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

‘Where?’

‘Below stairs. I have a condition before I grant your request.’

‘What condition?’

‘You will be my hostage.’

For a moment, she hesitated. She knew nothing about this man, and there was a chance he could harm her.

But he had come back, answering her earlier plea. It seemed she had little choice. ‘You won’t deliver me into his hands, will you?’

‘No. But you may help to grant us more time.’

‘Why are you attacking the fortress?’ she asked.

‘I am the rightful owner of Rionallís.’

She decided that now was not the time to inform him that Rionallís was part of her dowry. Especially when she relied upon him for her freedom. He would learn it soon enough.

Her hands closed on the wooden bar, but MacEgan grasped her waist and pulled her aside. At his touch, she gasped with pain. She bit her lip until she had control of herself.

‘I will go first,’ he said. ‘Then you.’

He opened the door and she clutched at her torn kirtle, reluctant to face Hugh. A dark side of her wished fervently that Hugh would fall to MacEgan’s blade. Without him, life would go back to the way it had been before.

After noting that it was safe, MacEgan pulled her into the hallway. Genevieve saw other men, armed and ready. He gave a sharp command in Irish, an order to follow him and guard their backs. With his hand upon her neck, he guided Genevieve down the winding stairs until they reached the Great Chamber. He positioned a knife at her throat. ‘Do not flinch. I would not have my blade slice your skin.’

It seemed strange that she should feel safe with him. A sense of calm descended upon her, because he was giving her a second chance at escape.

When the Norman guards caught sight of them, they moved to defend her.

‘Come no closer,’ MacEgan said, and they held their weapons steady. Genevieve searched the Great Chamber for Hugh, but saw no sign of him. It made her uneasy.

‘Tell Sir Hugh I wish to speak with him,’ MacEgan commanded. One of the soldiers departed, and he guided Genevieve in front of him. She waited agonising moments for Hugh to appear. The blade had warmed beneath her skin, and she dared not move. At the touch of MacEgan’s hand upon her nape, her skin prickled.

The soldiers held their weapons in readiness, but she could tell from their expressions that they would not act until Hugh gave the command.

But Hugh did not come. Instead, Sir Peter Harborough came forward. His greying hair was dishevelled, his armour stained with sweat and blood. ‘Release her,’ he commanded. He reached to draw his sword.

‘Sir Peter, wait!’ Genevieve cried out.

MacEgan held the knife at her throat. ‘If you do not wish her to die, I would suggest you call off the men. And I want to see Sir Hugh.’

Genevieve watched the soldiers, wondering when her betrothed would emerge from the shadows. No doubt he was near.

Sir Peter’s expression held a combination of fury and hesitation. After a moment, he sheathed his weapon. ‘Damned Irish. Haven’t the sense to know when they’re conquered.’He caught the glance of another soldier and ordered, ‘Bring in the prisoner.’

MacEgan grew alert. Genevieve had not known of a captive. When the prisoner was brought in, she saw a lad of hardly more than four and ten. He was skinny, with reddish-gold hair and a stubble of fuzz covering his cheeks. His head hung down, as though he were ashamed of himself.

MacEgan exploded with anger. He spoke in Irish, likely to keep the others from understanding him.

‘What were you thinking, Ewan? I told you to stay at Laochre.’

The boy drew back. ‘I am sorry, brother. I thought—’

‘You thought you could join in our fight? And how long did it take for them to capture you?’

The boy’s face reddened.

Genevieve could hold her silence no longer. ‘Leave him be. He is only a boy.’

‘Who may not live to be a man if he behaves in such a fashion.’ MacEgan’s grip tightened upon her, and his tension became palpable.

Sir Peter revealed a smile of victory. ‘And so we come to the terms, MacEgan. You shall call off your men, return the Lady Genevieve unharmed, and in exchange we release the boy.’

‘What if I refuse?’

‘That is your choice, of course. But you are outnumbered.’ Sir Peter gave a nod towards the opposite wall, where archers waited with bows drawn. ‘We could kill you before your men could release their weapons.’

Although Sir Peter was trying to protect her, Genevieve wanted to curse the man. He had spent nearly each day of the past two moons drinking ale and eating. Not a finger had he lifted to guard her from Hugh. But the moment an Irishman tried to rescue her, he decided to play the role of saviour.

‘This fortress was mine long before the Normans took it,’ MacEgan said. ‘The people are loyal to me. It would not be long before a dagger would slide between your ribs one night.’

Sir Peter shrugged. ‘That is Marstowe’s concern, not mine. My purpose is to guard the Lady Genevieve until her marriage.’

‘You seem to be doing a poor job of it.’

Rage exploded upon the man’s face, and Bevan’s grip tightened around her. She held her breath, afraid of the knife at her throat. Though she didn’t believe he would hurt her, the slightest pressure could make the blade slip.

Where was Hugh? Genevieve did not trust him to stay out of this. Had he run? Or was he plotting against them?

She caught a slight movement from the shadows. The gleam of an arrow-tip reflected in the firelight. Out of instinct, she pushed backwards against MacEgan with all her strength, just as the arrow was fired. The shaft grazed MacEgan’s shoulder, and would have struck her had she not moved in time.

The knife left her throat for an instant, and strong arms dragged her away.

‘Seize him!’ a voice commanded.

Five guards took hold of MacEgan. He fought back, slashing with his dagger, but there