Séan refilled everyone’s mug. Sitting back on a bench, he lit his pipe. ‘That I can tell you. And it might be that you’ll understand why Bevan grieves so when you hear the tale.’

  Séan exhaled a puff of smoke. ‘Two years ago, Bevan had taken Fiona for a visit to Laochre. Only a month had passed since they’d lost their daughter, Brianna, from a fever. Both were grieving. At Laochre, they were attacked, and Bevan told Fiona to stay in the donjon. He prides himself upon his skills in battle, you know. Bevan slew more than thirty men on the day Strongbow attacked.’

  The room grew hushed, and Séan continued. ‘Our tribe fought against the Norman invaders—’ he glanced at Genevieve, not wanting to offend ‘—and though Fiona was not the sort to disobey, she did this day. It must have been a madness brought forth from the battle, or a fear for Bevan’s life. She left the fortress in search of him.’

  ‘Bevan saw her running from a group of Norman soldiers, and he heard her cries for help as they pursued her. He fought with all his strength to prevent them from carrying her off, but a soldier struck him across the head. No one could reach her in time.’

  ‘What happened then?’ Genevieve asked.

  Séan cleared his throat and set the pipe aside. His features turned sorrowful. ‘Her body was found later. Burned. She must have escaped into one of the cottages that was set on fire by the Normans. Had she not left the fortress she might be alive still.’

  The mood in the cottage had shifted to one of sadness, and Genevieve sensed the evening drawing to a close. She thanked Séan for his hospitality and he sent her home with the promise of a barrel of his finest ale for a bridal gift.

  When she reached the gates of Rionallís, activity in the bailey drew her attention. A large group of men, weary from battle, were giving their horses to the stable boys. Genevieve searched the crowd of men until she located Bevan.

  His armour was caked with mud, and bloodstains covered his face and clothing. A rough beard covered his cheeks and chin, and his green eyes seared her with intensity. Genevieve ran to him, and he dismounted.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ She touched the blood upon his face, checking him for injuries.

  He shook his head. ‘Only a few marks. But we defeated the Normans who were attacking Lionel’s people. I have his vow to help us, should we ever have the need.’

  Genevieve remembered Hugh’s threats and felt grateful to have another ally.

  ‘Are you going to force me to stay outside?’ Bevan asked, his voice tinged with humour. ‘Or will you help me to get warm?’ The tenor of his voice held a double meaning that made Genevieve’s skin flush.

  ‘Come inside.’ She took his hand to lead him into the fortress, but he paused, bringing her palm to his lips.

  ‘Did you think of me?’ he asked softly.

  She nodded, her heart racing. He had not forgotten his promise, from the looks of it. Tonight he would bed her, and she would do her best to be a good wife to him.

  But, oh, she feared the marriage bed. Though Bevan had awakened such feelings within her, she knew it would all change once he joined his body with hers. She loved it when he kissed her and touched her, but the joining would be painful. Mayhap he would get that part over with quickly. She hoped so.

  ‘Would you like food and drink?’ she asked, her nerves making her speak faster than usual. ‘I could have them bring you something. Meat, or cheese, or bread?’

  ‘Tá, I am hungry.’ He leaned in and kissed her, his mouth leaving her no doubt as to what he was hungry for. She shivered when he released her from his embrace. ‘Have a bath prepared for me. And send the food and wine above stairs. I would like your company while I eat.’

  After she had left to give the orders, Bevan’s body warmed with anticipation. All the time he had spent fighting he had kept the image of her in his mind. He had imagined Genevieve waiting for him, and he looked forward to teaching her the pleasures of loving. He wanted to watch her come to fulfilment with her heart in her eyes.

  He was already halfway up the stairs when Ewan interrupted.

  ‘Hugh Marstowe was here during your absence.’ Ewan rested his hand atop his sword hilt. ‘I sent a few men to follow him.’

  ‘Why did he come?’ Bevan remembered the way Sir Hugh had challenged him at Tara. The man wanted Rionallís, and he did not doubt that Marstowe would threaten Genevieve.

  ‘He claimed he wanted to congratulate Genevieve on her marriage. But his eyes were hungry. He wants this place,’ Ewan said. ‘And he warned her of what would happen if you died.’

  Norman bastard.

  ‘Why did you let him in?’

  ‘I didn’t want to. Genevieve allowed him to enter. But I kept our men fully armed. He didn’t harm her.’

  Bevan was immediately suspicious of Genevieve’s motives. She knew what the man was capable of. Why, then, would she endanger herself?

  ‘How far did your men track him?’ he asked Ewan.

  ‘They were travelling towards Tara.’

  To appeal to the King, no doubt. They would want to press their case again before Henry returned to England. Bevan gritted his teeth. ‘You did well to inform me of this.’

  He met his brother’s gaze, and suddenly saw a hint of maturity there. Ewan had accepted responsibility for guarding Genevieve and he had succeeded. There was a glimpse of the man he would become.

  He clapped Ewan on the shoulder. ‘My thanks, brother.’

  Ewan gave an embarrassed nod before returning to the others in the Great Chamber. He busied himself with eating, though Bevan saw pride in Ewan’s posture. There was hope for the boy yet.

  Above stairs, he stopped before the door to Genevieve’s chamber. No, their chamber now—though he had shared it once with Fiona. Instead of the anger he’d felt when Genevieve had ordered the bed destroyed, he now felt regret. But it was better with the old bed gone, allowing nothing of the past to intrude upon them.

  Opening the chamber door, he found Genevieve sitting on a bench near the fire. Her hair was undone, falling across her cream-coloured léine. She held her hands in her lap while she stared at a chest against the wall.

  ‘Ewan tells me Marstowe was here,’ he began.

  Genevieve nodded. ‘Aye.’

  ‘Tell me what happened.’ He kept his tone firm, needing to understand her reasons. ‘Why did you open the gates to him?’

  Genevieve met his gaze directly. ‘I’ve been running from him for weeks now. I thought it was time to stop.’

  ‘He could have harmed you.’ Bevan caressed the side of her jaw, where the dark bruise had once been.

  Genevieve held his hand to her face. ‘I know it. But I wanted to face him. I wanted him to see that I will not allow my fears to rule me any more.’

  ‘Why?’ All the thoughts of what might have happened came rising up. ‘Why would you put yourself in such danger?’

  ‘Because I knew your men would keep me safe. Even without you here.’

  Her trust in him was the last thing he had expected. He didn’t know what to say, so he rested his hands upon her shoulders. He massaged the tension from her neck, sliding her hair over one shoulder. She leaned back against him, closing her eyes. ‘Mmm.’

  He turned her to face him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against him. ‘I missed you.’

  He gripped her tightly, feeling a surge of tenderness. The faith she had placed in him made him want to give something back to her.

  Cupping her face between his hands, he kissed her. She responded, meeting his lips with sweetness. Fiona had never looked at him the way Genevieve did. It made him feel powerful, knowing that he could make her feel the same passion he did. The way he never had for his former wife.

  Genevieve traced a finger across the scar on his left cheek, then his right.

  ‘Battle has taken away my good looks,’ he teased.

  She shook her head. ‘No. The scars show your strength.’ With her lips, she pressed a kiss against each one. His skin grew warm beneath her lips, his body rising to meet her.

  ‘I have other scars,’ he offered, glancing below his waist. She laughed, her cheeks flushing.

  Bevan unfastened his sword belt, then removed his tunic. Bare-chested, he caught her in his arms again, pressing a kiss along her nape. ‘Did you order the bath?’

  ‘I did.’

  Bevan removed the rest of his clothes, standing naked before her.

  Genevieve’s cheeks reddened, but she did not look away. Her heartbeat quickened with anticipation. Like a fierce warrior’s, Bevan’s body held numerous scars from countless battles. The skin at his shoulder wound had healed at last, a mark he would carry on her behalf.

  Not an ounce of fat did he hold on his lean, muscled frame. When he sank down into the tub of water his dark hair fell about his shoulders. His green eyes beckoned to her in wordless invitation.

  Genevieve picked up a cloth to wash him, and he stopped her. ‘Use your hands,’ he said, in a deep whisper.

  She had expected to submit to him, to lie beneath him and let him do as he wished to her body. Never had she anticipated that he would ask her to take the lead. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Tá, you can.’ He took her hand in his, soaping it and laying it atop his chest. He brought her palm over the hard planes of his chest, over the scars, and the gesture frightened her.

  She wasn’t any good at this. She could never please him in the same way he did her. When she tried to pull her hand away, he caught it, asking, ‘What are you afraid of?’

  ‘I’m not afraid.’

  Liar, she thought. Though she tried to hide it, Bevan was not misled.

  ‘He hurt you. And I know you’re thinking of him now.’

  ‘I’m not.’ But she knew he could see through her pretence of bravery. He was partly right. She was remembering Hugh. But she also remembered how Bevan had turned her away the last time. What if he did so again? What if she displeased him?

  He caught hold of her wrists, trapping her at the side of the tub. ‘You said that you wanted to be free of him.’

  ‘And I d-do,’ she stammered. ‘If you want, I’ll remove my gown and lie on the bed.’

  ‘You don’t deserve to be taken like that,’ Bevan said, kissing the inside of her wrist. A spiral of desire shivered through her. ‘I do not want you to be afraid.’ He brought her hand to his chest, dipping it below the water. ‘And so I am going to let you take me.’

  He stroked her hand, moving it lower down to his hips. Genevieve’s eyes widened. ‘But I told you—I don’t know how.’

  ‘Do what you like,’he said, ‘and I’ll let you touch any part of me. For tonight, I am your servant.’

  She froze, hardly able to breathe. ‘What if you don’t like it?’

  ‘I promise you, I’ll like it.’ His gaze grew compelling, his voice seductive. ‘Why don’t you come into the tub with me?’

  ‘There is no room for both of us.’

  ‘There is if you sit on my lap.’He offered a wicked grin. ‘I don’t think you’ve kissed all of my scars yet. I have a few more.’

  And suddenly she realised what he was doing. He was ensuring that she would have no memories of Hugh to interfere with this. She was in command, and he would not force her to do anything she didn’t want.

  The heady sense of power helped her gather the fragments of her courage.

  ‘I’ll have to remove my gown,’ she said.

  Bevan’s only answer was a smile.

  Chapter Sixteen

  T he water spilled over the edge of the tub, and Genevieve nearly lost her balance. Bevan caught her by the waist, turning her until she sat in his lap against his chest. She could feel the hard length of his manhood pressing against her spine, and it brought the fear back.

  She tensed, trying to gather her courage. This was Bevan, not Hugh. He would not hurt her.

  For a moment she rested against him, her hair falling into the water. His arms wrapped around her, just above her breasts, and he kissed the top of her head.

  ‘This is the way baths were meant to be taken,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t think it’s a bit crowded?’

  ‘Not at all.’ His hands wandered down, brushing against her nipples before sinking below the water. Genevieve touched his knees with her palms, running her hands over his thighs, then down to the tight calves and his feet. She explored his skin, so different from her own. His legs were strong, the muscles developed from years of riding a horse. When she reached his toes, a muffled laugh sounded from behind her.

  ‘You’re ticklish,’ she accused. When he didn’t answer, she tickled the bottoms of his feet, and he shook with suppressed laughter. More water sloshed onto the floor.

  His laughter relaxed her. She reached for his foot again, but he captured her hands in his, placing her palms atop her breasts. The sensation of touching herself, under his guidance, made her self-conscious.

  ‘And you?’ His fingers moved her hands in a light caress over her nipples, sending a jolt of desire through her. ‘Does this tickle?’

  He turned her towards him, pulling her legs around his waist. He took her nipple into his mouth, and she gasped. His tongue circled the hardened tip, sucking until her blood raced within her veins. ‘What about this?’

  Her breathing quickened, and she felt a rush of heat between her thighs. ‘My turn,’ she whispered.

  Emboldened by his touch, she reached into the water and took his length into her hands, stroking it. He shuddered, his face tightening with the effort to maintain control. She ran her palms over his chest, kissing each of the scars, her lips sliding lower until they touched the water.

  Bevan stopped her and rose to a standing position. Beads of water slid over his body as Genevieve remained kneeling in the tub. Her mouth moved over a scar on his thigh, and he trembled.

  ‘Do you see what you do to me?’ Bevan asked in a harsh whisper.

  His manhood stood erect from his stomach, and for a moment her apprehension returned. He stepped out of the tub, mindless of the dripping water, and brought a drying cloth. Genevieve rose, allowing him to wrap the cloth around her.

  In a swift move he lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. He laid her back, kissing her deeply, his tongue mingling with hers. He had never felt this way before with any woman, not even his wife. Why had he ever thought to deny himself the pleasure of her?

  He rolled her on top of him, and she straddled his hips. Her fair skin was covered in tiny goosebumps. Her nipples were erect and damp from the water. His palms spanned her waist, caressing her hips and bottom.

  She froze, watching him. He hoped she could see how much he desired her, how much he wanted this to be good for her.

  ‘You were right,’ she said. ‘I am afraid.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ He lifted her hips until she hovered above his manhood. A small gasp erupted from her as she slid a fraction of him inside her. Bevan forced himself to lie there, to let her make the decision whether she wanted him or not.

  Lug, he didn’t think he had the strength to endure such sweet torture. His body was ready to explode, and yet she moved with excruciating slowness. Deeper.

  Her moist warmth tightened against his shaft. Still deeper.

  His breathing was ragged, but he held her gaze, letting her continue to take the lead. She moved once more, until he could feel the barrier of her maidenhead. At long last his length was sheathed within her, and she gave a gasping cry as she was breached. He nearly spilled himself at the intense pleasure of feeling her squeeze his manhood within her depths.

  She began to move, delicate penetrations that rubbed against him, making him rock-hard. Her breath came in quick gasps, her wet hair slid across his chest, and at the look of agonised pleasure on her face he could no longer bear it.

  He had thought to teach her the ways of loving. Instead, she was teaching him what it meant to hold a woman in his arms who gave herself to him completely. In her eyes he saw desire and love, as she poised on the brink of fulfilment.

  She needed him, as he did her. He would never let her go.

  His hands clenched her hips, increasing the speed and pressure. She cried out, her back arching to take him deeper. He moved in counter-rhythm to her thrusts, pleasure filling him until there was nothing but her.

  He wanted her to love him. With Fiona, he had once thought she loved him. But she had never looked at him the way Genevieve did now.

  He leaned up and took her breast into his mouth, licking her nipple as she ground her hips against him. He sucked hard and she screamed. At that moment he poured himself inside her, holding her fast while the aftershocks took them both into a mindless ecstasy.

  He cradled her against his chest, their bodies still joined. It felt so right having her in his arms.

  And the thought frightened him.

  When the morning sky turned from grey to lavender, with dawn stealing its way above the horizon, Genevieve lay snuggled against Bevan’s back. She leaned over and kissed his shoulder.

  ‘Good morn to you,’ she whispered. For it was a fine morning—the finest she had known in a very long time.

  But he said nothing, rolling over to get out of bed. His sudden coolness startled her, especially after he had loved her twice more that night. He had brought her to the edge of madness until she’d cried out in ecstasy. It was as though he’d craved watching her come undone.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, suddenly feeling uncertain. It troubled her to see him growing distant once more.

  ‘Tá,’ he said as he dressed. ‘But I must see to my men. It is late already.’

  She let the sheet slide from her body and rose from the bed. Hoping to entice him out of his ill mood, she wrapped her arms around his waist. ‘Are you hungry?’

  A flicker of interest dawned in his eyes, but he shook his head. ‘Not now, no.’He pulled her hands away from him and planted a distracted kiss upon her forehead. ‘I will see you later.’

  Genevieve forced her disappointment away. Uneasy, she pulled her shift on and donned her léine and overdress. The earlier contentment between them had faded. A sombre thought occurred to her—he might hold regrets about last night.

 

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