Highlander Most Wanted (8 page)

“An entire year, Laird,” Taliesan said quietly. “If you think Genevieve is being dramatic or that she seeks to manipulate you or others by taking out on foot, you’re
wrong
. She has no expectation that anyone will come after her or care enough to worry over her fate. Quite simply, she doesn’t care what happens to her. She only wants to be free and to enjoy a moment’s peace. She would feel deeply betrayed by all that I’ve confided in you. It brings me no pride that I have done so. But I would not have her mistreated any longer.”

Bowen reached to take Taliesan’s hand in his. “You did right, lass. And you needn’t worry that Genevieve will be mistreated any longer.”

Taliesan’s gaze was hopeful as she stared back at Bowen. “Then you’ll go after her?”

Bowen’s lips formed a grim line of determination as he rose. “I’ll not return without her.”

Genevieve stared at the rolling hillside dotted with rock outcroppings that spanned as far as the eye could see. A feeling of hopelessness weakened her with its intensity, and she tried valiantly to shake it off.

It mattered naught where she was. Walking out of the keep had been freeing in a manner she hadn’t expected. As soon as she’d ventured beyond the walls, the oppressive weight bearing down on her had lifted.

No matter what happened to her from now on, she was no longer a helpless victim. Ian McHugh couldn’t use or debase her ever again. No more would the McHugh clan mock and revile her.

She pulled the cape closer around her face, though there was no one to see her. There wasn’t a single person or animal that she could see in any direction.

The keep had long since faded behind a hillside as she put more distance between her and her prison of a year.

Someone would help her. Someone would direct her to an abbey. She had to have faith, because at this point she simply couldn’t fathom any more cruelty in the world around her.

There were good people in this world. She knew it firsthand. Her family were the best kind of people. They would die if they knew of her circumstances, and that was why
she’d
die before ever divulging her fate. It was
kinder to let them think she’d been killed than to have them know the truth.

Her kin were loyal to their bones and fiercely protective of everyone they called friend or clansmen. Though court was rife with deception and greed, Genevieve had never experienced these things herself. Everyone had been kind and courteous to her. Everyone save Ian McHugh.

She froze as a distant sound reached her ears. Faint vibrations tingled her feet. A horse’s hooves. Someone was close, and riding closer still.

She fled toward a small grove of trees nestled in the valley of two hills. A stream flowed through the middle, and congregated close to the banks were trees and other greenery. She all but dived into the bushes, praying that she hadn’t been spotted.

The sound grew closer and then it stopped. She held her breath and peeked through the branches to see the body of a horse on the path she’d been walking. She couldn’t see who was astride the horse because the foliage obscured her view.

Then the horse started forward again, and Genevieve sighed in relief. Still, she waited several long moments before extricating herself from the bushes and making her way back to the path.

The climb over the next hillside took more of a toll than the others. It was steeper and the rise was higher. When she topped the hillside and began her descent, she halted so suddenly that she nearly tripped and went tumbling down the incline.

Astride his horse just a short distance away was Bowen Montgomery. He was facing in her direction, calmly surveying her, almost as if he’d been waiting for her.

She had no idea what to do. No idea why he was here. Her first instinct was to flee, but she’d done nothing
wrong. Whatever sins Ian committed had nothing to do with her, and she’d be damned if she was going to pay for them.

Pulling calm around her like a warrior’s armor, she walked stiffly on, her head down. She was past Bowen when she heard him sigh. Then the soft thud of his feet hitting the ground as he dismounted his horse.

It took everything she had not to panic and run.

“Damn it, Genevieve.”

Bowen’s soft curse reached her ears mere seconds before his hand curled around her arm and he pulled her to a halt, turning her so she faced him.

It was instinctive to ward him off with her hands, to put a protective barrier between herself and the much bigger warrior.

But the action sparked anger in his eyes. His jaw tightened with fury, and fear scuttled up her spine.

“Don’t look at me that way,” he growled. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never hurt you. I’m angry because you thought you had to defend yourself from
me
. No one is going to hurt you, Genevieve. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”

She stared at him in bewilderment, wondering where this outburst had come from. For that matter, what was he doing here and why had he stopped her?

She finally found her voice—and her courage.

“What are you doing here?” she queried. “Why have you come after me?”

He cursed again, making her flinch with the vehemence of his blasphemies.

“Think you I’m going to let you walk out of that keep alone, unprotected, with no clothing, coin, or food? How do you expect that you would last even a day? A lone female with no protector? You’d be easy prey for any man who happened along, and no one would ever be the wiser.”

The blood drained from her face, because that was precisely what had happened with Ian. He’d slaughtered her escort and whisked her away to a life of captivity and depravity. No one had been the wiser. To this day, no one knew.

Genevieve McInnis was dead.

“I will not stay there any longer,” she said in as firm a voice as she could muster. But it lacked conviction. She was afraid, and it was obvious to Bowen that she was afraid. Any fool could hear the quiver in her voice and see that her hands shook. “I already humiliated myself when I swore never to allow myself that kind of humiliation again. There’s naught left but for me to go before I sacrifice what little dignity I have left.”

Bowen put his hand on her arm. She tried to shrug away, but he persisted, drawing her closer to him with firm but gentle hands. It was obvious he made a concerted effort not to hurt her in any way. His palms smoothed up her arms to rest at her shoulders and he gave each a reassuring squeeze.

“I won’t allow you to go.”

She couldn’t help the dismay that overcame her. Disappointment—and gut-wrenching fear—choked her, robbing her of breath. How cruel was the promise of freedom only to have it yanked away.

He sighed, and his features softened. There was a hint of sorrow—and regret—in his eyes, and that puzzled her.

“You’ll not remain as a prisoner, Genevieve. Never that. You’ll be well cared for and will be treated as an honored guest. No one will harm you. You answer to no one save me. I’ll send word to your family, but until they arrive you’ll be given the utmost regard. I’ll have the head of anyone who dares cross me on this matter.”

“Nay!” she shouted hoarsely, ripping her arms from his grasp. “Nay, do not!”

His brows furrowed and he stared at her in clear confusion. “I do not understand.”

Her breath sputtered erratically from frozen lips. She was so panicked that she could barely force the words from her throat.

“You’ll not send word to my family.”

There was a note of hysteria in her voice that even she was cognizant of.

“Why the hell not?” Bowen demanded. “They must be sick with worry.”

Genevieve shook her head, tears filling her eyes. A sob welled in her throat, and she couldn’t call back the tears as they slid down her cheeks. It made her furious that this man could bring her to tears when Ian McHugh had never done so. She’d never allowed it. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“They believe me dead. That I perished with the rest of my escort a year ago.”

Bowen stared agape at her. “Then surely you would want to send word to them at once so they don’t linger under such a misapprehension any longer.”

She shook her head even more vehemently, and felt the frayed threads holding her together start to break. Perhaps she was finally going mad.

“ ’Tis better that they think me dead. If they knew all …”

She broke off, shaking her head and turning away, no longer able to look Bowen in the eye.

She dare not admit everything to him. She didn’t think she could bear to see the pity and disgust in his eyes. Nor could she bear to hear the cold recitation of the facts from her own lips.

“ ’Tis better this way,” she said again. “I would never have them know the whole of it. My shame is too great for them to bear. I would forever be a burden to them. There would be naught for me to do save return home
and live in seclusion under my father’s care for the rest of my days, and for my family to bear my shame for all time.”

Bowen’s lips tightened. She knew that he likely thought her daft. Or extremely selfish. ’Twas not her pride preventing her from sending word to her family. She had none left. The knowledge of what had happened to Genevieve would destroy her mother and the rest of her kin. She could never live with herself for causing them so much pain. She would die before bringing dishonor to her father’s name.

“I have already brought dishonor to my clan,” she said in a quiet, pained voice. “I despise myself for what I approached you with earlier. Only a person without hope or honor would do such a thing, and ’tis clear I have neither. How could my clan ever welcome me back with open arms when I’ve done so much to bring shame to the people who loved me most?”

Bowen stepped forward, his hand pushing away the hood of her cloak to cup her scarred cheek. The action startled her so much that she stood frozen, staring at him wide-eyed.

He caressed the mangled flesh, her distress increasing with every second his fingers touched her with such gentleness.

“I propose that we both forget about what occurred in your chamber earlier. I acted reprehensibly.”

She shook her head, trying to free her cheek from his hand, but he palmed her jaw, holding his hand firmly in position.

“You reacted in disgust, as you should have. Who could blame you? What does a woman like me have to offer a man such as you? You’re beautiful,” she blurted out. “You could have any lass you crooked your finger at.”

Aye, ’twas true. The man was simply divine to look at.
Not a single imperfection marred his body—or at least, what she could see of it. He was so beautiful to look at that she was sure many a lass had sighed upon setting eyes on him.

“I was once fair to look upon,” she whispered. “And now I am ruined.” She touched her face just above where his fingers rested and then offered a hoarse laugh that was abrasive in the still air. “Ruined in more ways than one. No part of me has survived Ian McHugh’s possession. I’ll never be whole again.”

There was blackness in Bowen’s expression that should have frightened her. Perhaps if she had anything left to lose, she would have been more afraid. As it was, she looked at him bleakly, resignation whispering through her veins.

“ ’Tis not your dishonor you wear,” he said darkly. “ ’Tis no shame for bearing what is done to you and working to preserve your dignity.”

She laughed again, the sound harsh and abrasive. “Dignity? I have none. None was allowed me. I proved that none remains when I offered to whore myself to you.”

She closed her eyes against a fresh surge of tears, humiliation chanting an awful litany in her head.

“You can’t imagine how it feels to have no other choice or to believe that all you’re worth is what you can offer a man through your body. I used to think I’d reached my absolute lowest point, and that I couldn’t possibly debase myself any more than I already had. I was wrong. ’Tis when I willingly offered my … s-s-services … to you that I realized I’d sunk as low as was possible. And yet I was so desperate for freedom that I was willing to debase myself, to face you with no shame or pride. I hate myself for that.”

She choked out the words, her anger and grief swelling with every passing second. She wanted to rage
against the world. Wanted to scream at the helplessness of her situation and the unfairness of it all.

Bowen’s eyes glittered. He was furious. She couldn’t blame him.

“I wish with all my heart and soul that my brother hadn’t killed Ian McHugh,” Bowen growled.

Her eyes widened and her lips quivered. “Why would you want him to live?”

He pulled her close, until she was pressed to his body, his heat wrapping around her like the warmest fur in winter. He caressed her scarred cheek with a touch so tender that it was a physical ache in her soul.

His head lowered until his mouth was but mere inches from hers. His eyes were fierce, yet when he spoke his voice was quiet and resolute.

“So that I could kill him now for all he has done to you.”

Another tear crept over her eyelid and slipped unchecked down her cheek. He thumbed it gently away.

“Do not cry, Genevieve. ’Tis more than I can bear to see your tears.”