Highlander Most Wanted (28 page)

He quietly left the room and shut the door behind him. It was instinctive to go to Genevieve’s door. He hated to barge in without knocking, but neither did he want to remain in the hall long enough to be seen.

He opened the door and slipped inside. Genevieve was by the fire, her long hair unbound and streaming down her shoulders. She was perched in a chair, her knees to her chin and her heels resting on the edge of the seat.

He made a small sound so she’d be alerted to his presence, and she whirled around, her eyes wide with fright.

“ ’Tis just me,” he soothed.

She relaxed, but her eyes remained alert and searching.

He walked forward, realizing the presumption of his barging into her private quarters—a place he’d assured her that she would not be bothered. He stood a few feet away, unsure of what to do now that he was here and Genevieve sat before him, a vision of loveliness silhouetted by the fire.

“Would you like to sit?” she asked softly, gesturing toward the chair opposite her. “You look as though you have much on your mind.”

He took the chair and leaned forward in it, his elbows resting on his knees.

“I wanted to see you,” he said simply.

He’d not upset her by telling her of Graeme’s reaction to his declaration. He hadn’t even yet given her the words—his feelings. In truth, he was … afraid.

It amused him that a man well versed in the ways of women and confident in his own powers of seduction should be so uncertain over a lass. But Genevieve was different. She was important. He didn’t want to mishandle the situation and ruin any chance he had of making her his.

She reached her hand across the distance and held it out to him. Such a simple gesture, yet it touched him deeply. He slid his fingers over her smooth palm and curled them around hers, enjoying the contact.

“Did you greet your brother?” she asked cautiously.

“Aye,” he said grimly. “He is settled in my chamber for the night.”

She frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “Where then will you stay?”

He hesitated, not wanting to be overbold, and yet he wanted to be honest with her.

“I would like to stay here. With you.”

Her eyes darkened, then widened in surprise. Her hand trembled inside his, and he squeezed to reassure her.

“I am not expecting anything you are not willing to give,” he said in a low voice. “Your company is enough.”

She shifted in her seat and then rose, her hand still grasped within his. Her hair fell down her back and the simple shift she wore tangled at her knees, baring her feet as she closed the distance between them.

She stood between his spread thighs and slowly lowered her mouth to his, touching softly and hesitantly. Her breath stuttered nervously over his lips as she shyly deepened the kiss.

“Ah, lass, what you do to me,” Bowen whispered.

He pulled her down to perch on his lap and wrapped both arms around her, holding her against his chest as she tucked her head beneath his chin.

He rubbed one hand up and down her arm, just wanting
to absorb the feel of her. His mind was alive with the choices before him and the repercussions for those choices. And yet the biggest consequence of all would be not to have her. Everything else he could face, but not a future without Genevieve.

She lifted her head, bumping into his chin as she pulled away. She stared at him with such dread in her eyes that it twisted his insides.

“Genevieve, what is amiss? You have to know I will never hurt you.”

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears—and shame. “I know you’ll not hurt me, Bowen. There is something I must tell you. If you knew … You would not want me thus. And yet I must tell you, because I cannot allow things to progress between us if you don’t know.”

Fear took hold and wouldn’t let go. He didn’t like the tone of her voice. He didn’t like the agony in her eyes.

He touched her face, his fingers shaking as he traced the scar on her cheek.

“What is it, lass?”

She closed her eyes and lowered her head so she wouldn’t meet his gaze. Her voice was so low he had to strain to hear.

“I willingly took Ian to my bed.”

Bowen was certain he could not have heard properly.

She opened her eyes and lifted her chin a notch, peeking at him from beneath her eyelashes.

“ ’Twas when Eveline was brought to the keep. Ian was set on h-h-having her. He intended to rape her. He was in such a state. He was triumphant, like a man drugged. Euphoric that he’d succeeded in spiriting Eveline away. He kept saying that the lass would not make a fool of him and that he’d punish her.”

Her breath caught and held until finally it hiccupped softly from her throat.

“I could not allow it.”

Her voice cracked and a low sob welled from her chest.

“ ’Twas my doing that she was here, and I was so shamed. I knew that I could never be happy knowing that my freedom was bought by the suffering of another. So … so I invited him to my bed. I s-s-seduced him.”

She broke off and turned her face away, her hands flying to cover her cheeks and the tears that fell.

Bowen stared at her in shock, and then anger assailed him. She flinched when she looked back and saw his reaction and immediately she tried to rise from his lap.

He caught her, holding her fiercely to him. He wrapped both of his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.

God, he was furious. Furious that she’d taken so much on her shoulders, that she bore so much weight. Guilt. Shame. And
none
of it did she deserve.

He was furious with himself for spending so much time being angry at her. And he was livid that Graeme had denounced the match between him and Genevieve because of all she’d supposedly done to Eveline.

There was nothing more he wanted to do than to march back to his chamber, confront Graeme, and tell him the whole sordid truth, but he’d not leave Genevieve to shoulder her grief alone.

He would show her this night how it could be with a man who loved her.

“I am not angry with you, lass,” he said, his words muffled by her hair. “I’m shamed at how much time I spent being angry with you before.”

“I was willing,” she whispered. “I played the whore he made me that night. And the next. Oh God, I hated myself. ’Tis only then I contemplated the sin of suicide. Not before, when he raped me. When he had others
hold me down and witness my humiliation. Not even when he let others h-hurt me. But then. Oh God, ’tis a sin to even admit this, but I was so broken by what I’d done that I wanted to throw myself from the tower.”

“Oh, my love,” Bowen whispered in a tortured voice.

He rocked back and forth, holding her in his arms as her tears wet his chest. He kissed her hair, her temple, then pulled her away long enough to kiss her cheeks, her nose, and her lips as he sought to comfort her.

She fused her lips to his hungrily, the heat and salt from her tears on his tongue. She clutched at his neck, holding him fiercely as she returned his kiss.

“If I should never be with another man again, I would want you to be the last,” she whispered. “Show me, Bowen. Show me what it’s like. Take away the memory of Ian.”

“You’ll not ever have to beg me for anything, my love. If you ask me for the moon, I’ll fetch it for you.”

Her eyes softened and the tears stopped as she stared back at him, her forehead pressed to his.

“Show me,” she whispered again.

He rose from the chair, bearing her with him as he hefted her into his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her gently atop the mattress.

Not wanting to ruin a single moment of what was to come, he leaned down, planting his palms on either side of her shoulders as he stared intently into her eyes.

“I’ll be gentle, lass. I’ll go slowly and woo you as sweetly as a lass ever deserved. But if I go too fast, if I do anything to frighten you, if you want me to stop for no other reason than you’re afraid, you must tell me. I’d never do anything to hurt you. I’d cut off my right arm before ever making you suffer pain.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes glowing like twin emeralds.

“I trust you, Bowen. Only you. Love me now. Make me forget all that is in the past.”

He lowered his body to hers, his mouth pressing warmly to hers. “Aye, lass. Tonight all I want you to think on is the present.”

Genevieve absorbed Bowen’s kiss hungrily. Such sweetness she’d never known. Never had a man been so tender and patient with her. Her heart was filled with such an ache that she was nearly overcome.

She knew not what her future would hold, but for tonight she wanted only this. To be in Bowen’s arms. To know, just for a moment, what it felt like to be cherished and … 
loved
.

She could pretend the past had never happened. That her face was unmarked and that sins hadn’t been committed. That Bowen was her love—her only love—and that he was the first to ever touch her.

Instinctively, she pressed the scarred cheek into the mattress so that his lips danced across the unmarred flesh of her other cheek. But he wouldn’t allow her to do so.

Gently, he turned her so that the scar was bared to him, and pressed tiny kisses over the rough line, leaving no part of the mark untouched.

“I would be content to do naught more than kiss you for the entire night,” he murmured.

“And I you,” she whispered back.

His hands delved into her hair. He ran his fingers through the long tresses, stroking and smoothing them from her face and forehead.

“Sit up, lass, so that I may attend you.”

Her body trembled as she did his bidding. He positioned her on the edge of the bed and he began to slowly divest her of the shift she wore. His gaze held hers all the while, as if he were looking for any sign that she was unwilling or frightened.

’Twas true she was nervous. She didn’t want to disappoint him. But she was not afraid. Not of him. Never of him.

She held her breath when he tugged the shift over her head and she slid her arms around her body, covering her breasts, as she was suddenly bare before him.

“Do not hide such loveliness from me,” he chided gently.

He carefully pulled her arms away from her body. She was shocked to discover that his hands trembled against her. It was as though he was every bit as nervous as she.

Her heart clutched. She found it endearing that he was so sweet and gentle, and that he seemed unsure of himself.

She loosened her hold on herself and allowed him to pull her arms away so that he could view her nudity. The immediate look of satisfaction in his eyes bolstered her flagging courage.

She was no stranger to lust. Ian had looked upon her like a man determined not only to possess her but to own her, to insert himself into every part of her mind, body, and soul.

But the way Bowen gazed upon her was different. She soaked it up, holding it close and savoring every look, every touch.

“I would undress you as well,” she said huskily, but she hesitated, because she didn’t want to seem overbold.

He took her hands and guided them to his tunic, to the lacings securing the neck.

“Nothing would bring me more pleasure than to have your hands upon me.”

Clumsily, she worked at the laces and then allowed her hands to glide down his muscled arms and to his taut abdomen, where she gathered the material and began to push upward.

He helped her tug it over his head, and her gaze settled on the stitched scar curving across his chest. As he had done with hers, she leaned forward and kissed every inch of the mark, her lips lingering over the puckered flesh.

His heart thundered against her mouth and his breath escaped his mouth in a long hiss.

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve dreamed of this?” he asked. “Your mouth on me, the sweetness of your kiss and caress. ’Tis more than I could possibly have ever wished for.”

She ducked her head shyly, her cheeks heating at his fervent words.

He reached to cup her jaw, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone as he gazed tenderly at her. “Ah, lass, your shyness is so endearing.”

She rubbed her face into his palm, aching for more of his caress. Then he slowly rose, standing before her so that she had access to his leggings.

The ridge of his arousal was readily visible, and she swallowed nervously as she began to divest him of the last of his clothing. Finally his hands covered hers and he assisted her in pushing them down his legs, and he stepped free.

He was a magnificent sight standing before her. All male, hard, muscled, the ultimate warrior. Scars crisscrossed his body, some old and fading, some, like the one on his chest, much newer.

’Twas evident that this was a man who’d fought in
many a battle. He bore the marks of the most seasoned warrior, a testament to his strength and training.

From the dark hair at the juncture of his thighs, his erection jutted upward, thick and heavy. She’d learned to fear such a sight, because she knew it meant only pain and humiliation for her.

But this was a testament to his arousal and his need of her.
Her
. A scarred lass with nothing to offer him, her virtue long ago taken against her will.