Her Irish Warrior, Michelle Willingham [early reader books TXT] 📗

‘None of such high rank.’ His palm spanned her back, his thumb brushing against a bruise that had not healed. ‘None with land such as Rionallís.’ His voice grew tinged with ambition. ‘Here I can become a king. These Irishmen are primitive, with no knowledge of what it means to fight.’ His mouth curved upward. ‘And you will reign at my side. The King has commanded it.’

She said nothing. Hugh’s prowess on the battlefield had earned him King Henry’s favour. When he had offered for her, and received the King’s blessing, Genevieve had fallen prey to his flattery. Believing his false courtship, she’d begged her reluctant father for a betrothal. Now she wished she had remained silent.

Hugh lifted her upon his horse, mounting behind her. At the contact of his body against hers, she shuddered with revulsion. He spurred the horse onward, his harsh embrace imprisoning her. When the fortress came into view, the last vestiges of her courage died.

Denial and panic warred within her. Was there anything else she could do to stop this wedding? More than anything, she needed her father’s help. Each day she prayed to see his colours flying, heralding the arrival of his entourage. And still he did not come.

They rode beneath the gate, and she did not miss the pitying looks upon the faces of the Irish. Hugh dismounted and forced her to accompany him. ‘You must be weary,’ he said. ‘I will escort you to your chamber.’

Genevieve knew what would happen as soon as they reached the chamber. Closing her eyes, she searched for an excuse—any means to delay the inevitable punishment.

‘I am hungry,’ she said. ‘Might I have something to eat beforehand?’

‘I will have food sent above stairs. After we discuss your…journey.’ Hugh gripped Genevieve’s arm with a strength that reminded her of the retribution to come. Her eyes filled with unshed tears. She would not grant him the satisfaction of making her weep.

She concentrated on the pain of Hugh squeezing her arm as he directed her up the stairs and towards her chamber. He bolted the door behind them with a heavy wooden bar. Alone, he stood and watched her.

‘Why did you run from me?’

She didn’t answer. What could she say?

‘Don’t you know I will always come for you? You are mine to protect.’ He caressed her hair, tangling the strands in his fingers. She stood motionless, trying not to look at him.

‘The King has summoned us to Tara,’ Hugh said, releasing her suddenly. ‘We will be married there within a few days.’ Pride swelled within him. ‘He may grant me more land, as a wedding gift to both of us.’

Leaning down, he brushed a kiss upon her closed mouth. ‘Do not look so glum. It will not be long now.’

His claim was not at all reassuring. She had been thankful that King Henry had delayed Hugh’s earlier requests to come. Political alliances with the Irish kings took precedence. Now her time had run out.

‘I will not marry without my father.’

‘Thomas de Renalt will come.’ His expression tightened. ‘He should have arrived by now.’

‘He was ill,’ Genevieve argued. Her father had ordered her to continue on to Rionallís without him. With an escort of soldiers and her guardians, Papa had believed her to be safe. Genevieve had bribed a priest to send missives, pleading with her father to end the betrothal. She had sent the last one only a sennight ago. But Thomas de Renalt had given no reply, and she feared Hugh might have intercepted the messages.

‘I will not wait on him any longer.’ Hugh shook his head. ‘I know not what the Earl’s intentions are, but the betrothal documents are signed. With or without him, I will wed you.’

‘I will never wed you,’ she swore. ‘I care not what the King says.’

His fist struck the back of her head. Pain exploded, ringing in her ears, but Genevieve refused to cry out.

‘You have not lost your spirit, have you?’ Hugh remarked.

She swallowed hard, wishing she had not provoked him. She knew better than to fight him, for his strength was far greater than hers. If she offered her obedience, he was often more lenient in the punishment. She struggled to force back the words of defiance.

Then he smiled, the cruel smile she had grown to despise.

‘Remove your garments.’

Bile rose in her throat at the thought of him holding her down. For the past few weeks he had gloried in humiliating her. If she refused his commands, he beat her until she could no longer stand. Though he had not breached her maidenhead yet, she knew it was but a matter of time. Fear pulsed through her at the thought.

When she did not obey, Hugh struck her stomach, causing her to double over. She clutched her side, unable to stop the moan of agony from her lips. Was this what her life would become? Would she surrender everything to this man, letting him dominate her?

She closed her eyes, afraid it would be so. Though another woman might consider ending her life, Genevieve did not want to risk eternal damnation. She’d not let him take possession of her soul as well.

He unsheathed his dagger, and her heart nearly stopped when she saw the blade. In a swift slice, he cut the laces until her kirtle pooled at her feet. Clad only in her shift, Genevieve tried to cover herself.

‘You belong to me, Genevieve.’ He set the dagger upon a table, moving towards her. Genevieve’s glance darted to the weapon. She avoided another blow and let herself fall against the table. The dagger clattered to the floor.

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘I am sorry.’ It was not true, but the apology might slow his fists. Her head ached; blood was trickling down her cheek.

He began to strip his own clothes away, revealing a muscle-hardened body. ‘No. You are not sorry. But you will be.’

He closed the distance between them. ‘It’s time you learned how to be an obedient wife.’ His