The warning was clear. To defy the King meant treason. With great reluctance, Marstowe stepped back. Bevan never took his gaze off his enemy.
Ó Connor turned to Henry. ‘Inform the Earl of Longford to join us.’
‘He is here now?’ Bevan questioned.
‘Tá,’ the High King replied. ‘He has come at your brother Patrick’s bequest.’
King Henry signalled a servant, who exited the chamber. Within moments the man returned with Lord Thomas de Renalt, the Earl of Longford.
The Earl was a sturdy man, with greying hair and a beard. Although he stood a full head shorter than Bevan, there was no denying the man’s strength, nor the corded muscles in his forearms.
Bevan took a measure of satisfaction as the colour drained from Marstowe’s face. Hugh bowed to Genevieve’s father while Bevan remained standing.
‘Your Majesty,’ Longford greeted the King. He bowed before his gaze fell upon Sir Hugh. Bevan sensed a bridled fury towards the knight.
‘An agreement has been made,’ King Henry informed the Earl. ‘We have granted your daughter the right to decide between Sir Hugh Marstowe and Bevan MacEgan for a husband. The disputed property rights to Rionallís will go to the man she chooses.’ The King smiled, his expression mocking. ‘With your permission, of course.’
Longford chose his words carefully. ‘I am honoured by Your Majesty’s interest.’
He stood before Bevan and Sir Hugh, his expression impenetrable. ‘I understand my daughter was taken from Rionallís?’
Bevan perceived that somehow his question was a test. ‘Tá, I helped her escape.’ He met the Earl’s accusation with his own silent message of contempt. ‘After I found her bruised and beaten. She awaits you at my brother’s fortress, Laochre.’
Bevan sent a look towards Marstowe and caught the flash of anger in the man’s eyes.
‘And do you think my daughter would consent to wedding a man such as yourself?’ The Earl’s tone made it clear that he would not offer his own support to a match between them.
‘Given the alternative, I have no doubt she would.’ Bevan made no effort to hide his insult to Marstowe. He remembered all too well Genevieve’s slender body suffering beneath Marstowe’s fists.
‘I disagree,’ Sir Hugh said. ‘I understand you lost your first wife because you could not keep her guarded. The same might happen to Genevieve,’ he remarked. ‘She does seem to run off whenever the mood strikes her.’
High King or not, Bevan wanted to kill the man with his bare hands. Before he could reach Marstowe, soldiers held him back.
‘Enough of this arguing,’ Longford said, his voice deadly. ‘No decision will be made until I have seen my daughter.’
The soldiers restrained Bevan until the Earl had passed. At last, with a nod from Rory Ó Connor, they let him go.
The High King exchanged glances with the Norman King. ‘Bevan, you must understand that by agreeing to let the lady choose, you forfeit all land rights to her. Should she wed Sir Hugh, you will have no further claim upon Rionallís.’
Bevan did not concern himself with the warning. His only thought was to reach Genevieve before Marstowe did.
CHAPTER TEN
Thomas de Renalt, the Earl of Longford, observed the Irish warrior. Bevan MacEgan was intent upon returning to Genevieve, and he rode like a man possessed. There was urgency in his every move, and all of his energies were directed towards reaching Genevieve.
Not the behaviour of a man only interested in land.
MacEgan was a puzzle, Longford thought to himself. This new alliance offered an intriguing possibility. He had never liked the betrothal between Genevieve and Sir Hugh, but because the King had initiated the arrangement, it had been difficult to break. Now he had the means, and he intended to see it severed before nightfall.
Longford knew he was soft-hearted when it came to Genevieve. As his only daughter, she held a unique place in his heart. She asked for little and it pleased him to grant her desires. When she had begged to wed Sir Hugh, his instincts had warned him against the match. He would have refused, despite her pleas, had it not been for King Henry’s desire to reward the young knight with an ambitious marriage.
Though the Irishman had accused Sir Hugh of harming Genevieve, he already knew the truth. Genevieve’s own words had proclaimed the knight’s guilt, and the Earl would not allow Marstowe near his daughter again.
Yet he did not know whether he could trust MacEgan.
It was already the second day of their journey south, and the late afternoon sun had begun to descend. The two men rode hard, sweat glistening upon the flanks of their destriers. The wind slashed at their faces, bitterly cold, but neither MacEgan nor Sir Hugh showed any interest in breaking camp. The Earl remained behind them, and at one interval he caught a fragment of their conversation.
‘Genevieve belongs to me. Your foolish idea of letting her choose means nothing. Her father will never allow her to wed an Irish barbarian over a Norman,’ Sir Hugh said.
‘You fear he will learn the truth,’ MacEgan predicted. ‘And which of us is the true barbarian.’
At that, Longford urged his horse forward to ride between the men. ‘When do we arrive at Laochre?’
‘By nightfall,’ Bevan predicted.
‘And how can you be sure she is well and unharmed?’
When the Irishman did not respond, Longford pressed further. ‘If what they say is true, you could not keep your own wife safe.’
‘If what Genevieve says is true, you could not answer her pleas for help when she begged for it,’ MacEgan retorted. ‘Or do all Normans find it necessary to beat their women into submission?’ His posture grew rigid. ‘We value our women here.’
MacEgan’s rejoinder confirmed what Longford had already suspected. Though he recognised the Irishman’s intense prejudice against Normans, he felt certain MacEgan would never raise a hand against his daughter in rage.
Which was more than he could say for Sir Hugh.
‘Sir Hugh, I would speak to you alone,’ Longford said, moving his horse to the side. The knight followed, his expression wary. Longford waited until the others had passed far ahead of them. ‘What say you to MacEgan’s accusations?’
‘I would hope that a man of your stature would not stoop to believe the lies of an Irishman,’ Sir Hugh said calmly. ‘We both know he will stop at nothing to control the land that was once his. We owe it to Genevieve to protect her from this man.’
The Earl made no comment, but he could see Sir Hugh’s face beginning to perspire. ‘I spoke with some of the soldiers I sent to escort Genevieve. Can you guess what they told me about your treatment of her?’
Marstowe blanched. ‘I would guard Genevieve with my life, my lord. She is a highborn lady with a strong spirit.’
‘So strong you found it necessary to tame her? You are not her husband yet, Hugh.’
‘A betrothal is nearly the same as a marriage.’
‘But I am still her father. And my authority supercedes yours before she is wed.’He paused, watching Sir Hugh fumble for another excuse. Before the knight could argue again, Longford drew his horse to a halt. ‘I asked to speak with you in private so as not to draw shame upon you before the others. You will not wed Genevieve. While we continue on to Laochre, you will return to England. I will have your belongings sent to you, along with all gifts and coins you brought to Genevieve. Do not show your face before me again.’
Longford reached into a pouch and withdrew a crumpled parchment. Holding it out to Sir Hugh, he read the priest’s handwriting that dictated one of Genevieve’s petitions for help. ‘This alone is not why I want you away from Genevieve. I have heard tales of your cruelty from my own men. They spoke of the soldier who tried to protect her, whom you killed for it. I’ll not wed my daughter to a murderer.’
Sir Hugh’s face turned scarlet with barely controlled rage and embarrassment. Longford kept his voice even. ‘I would rather Genevieve wed an Irish barbarian who would give his life
to protect her than a man who values her dowry overmuch.’
He turned his horse away, not waiting to see Sir Hugh’s reaction. But it was enough to know that Genevieve would be safe once more.
* * *
‘My Lady Genevieve, I am sent to tell you of your parents’ arrival.’
Genevieve had been mending a basket of clothing when the soldier interrupted. She rose and set aside her needle.
‘They are below stairs?’
‘No, my lady. They await you beyond the gates of Laochre.’
Genevieve frowned. ‘Why do they not come inside?’
The soldier looked embarrassed. ‘King Patrick did not bid them welcome. He calls the Normans his enemy still.’
Something about the soldier’s words rang false. Although Bevan had threatened to deny her family entrance, she had not expected it of Patrick. The king reserved passing judgement until he had all the truths he required. He had granted Genevieve sanctuary. To forbid her parents the right to enter seemed unlikely.
She studied the soldier. His face appeared familiar somehow, though she knew not where she had seen him. A strange premonition warned her to be wary.
‘Am I to bring my belongings?’ she asked.
The soldier shook his head. ‘Patrick has agreed to send them to Rionallís later.’
Genevieve lifted a woollen brat from inside a chest, hiding a small dagger in the folds as she wrapped the length of cloth around her shoulders. She did not trust the soldier’s words, but there was a slight chance he spoke the truth. It was best to be prepared for anything.
After she had donned her mantle, the soldier led her out of doors to the inner bailey. It was there that Genevieve halted. There was no escort of soldiers to take her outside the gates. Now she was certain of his lies.
‘I will go no further with you,’ she said. ‘Not until I have spoken with the King of Laochre.’
The soldier gripped her wrist tightly, and Genevieve tried to break free. She fought against his grasp, using her fists, her elbows. Anything. But before she realised what had happened, he had located the dagger she’d hidden and manoeuvered it until it rested against her skin.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked, her voice hoarse. ‘I thought you were loyal to the MacEgans.’
The soldier’s countenance was weary. ‘Sir Hugh holds my wife prisoner. If I do not bring you to him, he will kill her.’
Genevieve’s expression faltered. ‘How do you know Sir Hugh has not killed her already? Then your betrayal would be for naught.’
She saw him glance towards a small pouch at his belt. His face sullen, he replied, ‘I don’t. But I intend to find out.’
In a flash of recognition Genevieve knew where she had seen his face: in the softness of a child’s countenance.
‘You are Declan’s father,’ she whispered. When he did not deny it, she recalled the day Declan had called out to him. ‘He saw you that day.’
At the mention of his son, the soldier eased his grasp. ‘He is safe now.’
‘I saved his life,’ Genevieve insisted. ‘Does that not mean anything to you?’
Pain flickered across his eyes, but he said only, ‘Were it not for you, my wife and child would be safely at home.’ He spat, cursing the Normans beneath his breath in Irish. ‘This is your fault.’
A desperate man took desperate measures, and she realised he would not listen to reason. When he forced her towards the main gate, Genevieve screamed.
The soldier moved the dagger until it rested against her throat. Genevieve tried to step back and use the technique Bevan had taught her to escape. Instead, the soldier caught her off balance and dragged her forward.
‘Let us pass,’ he told the guards. ‘Or I slit her throat.’ The guards moved to block him, and to prove his point he pressed the blade until blood welled up from Genevieve’s skin. The burning sensation filled her with terror. She believed he would act upon his threat if need be.
The guards lowered their weapons and let him pass. The soldier took only a few steps past the gate before Genevieve heard a dull thud. The soldier’s arms loosened their hold, and she moved away. An arrow lay embedded in his throat.
In the distance, she heard hoofbeats approaching. Within seconds she saw Bevan and a large army of men. Relief streamed through her at the sight of him. He still held the bow, though when he dismounted he set it aside.
Her breath caught when he crushed her into an embrace, drawing her so close she could smell the pine scent of him. His beard was rough against her cheeks, his hands cupping her face.
‘Are you all right?’ he whispered huskily. His fingers wiped away the smear of blood on her neck.
She managed a nod, though she could hardly stand. He enfolded her within his cloak, massaging warmth into her shoulders. It felt so good to be in his arms, and she laid her cheek against his chest while he rubbed her spine.
‘I tried to get away from him,’ she whispered.
‘I know.’He drew back and motioned towards the parapets.
‘But he would not have made it any further.’ Genevieve looked up and saw the archers waiting. Though she understood his meaning, she was grateful it was Bevan who had saved her. She had missed him more than she’d thought possible.
‘Your father is here. He sent Sir Hugh back to England. He will not trouble you again.’
She could hardly believe that Hugh was gone. It was as though the chains of her fear had shattered and fallen away.
Bevan’s intense green eyes burned into her. He released her, and the distant warrior’s demeanour returned. Suddenly she did not want to know the King’s decision.
‘I am cold,’ she whispered.
Bevan removed his cloak and pulled it across her shoulders. She felt the heat from his body, but it did nothing to warm the fear that froze her from within.
‘Your father approaches,’ Bevan said gruffly.
At the sight of her father, Genevieve ran to him. Thomas de Renalt caught her in his arms, hugging her with a fierce intensity. ‘Are you harmed? Tell me, daughter.’ Frowning at the bruise on her cheek, he turned his anger upon Bevan.
‘Who did this?’
Genevieve held her father back. ‘It is not as bad as it looks. It was my punishment from Sir Hugh for helping Bevan to escape.’
Thomas took her hand in his, squeezing it. With a knowing gaze towards his daughter, he asked, ‘Do you wish to wed Bevan MacEgan?’
Her father’s question took Genevieve by surprise. She watched Bevan’s face for a sign of encouragement. When he gave none, the spark of anticipation disappeared, and she felt torn at the question.
‘Why do you ask me this?’ She knew better than to think her personal wishes mattered where political alliances were concerned.
‘A new betrothal agreement was created. I have not yet given my consent.’
Genevieve sensed her father’s silent question. He wanted to know if she held reservations about a marriage to Bevan. Unlike most fathers, he had always listened to her opinion before making a decision about her future. Even with Hugh. What a fool she had been, she thought darkly.
‘Did you agree to this arrangement?’ she asked Bevan, afraid to hear his answer.
‘The King will grant Rionallís to me,’ he replied. When she looked into Bevan’s eyes, she understood that he wanted his property, and could only be granted that right if he wed her.
‘I can arrange a marriage for you when we return to England,’ her father suggested. ‘There are many men who have offered for you, and several would make a sound alliance.’
She considered her father’s suggestion, but with one look towards the unyielding determination upon Bevan’s face she knew that men’s lives were more important than her desires. If she did not wed Bevan, it meant war. She could not live with herself if she went back to England and wrought the deaths of her father’s men.
She cleared away the turmoil of emotions and lifted her chin. ‘I will wed him.’
‘Are you cert
ain?’ her father asked.
‘Aye, Papa.’ She hoped that one day she would overcome Bevan’s antipathy. ‘I have made my choice.’
She did not look at Bevan, afraid of the resentment she might see. Though he had saved her from the soldier, had embraced her as a lover would, he would blame her for this marriage.
Thomas sighed. ‘Then I suppose you will be wanting your mother to help with the celebration. I will bring her here, for your sake.’
She embraced her father, and Thomas tucked her head against his chest. In that moment the gesture reminded her of when she had been a little girl, sitting upon his broad lap. A single tear spilled onto her cheek.
‘Well, let us not stand out in the cold,’ her father said. ‘We will finish the arrangements.’
As they entered the fortress, Genevieve risked a glance at Bevan. There was no sign of contentment or joy, only an impassive expression she could not read. She tried to bolster her courage. Somehow she would find a way to please him and earn his respect, if not his heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Days 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?
The MacEgan Brothers Series Volume 1 Page 66
