Highlander Most Wanted (26 page)

’Twas obvious she blushed, even in the glow cast by
the moon. It was in her mannerisms, the way her gaze skittered sideways and she ducked her head in that shy way.

But he also saw her smile. It was a sight that never failed to tighten his chest. It had never been brought home to him the fact that she never smiled until finally she did. And now he sought to make her do so at every opportunity, because it was a sight he savored.

“You’ve a silver tongue, Bowen Montgomery,” she said, her teeth flashing with her smile. “A silver-tongued devil, you are.”

“I’d prefer to use my tongue for other purposes,” he murmured.

She paused, turning to face him as they topped the rise overlooking the river.

“And what purpose would that be?” she asked innocently.

The little imp was teasing him. It delighted him that she’d be so free with him. She’d always been so reserved and cautious. Careful never to make any overtures that could possibly be misconstrued.

Yet tonight she was looking at him with a devilish gleam in her own eyes. He may be silver-tongued, but she was developing one of her own and he loved it.

“I can think of several,” he murmured as he lowered his lips to capture hers.

Her breath caught, as if she’d swallowed his. This time she boldly returned his kiss, almost as if she’d grabbed hold of her courage and put it all on the line.

He was content to allow her to dictate the kiss. His hands slid up her neck, to just beneath her ears, and his fingers splayed out, his palms gliding over her jaw.

Kissing her was something he’d never grow tired of. It was like drinking warm sunshine or licking the sugary sweetness of honey from a spoon.

Smooth, silky-soft, and delicate and ultra feminine.
She inspired possessiveness such that he all but screamed that she was his.

And the hell of it was she didn’t even know it.

He hadn’t told her.

Not one single word.

No “I love you.” No soft entreaty for the words to be offered to him in turn.

It was a vow he’d made before God and on her behalf. He’d pressure her into nothing. He’d not demand a single thing she was unwilling to give.

He’d wait for bloody ever if that’s what it took.

“Kissing is so very nice,” she said with a breathy sigh. “I never thought so before now. I always thought it rather horrid.”

She winced as if she regretted being so bold in her words. ’Twas likely she hated that she’d brought up a subject that was inherently shameful for her. But for Bowen, it was a signal that she was growing more comfortable with him, and so he embraced her willingness to discuss the terrible things that had happened to her.

“ ’Tis because you were not kissing me,” Bowen said smugly.

Genevieve laughed, and it was the most exquisite sound. It captivated him and made him want to pull it from her again and again.

“Mayhap you have the right of it,” she said in a rueful tone. “You are very skilled at it.”

He went quiet, not wanting to delve into the topic of why he was so skilled at kissing. ’Twas a dangerous topic. One he would be well rid of.

So he kissed her again, because he knew it would silence any further questions or comments. Besides, kissing her was no hardship.

They were deep into a breathless, bone-melting kiss when Bowen heard a shout in the distance. He immediately picked up his head, using one hand to shove Genevieve
behind him while his other hand went to the hilt of his sword.

He strained to hear the voices while Genevieve clutched at his tunic, huddled against his back.

“Montgomerys arrive!”

The call was picked up and echoed through the watchtowers and around the perimeter of the keep. Bowen relaxed his grip on both Genevieve and his sword, and then pulled Genevieve back around to his side.

“ ’Tis my kin,” Bowen explained. “They bring supplies. Come. Let’s return to the keep so that I may greet them.”

Genevieve’s heart was in her throat the entire walk back to the keep. Bowen was solicitous, slowing to match her pace even though ’twas obvious he seethed with impatience to greet his kin.

She’d heard Teague laughingly say that he was certain Graeme would arrive himself once he learned that the keep had been attacked and Bowen had been injured. With all her heart, she hoped that he’d remained behind and had not accompanied his men to McHugh Keep.

Her time with Bowen had been nothing short of perfect. Aye, she was living on borrowed time. It couldn’t last forever. She didn’t expect it to. If Graeme had arrived, it would be over a lot sooner. He would learn of all she’d done, and he’d want retribution. How could he not?

She’d done harm to his wife. She’d endangered his entire clan. It wasn’t something she expected to be forgiven for, even if Bowen had seemed willing to overlook her transgressions.

She clung tighter to Bowen’s hand as they neared the courtyard, where the Montgomery soldiers were even now piling in. Then she yanked her hand back, realizing the intimacy of holding Bowen’s hand and the fact that his clan would be looking on.

It was instinctive to reach for her hood and pull it over
her head. She’d relaxed around Bowen. Something about him made her feel comfortable. She didn’t seek to hide from him.

Her cheek itched, and she lifted her hand to rub at the scar before gathering the neck of the hood and pulling it tight so the material was pressed against her face.

She wanted to flee. Duck in the back and escape to her chamber. The last thing she wanted was to stand before Bowen’s kin as though she had the right to do so. She was nothing to Bowen and even less to his clan. She had no interest in being present when she was judged.

“Genevieve, ’tis all right,” Bowen said in a soft voice as they neared the courtyard.

“Pray can I be excused, Laird?” she asked, her lips stiff from nerves.

He stopped in his tracks and gathered her hands in his, not caring who looked on. She wanted to pull her hands away before they were seen. Desperation gripped her. The last thing she wanted was to present a spectacle.

For a long moment he stared into her eyes, and then his gaze softened. He touched a hand to her face and gently pushed a tendril of hair from her cheek.

“Return then to your chamber. I’ll see you later.”

She all but fled across the terrain, making certain she circled the keep so she could enter through the back entrance to avoid any confrontation with Bowen’s kin.

Her heart beat so wildly that she feared passing out as she became light-headed. At the top of the stairs, she nearly ran into Taliesan, and she was so grateful to see the other woman that she gripped Taliesan’s hands.

“The Montgomery forces have arrived,” Taliesan said. “I heard them arrive from my window. They bring food and supplies. We’ll be safe from attack now, surely!”

“Aye,” Genevieve said as she sought to catch her breath.

She glanced toward her chamber and turned, all but dragging Taliesan along with her.

“Keep me company,” Genevieve urged. “I find I have no desire to be alone this night.”

Taliesan good-naturedly complied and, with the door shut behind them, Taliesan sent a concerned frown in Genevieve’s direction.

“You look as though you’ve suffered a fright, Genevieve. You’re nervous, and your hands are shaking! Whatever is the matter?”

Genevieve sought to calm herself as she stood in front of the hearth. She debated setting a fire, but she wasn’t sure her hands were steady enough for the task. Still, it would do her good to busy herself with something.

“I heard Teague say he would not be surprised if Graeme Montgomery himself arrived with the party bearing supplies.”

Taliesan nodded. “Aye, I saw him below. He arrived with his men. Teague and Brodie went out to greet him.” Then she frowned. “I did not see Bowen. Were you with him?”

Genevieve’s face exploded with warmth and she turned her back to Taliesan as she set logs for the fire. She and Bowen had spent a great deal of time with each other of late, but they’d not done so in an obvious manner. Bowen had been careful to keep appearances, something for which Genevieve was grateful, even if she had no care for what the McHughs thought.

It wasn’t so much what they thought as what they would do. They would take any opportunity to disparage Genevieve. Many held her accountable for Ian’s death, and now Patrick’s. With Bowen killing her attacker and issuing his warning to the entire clan that
anyone doing harm to Genevieve would suffer the same fate, their animosity toward her had only intensified.

Bowen hadn’t mentioned the abbey again. He hadn’t mentioned her fate at all, which made her more uneasy with every passing day. She knew she was a fool to allow herself to dissolve into fancy where Bowen was concerned. She was nobody. She was dead.

“Genevieve?” Taliesan asked in a soft voice. “What is between you and Bowen? ’Tis forward of me to ask, I know, but I sense that he’s infatuated with you. Do you return his feelings?”

Genevieve set fire to wood and then stood back, staring into the crackling flames. Then she slowly turned to face Taliesan.

“There is naught between me and Bowen Montgomery. He has been kind to me. Nothing else.”

Taliesan sighed. “I see the way he looks at you. He fair eats you with his eyes.”

Genevieve shook her head. “There is naught to look upon.”

“You are still a beautiful lass, Genevieve. The mark Ian put on your face does not take that away.”

Genevieve regretted that she’d been so impulsive in urging Taliesan to enter her chamber. Taliesan was a sweet and genuine lass, but right now Genevieve wanted only to be alone and away from Taliesan’s innocent prying.

“I would go to bed now, Taliesan,” Genevieve said quietly.

Taliesan shuffled awkwardly to Genevieve’s side and suddenly Genevieve was enfolded in Taliesan’s arms.

“I did not mean to hurt you.”

Genevieve turned and hugged Taliesan to her. “I know you didn’t. ’Tis my fault for being too sensitive. I’m just weary and nervous over the Montgomerys’ arrival.”

“I will leave you to rest. Would you like me to have food brought up to your chamber on the morrow?”

“ ’Tis kind of you to offer, but I will be fine. I cannot hide in my chamber forever.”

Taliesan withdrew and, offering Genevieve a reassuring smile, limped slowly out the door, shutting it behind her.

Genevieve sagged onto the bed and flopped backward, staring at the ceiling. She closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift back over the many days spent in Bowen’s company.

They’d been magical. She’d been filled with a longing that instilled an ache deep in her soul.

She didn’t entirely understand it—she didn’t understand Bowen or his seeming interest in her. Had she imagined it? Nay, he couldn’t feign something like that, and what purpose would be served by deceiving her in such a fashion?

He acted as though he genuinely cared, which puzzled her because, given the sins she’d committed against his clan, he should be angry. He should want vengeance. Or, at least, for her to pay for those sins.

And there was the fact that she was no great beauty and Bowen was so beautiful to look at that it hurt.

She was damaged. The whore of another. She wore his stamp of possession on her cheek, and that would never change. Every time Bowen looked upon her scar he’d be reminded that another man had possessed her.

A sense of futility filled her heart until she could no longer bear the weight of it.

What would happen to her now that Bowen’s brother had arrived? Would she be punished? Would she be sent away?

So many questions that she didn’t have answers for. And she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to demand them from Bowen or his brother, the laird.

If she was truthful, she’d admit that she wished with all her heart to go back in time and relive the past days over and over.

She was struck by the fact that, for the first time in a year, she’d been … 
happy
. It was astounding, but it was true. She’d been content. She’d smiled. She’d laughed. And she’d been happy.

How long had it been since she’d enjoyed a moment in time? Precious minutes filled with contentment?

Not since she’d left the bosom of her family had she considered herself happy.

A warm tear leaked from the corner of her eye and trailed down her cheek.

Happiness seemed impossible. A lifetime ago. Something she’d thought never to experience again.

But, just for a moment, Bowen had given her that, only for her to have it cruelly snatched away by the encroachment of reality.