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

saw the depth of emotion in his eyes. ‘I love you, and I want you as my bride.’

The priest awaited her response.

‘I will take you for my husband again,’ she whispered.

His face spread into a magnificent smile, and the priest continued with the marriage rite, giving his final blessing.

The kiss Bevan gave her afterwards removed every shred of doubt she might have had.

‘Leave us, Father. I’ve a marriage to consummate.’

Genevieve blushed, even as her body warmed to his words. As the moon rose to illuminate their chamber, Bevan lifted her into his arms. His hands slid across her ribs, stroking every inch of her. When he reached her stomach, his hand rested over the manifestation of their loving.

‘I love you,’ Bevan whispered, ‘and I would wed you a thousand times if I could.’ He cupped her face in his hands, and she marvelled that he belonged to her at last. ‘Is that what you want?’

The pleasure building within her rushed in a flood of desire for him. ‘No.’ She slid her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his chest. Her heart swelled with love. ‘All I’ve ever wanted is you.’

Epilogue

‘Y ou have a son,’ Isabel said, presenting him with a tiny swaddled infant. The boy’s hand curled about Bevan’s thumb, and he could not describe the magnitude of the love that filled him.

He was a father again. He touched the boy’s cheek, offering up a silent prayer of thanks.

When his sister-in-law opened the door to their chamber, he saw the tired face of his wife. Never was any face more dear to him than hers. He sat beside Genevieve, nestling their son between them.

‘We’ve a fine son, a ghrá.’

‘Aye, we do.’ She leaned her head against his shoulder. ‘Brianna will be eager to see her new brother. Though I know she wanted a sister.’

Bevan stroked her hair. ‘What shall we name him?’

A head poked around the doorframe. ‘Ewan is a good name.’

Bevan grinned at his brother’s suggestion. ‘I thought you were preparing for your travels to England.’

Genevieve’s father had offered to continue Ewan’s training, now that his hands had healed. Each day Ewan practised with the sword, and Bevan had seen a new confidence in him.

Ewan would always be the greatest of warriors in Bevan’s eyes, for he owed Genevieve’s life to him. And he hoped that one day his younger brother would gain the skills he so desired.

‘I wanted to see my nephew before I left,’ he said. ‘Good wishes to you both.’

Genevieve embraced him, and Bevan did likewise. ‘Safe journey to you. Send us word when you arrive.’

‘What was your father’s name?’ Genevieve asked Bevan, after Ewan had left.

Startled, he answered, ‘Duncan.’

‘I like it,’ she said, kissing his cheek.

‘I love you, Genevieve,’ he said, capturing her lips for a deeper kiss. Though he said it often, he wondered if she truly understood how much he meant it. Each day with her was a blessing.

‘And I love you.’

With their child cradled beside them, Bevan felt a profound sense of goodness. For out of his greatest sorrow had come his greatest joy.

ISBN: 9781426801570

HER IRISH WARRIOR

Copyright © 2007 by Michelle Willingham

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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