Highlander Most Wanted (5 page)

Claudia and two other women snickered. “Aye, you have the right of it there. But whoring is all the lass knows. If Graeme Montgomery’s brothers want to be pleasured, the lass will spread her legs quick enough. For the Armstrongs, too, I wager.”

“With a face like that, a lass has to compensate in other areas. If she’s good enough on her back, ’tis no
matter what her face looks like. A man can close his eyes.”

More laughter rang out, and Genevieve died a little more. Inch by inch, they chipped away until soon there would be nothing left to salvage.

Then a sound behind Genevieve made her turn, and the blood leeched from her face when she saw that Bowen Montgomery stood just a short distance away, flanked by his brother and the two Armstrong brothers as well.

It was equally obvious that all four men had heard Claudia’s assessment, as well as the words of the McHugh man.

Despair filled her heart and threatened to burst right out of her chest. She wanted to weep, but her tears had long since been spent, and they did no good. They never had.

Never had she wished harder for the floor to open and swallow her whole. Never had she wished so hard that she had been murdered in the raiding party that had taken the rest of her escort.

To the world, Genevieve McInnis was long dead, and now she wished with all her heart that it were true. Only then would she be able to escape the hell that was her daily existence.

Bowen’s nostrils flared and his lips twitched as he stared at Genevieve, watching as the life literally left her body, her eyes, her very soul.

Never before had he seen death in the gaze of someone who wasn’t mortally wounded. But her eyes
were
wounded. The death blow was figurative rather than literal, but it had inflicted just as much damage.

All the color fled her face. She was dangerously pale, and she swayed like a sapling in the wind.

Tears filled her eyes, and he could see her biting into the inside of her cheek in an effort to call them back. Her hand went to her face, covering the scar, almost as if she sought to hide from the view and judgment of others.

Here was a woman who despised being weak before others, and yet a line had been crossed that even she couldn’t pretend indifference to.

Teague’s jaw twitched, and he glared a hole through the McHughs who’d been so loose with their tongues.

Bowen waited, fully expecting Genevieve to defend herself, and perhaps he wanted to know what it was she would say. She didn’t strike him as a woman who had any issue with stating her mind. She’d certainly done so with him.

Instead, she walked stiffly past him, her gait slow and
painful, as if it took everything she possessed just to remain standing. It was the shuffle of a much older woman, one wizened with age, the weight of an entire lifetime bearing down on her.

Teague stared at the offending McHughs in disbelief. Brodie and Aiden both frowned, and then Brodie made a move toward Genevieve, but she glanced up, and when she saw Brodie take that step forward, she stiffened further and hurried at a faster pace out of the hall.

Bowen shook his head, still unable to believe the overt animosity directed at a woman who should inspire pity in others. Not such hatred.

The scar had been so vivid against skin so pale that, indeed, she’d looked more dead than alive.

“What the hell was all that about?” Brodie demanded, his jaw stiff with rage.

He advanced toward Taliesan, and she backed up so quickly that her lame leg buckled. Her limbs got tangled and she went down hard.

“Brodie,” Bowen said sharply. “You’re frightening the wits out of the lass.”

Brodie scowled harder, but he stopped his advance and then, to Taliesan’s obvious befuddlement, he reached down and scooped her up, setting her upright once more.

“Are you hurt?” Brodie demanded. “My apologies, mistress. ’Twas not my intention to frighten you. I am angered by what I just witnessed, and I’m puzzled as to why no one put a stop to it.”

Taliesan swallowed with visible effort, her eyes flashing nervously among the four men standing before her.

Behind Taliesan, Genevieve’s tormentors scooted discreetly in the opposite direction, but Bowen called them down.

“You’ll not leave this hall without my by-your-leave,”
he said in an icy tone. “And I’ll not give it until I have an explanation for the disparagement of the lass.”

The McHugh man’s lips curled, and anger lit up the woman’s eyes. She fairly seethed, and her hands went to her hips.

“ ’Tis not disparagement if ’tis the truth,” the woman said in a haughty tone.

“And yet she championed you,” Bowen said softly. “I wonder why she bothered.”

The woman flushed, her cheeks growing red. Her eyes lowered in shame, and the man shifted uncomfortably beside her.

“She is naught but Ian’s whore,” the man muttered.

Bowen exchanged glances with Teague, Brodie, and Aiden. Then his gaze settled on Taliesan. It was obvious he would find no answers here. None that would satisfy him at any rate.

“Where would Genevieve have gone?” Bowen asked.

His brother looked surprised. Brodie looked puzzled by Bowen’s question, and Bowen supposed he could understand their confusion. He had very abruptly turned the topic of conversation. But the truth was, he couldn’t stomach standing in front of Genevieve’s tormentors. What measure of person would seek to humiliate another in such a fashion?

They had the matter of the McHugh holding to determine, as well as the fate of the clansmen, and yet he was inquiring as to the lass’s whereabouts. He wasn’t even sure himself why he’d asked, but the look in her eyes, the absolute desolation that had washed the color right out of her face, still haunted him.

“She oft spends her time alone,” Taliesan whispered. “Usually in her chamber.”

“And where is her chamber?” Bowen asked patiently.

“ ’Tis up the stairs,” Taliesan stammered. “All the way
to the end of the hall. In the tower. Next to Ian’s chamber.”

Bowen noted the hesitation in her voice, saw the way her gaze skittered sideways when she mentioned the proximity to Ian’s chamber.

He wondered how much truth there was in the taunts of the others. The idea that this woman had been Ian’s mistress turned his stomach. How could she give herself willingly to an abuser of women? She well knew what had happened to Eveline. She’d been the one to point Graeme to the dungeon. And yet she’d willingly give her body to such a monster?

His disgust nearly choked him.

He glanced at Teague. “Have Taliesan give you a tour of the holding. Ensure that she suffers no pain or injury.”

Taliesan flushed, her eyes cloudy with embarrassment over Bowen’s matter-of-fact reference to her damaged leg.

To Bowen and Aiden he said, “ ’Tis a good idea for you to accompany Teague. We will meet in the courtyard after you’ve viewed all there is to see. Call the clansmen together so that we may address everyone in residence.”

“And where are you going?” Teague asked, his brows drawn together as he stared at his older brother.

“I have matters to discuss with Genevieve,” Bowen said.

Genevieve sat rigidly on the small mat that served as her bed. She hadn’t bothered lighting a candle or pulling the furs far enough from the window to fully bathe the room in light.

She was finally breaking, and she marveled that it hadn’t happened before. The horror of last year would have broken even the strongest person, and yet she’d
been determined that she would never crack in front of Ian.

It had infuriated him. He wanted to break her, had become obsessed with coming up with more ways to humiliate her, to hurt her, to demean and debase her.

She’d become immune to the remarks of others, and Ian had allowed them to speak to her and
of
her as they liked. They could look, but not touch. They could torment her, but she was Ian’s possession—obsessively coveted to the point of madness.

She existed in a world that had become her public and private hell. In the first months, she’d spent an inordinate amount of time questioning. Why? Why was this being done to her? She was obsessed with knowing what sin she’d committed to merit such treatment. Animals were treated with better regard than she.

Every word, every comment, every dig, she’d taken to heart. Until the day she’d become numb to it all. It worried her on a distant level that she’d become so … inhuman. Like a thing. A ghost with no feelings, no emotions. Her body remained, but her spirit had long since departed.

But how else was she to survive? Moreover, why was she so determined
to
survive? It seemed so silly that her pride wouldn’t allow Ian to fully break her. She wouldn’t give him or his clan the satisfaction of knowing they’d completely destroyed her. Nay, she’d survive this, and after she left this place? Then she could die or not die. Survive or not survive. It mattered not, because no one would know.

She sucked in several breaths as they jerkily left her body in ragged spurts. She’d very nearly lost control of her emotions there in the hall, in front of everyone.

Her humiliation had been so great that she’d been tempted to tears. To let it all unravel there and finally let go.

Thank God she hadn’t. Thank God she’d kept it together just long enough to seek solace in the tiny chamber that was her only sanctuary. If only she could bar her door against the world, but Ian had allowed her no bolt, no lock, no loops in which to place a slat of wood to secure the door shut.

She had no privacy save that afforded by others. She had no rights, no privileges, not even the basest, most inconsequential things that others took for granted.

The mat was hard and uncomfortable. Her leg was prickly and numb from the awkward position in which she sat, so she drew her knees upward until she hugged them to her chest and hunched over to rest her cheek over the tops.

She closed her eyes and wondered what bargain she could strike with Bowen Montgomery that would gain her the freedom she craved above all else.

There was only one skill she possessed that a man like Bowen Montgomery might be interested in—if one could even call it a skill. And the idea of whoring herself
willingly
sickened her to the point that her stomach rebelled and protested vehemently.

But what else was she to do? What else did she have to offer?

Nothing.

What was one more coupling compared with gaining her freedom? Surely Bowen could not be as brutal as Ian. There was kindness in his eyes. She hadn’t imagined it. Perhaps he would be gentle with her, or, at least, not as sadistic as Ian.

It was a hope that she clung to when there was nothing else to hold on to.

Fear struck her as she remembered Bowen’s brother and the two Armstrong warriors who’d accompanied Bowen on his quest. What if they demanded her services as well? What if Bowen wanted to share her with them?

A low moan escaped her. It was a pitiful sound that came out as more of a soulless wail. She clamped her mouth shut, refusing to give in to the abject despair that clawed at her.

She wouldn’t give up. Not now. Not when she’d survived so much.

She had hope, no matter how unlikely it might be. It was more than she’d had in the past. Ian was dead. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t control her, any longer. Now she just had to trust that not all men were as evil as Ian. And pray to God they didn’t prove her wrong.

Bowen stood in the doorway of Genevieve’s room, staring through the three-inch opening to where she sat on a shabby sleeping mat.

Her legs were drawn protectively to her chest, and he wondered if she had any idea how vulnerable such a position made her look.

Then she let out a low wail that was so filled with despair that it clutched at his throat, squeezing until it was difficult to draw breath.

He hesitated, his earlier determination to speak to her waning. She was suffering. Privately. Away from prying eyes and the disparagement of others. He should walk away and not let on that he’d been here at all.

But he couldn’t. It made no sense to him that he was fascinated by this particular lass. She intrigued him. She was a mystery he was determined to solve.