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

were too many of them. Genevieve tried to free herself from Sir Peter’s grasp, but he held firm. After a fierce struggle, they disarmed him. Seconds later, Hugh emerged from the shadows. At the sight of him, Genevieve’s blood ran cold. The expression on his face appeared tender, loving. Genevieve knew the act well.

He took her in his arms and touched the soft part of her throat where the blade had rested. ‘I will kill him for touching you.’ Unsheathing his dagger, he stared at MacEgan. ‘Perhaps I shall slit his throat now.’

Genevieve closed her eyes, knowing that none of the prisoners would be released.

Hugh traced a finger down her jaw. The gesture made her skin crawl. ‘But I would rather have him suffer for what he has done. On the morrow, I will have him executed, so that all will know not to attack Rionallís. He can watch the younger one hang first.’

Genevieve turned to him, unable to hide her hatred. ‘I thought you would let the boy go.’

‘I let no one escape who attacks what is mine. Return to your chamber and bolt the door.’He clapped Sir Peter on the shoulder. ‘Thank you for defending her.’

‘It was no trouble.’ Sir Peter’s hand returned to his sword. ‘Shall we rid ourselves of the rest of them?’

Hugh inclined his head. To his soldiers, he ordered, ‘Secure the outer bailey. Spare no one.’ With those words, Hugh donned his helm and left.

Genevieve forced herself to go above stairs, each step heavier than the last. She could not allow MacEgan to die, not after he had tried to save her. She cradled her arms against her sore ribs, remembering the hungry look in Hugh’s eyes. He had enjoyed hurting her. Her hands moved down to her hips, and she trembled in fear, knowing exactly how he intended to hurt her this time.

She had one last chance. She would find a way to save MacEgan and his brother, even if it meant risking her death.

Chapter Two

G enevieve hid in a chamber used for storing food and herbs until the sounds of battle faded into the distance. The thickness of smoke tainted the air, and she tried not to think of the number of men who were now dead. There were two she could save, and save them she would.

She studied the dried roots and stalks until she found the ones she was looking for. Mixed with ale, their bitterness would not be tasted by the guards, and the herbs would cause sleep.

Hugh had sent the captives to an underground cellar. As Genevieve had anticipated, MacEgan was heavily guarded. She balanced the pitcher of ale and tankards while climbing down the ladder. The cool air raised gooseflesh on her arms, but she squared her shoulders and put on a false smile.

As soon as the guard saw her, he frowned. ‘Lady Genevieve, you should not be here.’

‘I thought you and your men deserved a reward for your bravery this eve,’ she said, holding out the pitcher.

The guard brightened at her offering, allowing her to fill his cup. He lifted his tankard in a toast, then drank heartily. Genevieve poured ale for the other soldiers, and soon they relaxed with a game of dice. For a moment she waited, to see if anyone responded to the drugged mixture, but nothing happened.

Had she added enough? Or, worse, would the herbs take effect at all? Tonight was her only chance to help the MacEgans escape, while Hugh was occupied with the Irish invaders. She glanced towards the prisoners, shrinking back at the sight of Bevan MacEgan’s suspicious glare.

He rested on his haunches, both wrists chained. Though outwardly he appeared calm, she sensed he was biding his time. He exuded strength, a caged wolf prepared to tear out the throat of his enemy, given an opportunity.

Was it the right decision to free them? If it were only the young boy, Ewan, she’d not hesitate. But she knew nothing about Bevan MacEgan, nor whether he was an honest man.

She moved towards the ladder as if about to leave. Another soldier raised his hand in farewell, and she pretended to step upon the ladder. When their attention was firmly on the game, she slipped into the shadows. She leaned back against the cool stones, her pulse thrumming in anticipation.

In the darkness, she saw MacEgan staring at her. His penetrating gaze made her shiver, though he said nothing to reveal her presence.

It was taking far too long for the herbs to take effect. Genevieve did not know what she would do if the guards did not succumb to sleep.

The younger boy struggled with his chains, fighting to gain release. MacEgan settled back against the wall, not a trace of emotion upon his scarred face. He waited with the patience of a man who had known captivity before. Genevieve prayed she had not been mistaken about trusting him.

Before long she heard footsteps approaching. Hugh’s voice echoed off the stones as he descended the ladder. ‘I want to speak with the prisoners alone.’

At the sound of his voice, she tried to shrink back further. She found a small niche behind one of the barrels, pulling her body into a tight ball. The guards climbed the ladder, but none seemed aware of her. She clenched her hands together, every muscle tensed.

Hugh withdrew a dagger and fingered the edge of the blade. The steel flashed silver in the torch light. He stood before MacEgan, a grim expression lining his mouth.

‘You should not have touched her. She belongs to me. Any man who threatens her will die.’

The boy paled, but MacEgan met his adversary’s gaze evenly. ‘Then you must be ready to face death yourself. It was you who beat her, was it not?’

A murderous rage darkened Hugh’s face. He unsheathed his dagger and slashed it at MacEgan’s cheek, carving a wound that mirrored the scar on his opposite cheek.

Though a flash of pain dimmed the Irish warrior’s eyes, he did not move. He stared