Highlander Most Wanted (7 page)

“We are McHughs, led by the McHugh laird. Whether it be a proud leadership or not is not what is in question. Regardless of the circumstances that led us to where we are this day, we’re all McHughs. Now we’re told that we belong to the Montgomery clan and that a Montgomery laird will assume leadership of us. What does that make us? Are we still McHughs, or are we forced to be Montgomerys?”

Several others joined in, taking up the question until a raucous furor swept through the courtyard. Again Bowen held up his hands, and this time Brodie stepped forward with a roar that silenced everyone on the spot.

“Thanks,” Bowen said dryly as the big man took a step back, a fierce, intimidating scowl on his face.

Having Brodie Armstrong here with him might not be a bad thing at all. The man could intimidate even the fiercest warrior with his booming voice and dark scowl.

“ ’Tis no worry of mine what you call yourself,” Bowen said, when calm had once more been restored. “If the McHugh name is one you’re proud to wear and is something you want to preserve for your children, then ’tis your right to do so.”

“In time, will Graeme Montgomery allow us to elect our own laird? One that bears our name?” one of the older McHugh men asked.

“I cannot speak as to what my brother will decide,” Bowen said. “Right now, I am your laird and ’tis me
you’ll obey or suffer the consequences. Later, Graeme may well decide on a McHugh to be laird of this clan, but ’tis too early to be thinking of such things.”

There were a few grumbles from the crowd, but most of the clansmen nodded and Bowen heard murmurs of “ ’Tis fair enough.”

Bowen squared his shoulders in preparation for a busy afternoon.

“I’ll be coming around to each of you to discuss your current tasks and your role in this clan. I have no desire to upend your lives any more than necessary. My task was to avenge my laird’s wife, and now that Patrick McHugh has removed himself from this keep I see no reason for his clan to suffer for his sins.”

Again there were looks of surprise and appreciation on the faces of the McHughs. It was obvious they’d expected much worse, and, in truth, had Patrick stayed behind, things likely
would
have been made much worse.

Patrick was a coward of the worst sort, but in this matter he’d spared his clan much grief by slinking away like a dog with his tail betwixt his legs.

As soon as Bowen settled matters with the McHugh clan, there was still the matter of Patrick to deal with. Graeme wouldn’t be satisfied to allow the man to simply escape. Bowen would need to consult with his brother and determine their course. Patrick would need to be hunted and held accountable for his actions. And for the theft of his clan’s riches.

It surprised him that there wasn’t more animosity from the McHugh clan over their laird’s defection. In their place, Bowen would have led the hunt to bring Patrick back to face punishment from his own clansmen.

“Be excused to go about your duties,” Bowen said, waving his hand in dismissal. “I’ll be around to meet
individually with you as soon as matters are settled with my brother and our men.”

Bowen, Teague, Brodie, and Aiden stood back as the McHugh people slowly filtered from the courtyard, their expressions dubious as they considered their fate.

“ ’Tis more than we bargained for,” Teague said in a low voice.

Bowen nodded. “Aye. But we cannot leave them to fend for themselves. It would invite attack from another clan seeking to add to their land and power. As soon as word gets out that Patrick has deserted his clan, the vultures will start circling. ’Tis important that we establish a strong presence here.”

“I will be glad to remain behind with you and help in this matter,” Brodie said, anticipation gleaming in his eyes.

The oldest Armstrong son seemed to savor the challenge, and if Bowen was honest he, too, was keen to exert his authority and leadership here, away from his own keep, where he served his brother.

Not that he wasn’t being dutiful to his brother by serving him in this capacity. Graeme was his laird, and Bowen owed both Graeme and Eveline his absolute loyalty. But this was an opportunity that he looked forward to. No situation here was beyond his abilities or those of his men.

“I’ll be glad to have your aid,” Bowen said with genuine warmth.

It was a new dawn in the history of both the Montgomery and the Armstrong clans. One made possible by the marriage of Graeme and Eveline, a marriage once viewed with hostility and resentment on both sides.

Never before had the clans worked together or even tolerated each other’s presence. And yet now they were allying in the common goal of eliminating the threat to both their clans.

Bowen listened patiently, Brodie at his side, as two elder McHugh men explained their duties and the holes that had been left by those who’d chosen to leave either with Patrick or after his departure to seek their own way.

It was clear in their voices the disdain felt for both their former laird and for the clansmen who’d departed willingly.

Bowen had toured the keep, speaking with men and women alike as he analyzed their needs as well as what duties needed to be performed.

Not many women had left. A few had gone with their husbands and children, perhaps to seek refuge with kin in other clans. But most had remained, and there would be no issue of having adequate cleaning, clothes washing, and cooking for the clan.

There were also enough younger men who hadn’t yet achieved warrior status within the clan to do the hunting and tend to the remaining livestock. Horses would be needed, because there weren’t enough mounts for working or traveling.

“ ’Tis obvious you have vast knowledge of the workings of the keep,” Bowen said to the two older men.

Peter McHugh puffed out his chest, his pride stoked by the compliment. Hiram nodded. “Aye, we do, Laird.”

It still took Bowen aback to be addressed as Laird. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, though if he were truthful, it gave him great satisfaction.

“I need good men who know the workings of the keep. I need men who will be loyal to me while working for the good of the clan.”

Peter nodded solemnly. “You’ll find no more loyal men. Our concern is for the clan, not one man. Patrick McHugh turned his back on the clan. For that, he does not deserve our loyalty or our regard.”

Bowen exchanged looks with Brodie, who nodded his agreement to Bowen’s suggestion.

“Then the two of you will be in charge of your clan and you’ll act as my go-between with your kin. ’Tis important that they have a face they are familiar with and that they trust. They’ll not accept or embrace me straightaway. You’ll take my orders to your clan and you’ll ensure that those orders are carried out, as well as bear any concerns or problems that arise directly to me.”

Both men nodded.

“It will be our honor and pleasure, Laird,” Hiram said gravely.

“Laird! Laird!”

Bowen and Brodie swiveled with a frown as the feminine cry of distress reached them.

Taliesan was doing her best to hurry toward them, but she was hampered by her lame leg and nearly stumbled.

Bowen and Brodie both rushed forward, not wanting her to injure herself. It was obvious that she was highly agitated.

Brodie caught her by the arm just in time to prevent her from sprawling forward.

“You need to have a care,” Brodie said, a frown darkening his features.

Ignoring Brodie’s reprimand, Taliesan turned her pleading stare on Bowen.

“You must stop her, Laird. Please, she’s distraught. She has nowhere to go. I dare not imagine what fate will befall her out on her own.”

She wrung her hands, tears clouding her blue eyes.

Bowen held up his hand to stifle the endless babble of words.

“What do you speak of, Taliesan?” he asked. “Who are you talking about, and what has happened?”

“Genevieve,” Taliesan burst out.

Bowen’s lips formed a tight line, and then he sighed. “What has she done?”

“She’s left the keep. On foot. She has nothing. Nowhere to go. No one to care for her.”

Bowen blew out his breath in irritation. “I have no time for feminine tricks and manipulation.”

Taliesan’s eyes burned with sudden anger. “Think you that she’s doing this for attention? To tug at your heartstrings or to gain a boon? Sir, you don’t know Genevieve. You can’t hope to know all that she has suffered. She told no one of her plan. But I saw her as she was departing. There was no life in her eyes. No hope. Nothing but death and despair, and ’tis a sight I hope never to see again. There is nothing for her here and she well knows it, yet there is nothing for her outside this keep, either.”

“I think ’tis time we spoke frankly,” Bowen said in a grim voice. “I would know all there is to know of Genevieve’s situation before I take the time away from my duties to chase after a woman fool enough to strike out on foot on her own.”

Taliesan sent Bowen and Brodie an unhappy look, indecision clearly reflected in her eyes.

“Come and sit before you fall,” Brodie said, gently leading her toward the benches outside the bathhouse.

Bowen waited patiently as Brodie seated Taliesan, and then he stood before the younger lass and fixed her with a determined stare.

“You do not betray Genevieve by telling me her situation. I can’t help her if I don’t know the whole of it. My conversation with her has not painted her in a positive light. I would know if I’ve formed the wrong impression of her.”

Anger tightened Taliesan’s features.

“I can assure you that whatever impression you may have formed of Genevieve is indeed very wrong.”

“Then correct my assumption,” Bowen said patiently.

Taliesan sucked in a deep breath, grief once more swamping her eyes.

“I know of no other woman who has suffered as Genevieve has suffered,” she said quietly. “Her clan name is McInnis and she hails from the Lowlands, close to the English border.”

Brodie’s eyes widened and he arched one eyebrow in Bowen’s direction.

Bowen shook his head. “Wait a moment. She is a McInnis?”

Taliesan nodded. “Aye, she is—or rather, she was.”

“The McInnis clan has strong ties to the Crown,” Brodie murmured. “The laird is a longtime friend, and the McInnis clan wields much influence and power. The king is oft in residence as a guest of the McInnis laird.”

“She is the laird’s daughter,” Taliesan softly interjected.

“That makes no sense!” Bowen exclaimed. “The daughter of the McInnis laird no more than Ian McHugh’s whore?”

Taliesan flinched at the insult and her eyes blazed with fury.

“ ’Twas not of her doing!”

Taliesan yelled the words, startling Bowen with her vehemence.

“Tell us all, Taliesan,” Brodie urged.

“I don’t know all,” she said in frustration. “Genevieve has never confided in me. ’Tis not something she would do, for she is intensely private and she has so little pride left that she maintains what she can.”

“What
do
you know?” Bowen asked. “Was she truly Ian’s whore?”

Taliesan flinched again, the color high in her cheeks. Brodie shot him a reprimanding look for offending the lass yet another time, but Bowen was only growing more impatient.

“Ian brought her here. She did not come willingly. This I know. I saw firsthand the manner in which he treated her. It was worse for her because she resisted—or she tried to.”

“Jesu,” Bowen muttered. “And yet naught surprises me when it comes to Ian.”

“He was like a petulant child denied his favorite toy,” Taliesan said. “He brought Genevieve here and vowed that no man would ever look upon her with desire again. He … he cut her face,” Taliesan choked out. “Apurpose. He scarred her so she would not gain the attention of other men. He vowed that no one save him would ever possess her.”

“He did that to her face?” Bowen asked hoarsely.

Taliesan nodded. “Aye, but that wasn’t the worst of it.”

“Not the worst?” Brodie asked incredulously.

“Nay,” Taliesan whispered. “He made her his whore. His unwilling whore. He was obsessed with her and jealously possessive. No one could touch her or so much as look her way or she was punished severely. He
broke
her, Laird. Her family thinks her dead, and in a way she
is, for she is no longer the Genevieve McInnis she once was.”

Disgust swirled like sour ale in Bowen’s belly. The conversation in her chamber replayed over and over in his mind, and he was gutted by his own disdain for the lass. He’d judged her and found her lacking. He’d acted as though she were beneath him, and he’d ignored her plea for help.

“Sweet mother of God,” he muttered.

“You have no idea the depths of his depravity,” Taliesan finished in a whisper.

Bowen was speechless as he took in all she had to say. Brodie wore a dark scowl and his eyes gleamed with a murderous light.

“His death was too quick,” Brodie snarled. “Graeme had far too much mercy. He should have been made to suffer for all he has inflicted on innocent women.”

“How long?” Bowen asked hoarsely. “How long has Genevieve been his captive?”