Highlander Most Wanted (23 page)

Bowen shook his head. “I killed him.”

Brodie’s and Teague’s eyes widened.

“You did what?” Brodie demanded.

Teague started to push forward. “You’ve a lot of explaining to do, Bowen.”

Bowen warded Teague off, and he stepped back in surprise.

“Is there a reason we’re not allowed inside your chamber?” Teague asked.

Bowen stepped farther from the doorway, and then quietly shut the door behind him.

“Genevieve is within.”

Brodie’s eyebrows shot up, while Teague frowned.

“The man you found dead attacked her earlier today. It’s fortunate that I came upon them when I did or he would have raped her.”

Brodie scowled and bit out a curse.

“The whole lot of them are little better than animals,” Teague said in disgust. “Is the lass all right?”

“She was frightened, of course. I took her to my chamber to shield her from the other clansmen. ’Tis obvious she is not held in high regard here, and I would protect her from their venom as well as from any possible retaliation.”

Teague blew out his breath. “They will not like hearing that you killed one of their men. It will seem as though we seek to destroy them after executing the ones who betrayed us. Now this.”

Bowen’s lips curled into a snarl. “I care not what they like or don’t like. If they want to be treated fairly and decently, then ’tis upon them to act accordingly. I’d not tolerate such treatment of a lass, no matter who she was. ’Tis disgraceful.”

“What then would you have us tell them?” Brodie asked. “The body was brought up to the courtyard, and ’tis widely assumed that the killing was part of a staged attack. They are all convinced that the McGrieves will lay siege to us at any moment.”

Bowen had to take a breath to steady himself as anger gripped him all over again. Then he looked up at his brother and at Brodie. His voice was dangerously soft, and for those who knew him well it hinted that he was very near to losing any control he currently maintained.

“You tell them that
I
killed the man for his attack on Genevieve. You also tell them that the lass is under my protection, and that any slight to her is a slight to me, personally. One I will retaliate against. I will not tolerate any disrespect of her. Let the dead McHugh warrior serve as a warning to the others.”

Teague looked troubled by the decree, but Brodie nodded his agreement. He didn’t seem to be any happier than Bowen that Genevieve had been mistreated so.

Bowen stared at his brother, his lips pressed together in consternation.

“Tell me you agree with me on this, Teague.”

Teague sighed. “ ’Tis not that I don’t agree. I’d not condone the lass being abused in any manner. She’s sore in need of a champion, and ’tis obvious you’re taking the reins. But I think you should have a care in how you handle the issue with the McHugh clan.”

“Right now I wouldn’t care if the lot of them fell into a deep hole and disappeared from the earth,” Bowen spat.

“I understand your anger,” Brodie said calmly. “But we need level heads in order to prevent utter chaos. They’re angry. They’re confused. They’re afraid. They need leadership and a firm hand.”

Bowen nodded. “Aye, they do. Right now I’m too furious to face them and attempt any effort to be placating. ’Tis a sin how they’ve treated the lass, and I’ll not forget that.”

The door opened just down the hall and Taliesan peeked her head out, staring cautiously at Bowen, Brodie, and Teague. She hesitated, as if afraid to voice her questions.

Bowen sighed and motioned for her to come forward. “Come, lass. Say what it is you want to say.”

Brodie and Teague turned as Taliesan limped toward them, her gaze still worried.

Her hands were twined tightly together, and she stopped a foot away from Brodie and Teague. Brodie frowned and touched her arm to draw her closer.

“Forgive my impertinence, Laird, but I would inquire about Genevieve. I’m ever so worried. Can you tell me how she fares?” Taliesan asked anxiously.

Bowen softened at the lass’s earnest words. ’Twas obvious Genevieve had a friend in Taliesan. Perhaps the only kind face in a sea of animosity and treachery.

“She fares well,” he said quietly. “She suffered fright and a few bruises, but I intervened before more damage could be wrought.”

Taliesan looked stricken. Tears shone in her bright eyes and her lips trembled.

“What happened to her, Laird? Who did this to her?”

Brodie put a comforting hand on Taliesan’s shoulder. “ ’Tis all right, lass. Bowen has taken care of the matter.”

“The man who attacked Genevieve is dead,” Bowen said bluntly.

“Good!” she said in a fierce voice. “I hope you killed him.”

“I did.”

“And is Genevieve all right?” Taliesan asked, worry still bright in her eyes.

“ ’Tis the truth she was frightened and upset, but she is resting comfortably, and I’ve assured her that I’ll not allow it to happen again.”

“Thank you, Laird,” Taliesan said. “Genevieve needs someone like you to stand up for her. No one has ever done so.”

Bowen motioned Taliesan aside, pushing past his brother and Brodie. He drew the lass toward her own chamber and said in a low voice, “Can you bring me clothing for Genevieve? Her dress is torn and she has only her cape to cover herself.”

Taliesan nodded vigorously. “Aye, Laird. I’ll bring it at once.”

“Give me a moment to finish conversing with my brother and Brodie, and then bring the clothing down.”

“As you wish, Laird.”

She turned away and went back to her chamber. Bowen turned back toward his own, eager to be back inside with Genevieve.

“Were you successful in the hunt?” he asked.

“Aye,” Brodie said. “A dozen or more rabbits and a young stag. The meat will be tender and succulent.”

Bowen’s mouth watered at the mere thought of having fresh-cooked meat.

“Have one of my men bring food for Genevieve and myself. We’ll eat in my chamber tonight.”

Teague nodded. He started to retreat, but then he hesitated.

“ ’Tis likely Graeme will be here soon.”

Bowen understood it for the warning it was intended to be. “Aye, I know it,” he said evenly.

“Think on your priorities between now and then,” Teague said. “ ’Tis not an easy path you’ve chosen in championing the lass.”

“Nothing good is ever easy. Or worth it.”

Brodie nodded his agreement. “ ’Tis true, that.”

Teague rested a hand on Bowen’s shoulder. “You have my support, Bowen. No matter what. That extends to the lass as well. Even though I know not the whole of it.”

Bowen extended his arm to overlap Teague’s, clasping his shoulder in a like gesture. He stared into his brother’s eyes, grateful that Teague had chosen not to condemn him for standing with Genevieve.

“You have my thanks, Teague. You and Brodie both.”

Brodie quirked a lip and grinned his amusement. “Did
you ever imagine yourself saying such to an Armstrong? Did it leave a bad taste in your mouth?”

Bowen smiled. “I’ll admit to being reminded of the meals I’ve suffered through of late.”

Teague and Brodie laughed, then retreated down the hall with promises to send food up for Bowen and Genevieve as soon as the meat was prepared.

Bowen turned to go inside his chamber, but was stopped by Taliesan’s soft call. Leaving the door open, he waited for the lass to approach and then took the soft bundle of clothing from her.

“My thanks, Taliesan. You are a good friend to Genevieve. I’ll make sure she knows of your kindness.”

Taliesan’s cheeks colored and she dipped a curtsy. “Please tell Genevieve that if she has need of me I am but a few doors away.”

Bowen nodded and then withdrew into the chamber, closing the door behind him.

Genevieve was sitting up in bed, the bed linens pulled to just underneath her chin. Blood had dried at the corner of her mouth and along her jawline, and her bottom lip was swollen.

“Taliesan brought you clothing,” Bowen said as he approached the bed. “Let me build up the fire and then you can dress in front of the hearth. I’ll not look. I promise.”

She smiled faintly. “ ’Tis too late for modesty, I think. You’ve seen all.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, her clothing on his lap. “ ’Tis not too late for respect,” he said in a serious tone. “And ’tis respect that I give by offering you privacy in which to dress and make yourself more comfortable.”

Damn if the lass’s eyes didn’t tear up again. It was like a fist to his gut, and suddenly it was hard for him to breathe.

He touched her cheek as if to ward off the tears.

“You’ve not had much to smile about, lass, but I plan to remedy that. I would give anything to make you happy again.”

“You are a good man, Bowen Montgomery,” she said hoarsely. “I was not wrong about you.”

He took the clothing from his lap and laid it next to Genevieve on the bed. “Let me go add logs to the fire so you’ll be warm. Your flesh is cold to the touch. When I am done, you can dress by the hearth.”

He stood and strode toward the bin where the pieces of wood were stacked. When he glanced back at Genevieve, she presented a sight that affected him deeply.

Hair tousled. Vulnerability reflected in her eyes. Covers drawn up to her chin and knees hunched against her chest. But the look on her face as she stared back at him … It was a look filled with wonder. Gratitude. Of discovery. As if she were seeing him in a whole new light.

It was a look that men coveted from women. A look that said he was her champion and that there was no other man in the world for her.

He reprimanded himself for letting his thoughts grow so fanciful. Aye, Genevieve may be grateful, but it didn’t mean she looked at him in any other way than that of gratitude. It was a look she would give to any man who’d defended her.

He busied himself building the flames, so that it became uncomfortably warm in the vicinity of the hearth. But he knew that she was chilled, that the traumatic event had given her the kind of bone-deep cold that was difficult to recover from. He’d see to her comfort even at the expense of his own.

When he was satisfied with his effort, he turned back to Genevieve and gently pried the linens from her tightly balled fists.

“Go and warm yourself by the fire, lass,” he said in a
gentle voice. “I’ll stand by the door with my back turned, or, if you prefer, I’ll wait in the hall and you can summon me back inside when you’re finished.”

“You can stay,” she murmured.

Keeping her cloak tightly against her breasts, she maneuvered out of bed and walked toward the fire. As promised, Bowen went to the door and crossed his arms over his chest as he faced away.

He could hear the light sounds of her dressing and he closed his eyes, imagining the sight behind him. Her nude figure outlined by the glow from the hearth. His breath caught in his throat and his body instantly hardened.

He chastened himself, berating himself for being no better than the bastard who’d tried to rape her. He should not be thinking on such things when the lass was recovering from the horror of being attacked.

But he wasn’t thinking of what he could take from her. He thought only of what he could
give
her. Of how he could woo her with sweet kisses. Tell her how beautiful she was. Stroke and caress her body until she sighed with contentment.

He wanted to show her how it could be between a man and a woman. Take away all the pain and humiliation and shame and, in their place, give her something beautiful.

Ah, he ached to be the one to show her how good loving could be. But ’twas more than that, for he wanted her more fiercely than he’d ever wanted a lass and he couldn’t even explain why. He cared not that she was scarred, that a man had marked her face so that no man would ever want her. If that had been Ian’s goal, he’d failed miserably, because Bowen wanted her with a need that bordered on obsession.

“You can look now.”

Her soft call tore him from his thoughts. He blinked
and willed his body to calm, for he didn’t want to face her with the evidence of his arousal in plain sight.

Slowly he turned, positioning his body so that it wasn’t so readily obvious.

She looked even more beautiful. Clad in a nightdress, she stood by the fire, her bare feet peeking from underneath the hem. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves and her scarred cheek was turned away.

There was still the dried blood at her mouth, and he hadn’t queried her about other injuries.

He strode forward, taking one of the cloths he used for cleaning and he dipped it into the basin of water by the window. When he neared her, he cupped her chin with one hand and then gently dabbed at the corner of her mouth with the cloth.

She flinched but remained where she was while he cleaned the blood from her swollen lip.

He frowned when he noticed that a bruise was already forming on her chin and lower jaw, where she’d been struck.

“Where else are you hurt, Genevieve?” he asked.

“Nowhere. He hit me twice, but ’tis all he had time to do. You arrived in time to prevent more.”

His scowl deepened. “I should have been there to prevent him hitting you at all.”

She slipped her hand over his arm, holding it in place as he cupped her chin in his firm grasp.

“You came. ’Tis all that is important. You kept it from happening again. For that you have my thanks.”

His heart softened, and he rubbed his thumb over her cheek in a tender caress.

“I would that you never have to experience such again.”

She closed her eyes and turned further into his caress, rubbing her scarred cheek over his palm. Then, as if realizing
she drew attention to her defect, she froze and tried to shrink away.

“Nay,” he protested. “Do not hide from me, Genevieve. Never hide from me. You have to know that the scar on your face matters not to me.”

She swallowed, and he could feel that she trembled beneath his touch. She looked at him with such hope that it was painful for him to see. This was a woman who was afraid to hope anymore. Time and time again, her hopes had been crushed, and now she gazed at him as though she battled with herself over whether to allow that hope to take flight.