‘Dance with me.’ He took both of her hands in his. The warmth of his palms and the intensity of his gaze both captivated and frightened her.
‘I would rather not.’ But the music had grown sweet once more, and she savoured the notes that echoed inside the chamber. The delicate harpstrings tugged at her emotions, and she drank in the sound of each note.
‘Then listen.’ His hand cupped the back of her neck in a light caress. Genevieve started to move away, but reminded herself that Connor had done nothing untoward.
After they had listened to several songs, he managed to cajole her into a dance. Genevieve could not follow the rapid steps, but in time she gave up and simply let Connor whirl her around in his arms.
All the while she danced with him, she thought of Bevan. He did not seem the sort of man who would dance or make merry. She wondered what he had been like before he had lost his wife and child. She had seen him smile only once, and never had he laughed.
The wine she had drunk, coupled with her dizziness, made her lose her balance. Connor steadied her, embracing her in strong arms.
Her smile faded as she recognised his intent to kiss her. ‘Please don’t.’
His thumb trailed down her lips to her throat. ‘You care for him, don’t you?’
Her heartbeat thrummed in her chest as she tried to find the right words. ‘Bevan is my friend.’
‘Your feelings run deeper. Were it not for him, I would have stolen far more than kisses this evening.’ His arrogant smugness suddenly struck her as funny.
‘You believe that, do you? Just because you are handsome, it does not mean I am longing to kiss you.’
He broke into a laugh. ‘So you do find me pleasing? I’ll have to tell him that.’He cupped her face between his hands. ‘I think we should make him jealous.’
‘Bevan is not here,’ Genevieve said. ‘He went to Ennisleigh for soldiers.’
Connor caressed the line of her jaw. ‘He has returned, and has been watching you for some time now. Come now. One kiss.’
‘Do women never refuse you?’
‘Never.’He puckered up his lips. ‘Aren’t you curious as to what he’ll do?’
‘I don’t believe you. I think you are only trying to get me to kiss you. He’s not there.’
Connor expelled a hearty laugh. ‘That would be a good jest, lady. But in truth he is watching.’
Genevieve turned in the direction Connor pointed, just as his lips brushed against her cheek. He had not been lying. Bevan was standing against the wall, a cup of mead in his hand. She could not read the expression on his face, but he remained motionless, watching her as Connor had claimed.
‘Wait,’ Connor warned. ‘He will come after you. My brother never could resist a challenge.’
But his prediction did not come true. Instead, Genevieve saw Bevan turn away and leave. Her insides turned frigid as he walked from her. He didn’t care. He was leaving her in Connor’s arms, knowing that Connor would not let any harm come to her. She was an obligation, nothing more.
A warm hand cupped her cheek. ‘If he is too brainless to see the beauty in front of him, I am not.’ Connor’s lips descended upon hers, and Genevieve fought to keep herself from struggling.
The gentle kiss should have made her feel wanted, but all it did was make her feel trapped. A suffocating thickness rose in her throat. Like Connor, Hugh had once been lighthearted, and had taken his time wooing her. But the bold strength she had admired had become the arms of a prison.
She trembled, and a frightened moan escaped her. Connor steadied her shoulders. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No.’ She pushed back from him, needing to get away. He let her go, but she knew he watched her. Genevieve fled to a corner staircase, sinking down upon the steps. She rested her head against the side of the wall, unable to calm her rapid breathing.
Her fears were foolish. Connor had not intended to harm her, only to steal a kiss. But the familiar anxiety had risen up and conquered her once more. Tears stung her eyes, but she held them back.
The ghost of Hugh’s abuse tormented her. And as long as he held such power over her she would never escape him. Though her eyes remained dry, inside she wept for the future she could not have.
* * *
It took every ounce of his control not to go to her. Connor’s stolen kiss and Genevieve’s subsequent flight infuriated Bevan. His brother had exchanged with him a silent question, and Bevan had answered it with a glare, telling him to leave Genevieve alone.
He remained in a hidden alcove where he could keep watch over her. From the shadows of the corner he saw her seated on the steps, her head leaning against the wall. A lock of her hair had come loose, a dark silken tress that slid across her cheek. Her arms were locked around her waist, but she did not weep.
He hadn’t expected Connor to kiss her, and he chastised himself for leaving her alone. She had been terrified of his brother. Any man would have that effect after the abuses she’d suffered.
And yet she had not run from him. He remembered the delicate feel of her in his arms, like a summer’s rose. When he’d kissed her she had driven all thoughts of Fiona from his mind.
She had offered to sacrifice herself in marriage to prevent fighting over Rionallís. She had sworn not to make demands of him, to let him live his life as he chose.
He believed she would do it, too. But honour demanded that he refuse. He’d watched her cradling the boy to her breast, singing a soft ballad when she thought he didn’t hear her. It was not fair to deny her the chance to become a mother.
Bevan took a step towards her, knowing that he should not. If he closed the path between them, there would be no turning back. But he wanted to comfort her, to drive away the past that haunted her.
Why did she get under his skin in such a way? Why did she make him feel again? His throat tightened with anticipation as he moved closer. He suddenly felt like Ewan, an adolescent boy who knew nothing of how to speak to a woman. What should he say?
Genevieve lifted her chin to look at him. The emptiness in her eyes made him wish more than ever that he had never sent her towards Connor. Though his brother would cut off his arm before harming a woman, he did not understand what Genevieve had suffered.
‘I leave on the morrow for Tara,’ he told her. ‘The King will decide the matter of Rionallís.’
As if she didn’t know that already. He wanted to bite his tongue and take back the ridiculous words.
Genevieve revealed a guarded smile. ‘I should wish you well, but I am afraid I cannot.’
He did not know how to respond, but she continued, ‘I have been thinking about Rionallís, and I believe it would be best if I accompany you to Tara. I can speak with my father and intercede if necessary.’
‘No. You will remain here, where our soldiers can guard you.’He knew he would have to face Genevieve’s father, but he’d not let her fight his battles for him.
‘I will not be a prisoner here,’ she argued.
Bevan took her hands firmly in his. ‘Heed me on this, Genevieve. Believe me when I say you will not go anywhere.’
‘You cannot keep me.’
‘Can’t I?’He gripped her wrists. ‘Hugh’s men are waiting for their chance to take you. I won’t allow you to endanger yourself,’ he said. ‘And that is final.’
‘You have no claim over me, Bevan. I can and I shall do as I wish.’ Her eyes blazed in rebellion, and he wanted to shake some sense into her.
‘Do not defy me on this, Genevieve.’ He moved forward until her back was pressed against the corridor wall.
She winced, and he relaxed his grip, taking a deep breath. ‘I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.’ With his thumbs, he massaged at the sore spots on her wrists.
His thumb drew lazy patterns across her skin, touching its softness.
‘Why does it matter to you what I do?’ she whispered.
He held her gaze. He could not answer her question, for he did not know the reason himself.
/> She stepped back, pulling her hands away. ‘Bevan, I need to do this. I made the mistake of asking my father for a betrothal to Hugh. I should be the one to petition the King for its severance.’
‘That is your father’s task,’ he argued. ‘And he should never have allowed Hugh to harm you.’
‘Things are different in England,’ she said. ‘A woman must be subservient to a man’s wishes.’
‘It should not be thus. A woman holds equal value to a man in Éireann.’ He did not understand why the English would treat their women so poorly. ‘You do not deserve to suffer at Marstowe’s hands.’
‘No. But sooner or later I will wed. And I shall have no choice in that arrangement. I can only trust that my father will choose someone better than Hugh.’
The idea of her marrying another man discomfited Bevan. He didn’t want any man to touch Genevieve. ‘You could enter an abbey.’
‘I am not suited to being a bride of Christ,’ she admitted. Though she did not say it, he saw the wistfulness in her eyes. A woman such as Genevieve ought to bear children.
Her words confirmed his decision not to wed her. He could not be a father again. The thought of holding another child of his own was like a sword to his gut.
If Genevieve belonged to him, he was afraid he would not be able to resist touching her. Even now he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. She looked so vulnerable, and he feared what might happen were he to act upon his body’s wishes.
Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. ‘How is the boy?’
‘Better. Siorcha spoiled him today, feeding him sweetmeats. He’s been crying for his mother, though.’
Her face dimmed, and Bevan said, ‘All children want their mothers. Brianna sometimes would not let me hold her, wanting only Fiona.’
‘It hurts,’ she admitted. ‘I am afraid of what Hugh has done to the boy’s mother.’
‘You should not grow attached to him. He belongs with his father.’
‘I know.’A tear escaped her, though she summoned up a half-hearted smile. ‘Sometimes you cannot help the feelings inside you.’
He brushed away the tear, grazing the side of her cheek. She’d covered the bruise again, but the colour had started to smear. Even still, she was beautiful to him.
Bevan tried to suppress the intense need rising within him. He longed to forget Fiona and the bitter taste of loss.
‘You’re right.’ His voice caught in his throat as he drew nearer. ‘Sometimes you can’t help what you feel for someone.’ His palm rested against the wall, his other arm drawing around her waist. He waited, letting her pull away if she would.
She didn’t move. Slowly, he moved the dark strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear. The world seemed to hold still in that instant when her sapphire eyes met his. His skin grew warm as he moved his fingers up her spine.
She leaned back against the wall, letting it support her as he slid a soft kiss against her neck. He could feel her yielding to him, her warm breath against his cheek.
His mind ordered him to stop. The voice of reason demanded that he release her. She was not his, would never become his. This was wrong.
Her hands tentatively touched his chest, her palms light against his pectoral muscles before she lifted her arms around his neck. Tentative and unsure, she looked terrified and yet determined.
Lug, but he could not remember the last time a woman had held him. There was goodness here, a rush of fire. His body grew impatient, and at last he surrendered to the need. He captured her lips, tasting the sweet warmth of her mouth.
She trembled in his arms but did not turn him away. A ragged breath escaped her. ‘We should not do this,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t—’
His hands trailed down her back to cup her hips, pulling her closer. ‘I know.’ But even as he spoke the words he knew he could not stop wanting her.
He kissed her again, moving his hips against her in a sensual dance. The music from the celebration was ending, and he took her hand, leading her down the corridor. He stopped before his chamber, waiting. Her lips were a deep red, moist from the kiss. More than anything he wanted to take her inside and join with her. But honour demanded that he stop this madness before it consumed them both.
With great reluctance, he released her. ‘Leave me, Genevieve. You don’t want this.’
She took a step back, then another. For a moment she looked as though she were about to run. But she stopped, uncertainty lining her face.
‘Do you care for me, Bevan?’ she asked. ‘Am I still nothing but a Norman to you?’
He saw her eyes filling with tears and the weakness of his body betrayed him. He cupped her face in his hands, letting her see the full force of desire in his gaze.
‘Just a kiss,’ he swore. He would not take more than that.
He traced the outline of her jaw, skimming his fingers across the bruise. With his lips, he kissed the injury. Her eyes remained transfixed upon him as he kept his touch light, gentle.
Her lips parted, and she closed her eyes. He bent to taste her, no more than the barest brush of his lips across hers. She trembled, arching her head back. He pulled her hips closer until they moved against his, cradling his length. This time she embraced him tighter, until he could feel the softness of her breasts against his chest.
His hands moved beneath the fabric of her gown, inside the voluminous sleeves, until he felt the softness of her shift. His thumbs were poised at the curve of her breasts, waiting to see if she would allow him to go further. She froze, terrified, but he saw the awakening desire in her eyes.
The intense need to touch her overcame any hesitancy he might have had. Slowly, gently, he moved his thumbs across the sensitive nipples. Genevieve’s breath shattered, and he moved her up against the wall, stroking her breasts until she moaned with pleasure.
Her mouth met his in a heated frenzy. She was the rain that brought him to life, quenching the thirst within him. All the years of wanting, of hurting, seemed to melt away as she kissed him back, meeting his tongue with her own. He silenced the guilt of old memories, telling himself he was only human.
Their breaths mingled while he fought to control his urges for more. Then he tasted the salt of her tears. At that moment he despised himself. He had hurt her without meaning to.
‘Go,’ he commanded her. ‘Now.’
When she did not move, he opened the door. Another tear slid down her cheek, but she obeyed. When she was gone, he drove his fist against the heavy oaken door. He had no willpower where Genevieve was concerned.
In the corridor, Genevieve leaned her forehead against the wall. She had no one to blame for her humiliation but herself. Her body pulsed with a fiery storm of feelings. She had never known it could be this way, and a part of her had wanted him to continue.
With him, she had felt cherished. She could not help the falling tears. And then he’d pushed her away. Why had she thought he might want her? Her cheeks suffused with colour.
Now that she knew what it was like to be desired by a warrior such as Bevan, her body yearned for more. Her mind spinning with thoughts of him, she stumbled back to her chamber. On the morn he would travel to Tara, to battle for the rights to her land.
But more than that she feared the siege he had already begun upon her heart.
CHAPTER NINE
The soldier departed Laochre a few hours before dawn. Sir Hugh’s commander had ordered him to report his findings within a single day, to avoid suspicion. The Norman encampment lay a few miles beyond the fortress. As he neared the enemy, his heart grew heavy. He’d caught a glimpse of his son, and the sight of Declan had torn him apart. He’d wanted to go to his child, but he could not reveal himself to Bevan or to Lady Genevieve. Instead, he had sent a message to his wife’s sister, asking her to come for his son.
Already he sensed his cause was doomed to failure. His friends had seen him, and would wonder why he had not taken Declan home. They would want to know how he had escaped—an answer he could not
give them. He had avoided them, pretending his duties required his presence elsewhere. But their suspicions were rising.
When he arrived at the camp, the Normans escorted him to their captain.
‘What information do you have for me?’ Robert Staunton asked.
‘There is a section of the outer wall where the wood is decaying. I can arrange for it to be left unguarded,’he offered. ‘Even now they have only a few men positioned there. Many are accompanying Bevan MacEgan to Tara.’He tried to keep his gaze steady, careful not to let Staunton suspect his lies.
He gave the captain half-truths about the MacEgans—information designed to lead the Normans into a trap.
‘What of Lady Genevieve?’
‘I will bring her to Rionallís myself,’ he said. ‘And I want my wife in return.’
‘Good.’ Staunton mounted his horse and turned to leave. He smiled. ‘I pray your words are the truth. For your woman’s sake.’ Then he tossed a small bag to the soldier. ‘A token for your assistance.’
The bag was far too light to contain pieces of silver. The soldier waited until Staunton had returned to his tent before opening it.
Inside he found long tresses of hair belonging to his wife Kiara. Her lovely hair, sheared by the enemy.
His hands shook. The bleakness of failure sharpened his fury at those who had taken Kiara. And with it emerged a sudden anger at Bevan MacEgan. Bevan had abandoned his own men for a Norman woman. Kiara had tried to save them after the MacEgans had deserted them in their time of need.
Were it not for Bevan’s ill-fated attack his wife would be safe at home, spinning thread. His time was drawing short if he intended to save Kiara’s life.
After Bevan left for Tara he would seize his opportunity. The only way to save his wife was to deliver the Lady Genevieve into the enemy’s hands.
* * *
Genevieve tickled the young boy’s stomach, laughing at his deep giggles. His temperament had shifted to one of delightful play, and he had spent the morning toddling around.
Last night she had tried to ready her belongings, to go with the men to Tara, but Bevan had refused to let her join them. Were it not for the threat of Sir Hugh’s men, Genevieve would have travelled without Bevan’s permission. She resented having to stay at Laochre when she preferred to speak to her father in person.
The MacEgan Brothers Series Volume 1 Page 64