brevan and I need ours.”

  “There’s only one bed in their room, too, Mother. I looked,” Maureen whispered to her mother. Genieva sighed with exasperation as her mother instantly began blushing crimson.