Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)

Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2) Page 30

The woman he loved or the clan he was fiercely loyal to.

It was a choice no man should ever have to make. And yet he faced it now.

God help him, but he could never forgive himself or live with himself or call himself a man if he turned away from Genevieve and left her to survive on her own. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night for wondering if she was happy, scared, alone, or hurt. And the simple truth was, he didn’t want to be without her.

Nay, the lass had endured far more hurt than a lass should ever have to endure in one lifetime. If it was left to him, she’d never suffer another moment of unhappiness.

She leaned up and kissed him, her fingertips touching the side of his face. He captured her hand, holding it against his cheek as he returned her kiss.

His body leapt to life, already hungry for her again, and he’d had her over and over throughout the night. It would never be enough. He’d never have enough of her.

He hauled her into his arms, kissing her more aggressively. And then he rolled her underneath him, spreading her thighs with his knee.

“Again?” she whispered.

“Aye, lass, again.”

Chapter 34

It was well past the hour when he usually rose that Bowen made his way from Genevieve’s chamber and went in search of Graeme. Teague and Brodie weren’t within the keep, and it was likely that they’d accompanied Graeme on his tour of the McHugh holding.

The night with Genevieve had put him at peace with his decision. It had calmed and centered him when before his emotions had been in turmoil after his confrontation with Graeme. This morning he was better able to discuss the matter with Graeme, and he hoped he could make his brother see reason.

As he entered the courtyard, Graeme rode in with Teague and Brodie and dismounted. His sharp gaze found Bowen, and his features tightened.

Bowen approached with a determined stride, stopping a few feet away from Graeme. Brodie and Teague were just dismounting and Bowen hastened to say what he wanted before they came within hearing distance.

“I would speak to you privately.”

Graeme’s lips thinned. “You’ve had much to say already.”

“There is more. ’Tis information you should have before you set your mind on the matter.”

Graeme hesitated a long moment before finally nodding, and then he turned to order his horse taken care of. After his directive, he looked back at Bowen. “Come. We’ll walk to the hillside and speak there.”

Side by side the two brothers walked around the stone wall guarding the keep and a good distance away from the keep and the cottages that surrounded it.

’Twas like old times. Bowen always at Graeme’s side. Bowen always carrying out Graeme’s wishes. He was plagued by sadness over the rift between them, but it was one he hoped to have sorted.

Graeme paused, his gaze taking in their surroundings. The wind whipped around them, sailing over the hillside.

“What’s on your mind, Bowen? I assume you spent last night with Genevieve.”

There was strong disapproval in Graeme’s voice, but Bowen didn’t react. He fixed his stare on the distant river as he gathered his thoughts.

“Genevieve set Ian on a path that she thought would bring about the most likely chance of his death—and her rescue.”

“Aye, you told me. By encouraging his plan to abduct Eveline,” he said in disgust.

“Apart from the fact that you place the blame on the wrong person, Genevieve did not carry out the plan. She was not the longtime tormentor of Eveline. ’Twas Ian, and you well know it. There is more you do not know. I’ve told you that she was abducted by Ian, her face ruined by his knife, and that he raped her repeatedly. He also invited his men to do the same.”

Graeme’s face twisted in disgust and he issued a rare blasphemy.

“What I learned only last night, and I learned it because the lass was in tears and sorely afraid to confide in me, is that she was ashamed because she invited Ian to her bed, not once but twice. Do you want to know why, Graeme?”

A look of discomfort crossed Graeme’s face, but he didn’t respond. Bowen pressed on.

“She invited the bastard to her bed because he was set on raping and abusing Eveline as retribution for sins he thought she’d committed against him. Namely, ever daring to refuse him. Just as Genevieve had once done at court. Only Genevieve was not so fortunate to escape his revenge. But she could save Eveline, and she did so by willingly taking Ian to her bed in order to spare your wife. And, because she did so, she considers herself unworthy of me, my regard. Or my love.”

He finished the last fiercely, because he was gripped by rage all over again. He was furious that he’d misjudged her so, and that she still suffered the condemnation and judgment of his kin for wrongs she hadn’t committed.

Graeme’s lips formed a tight, resigned line. There was sorrow and regret in his eyes.

“ ’Tis a mess. The whole of it is a sorry tale. ’Tis disgraceful that one man caused so much suffering and grief because he was but a spoiled child deprived of all he wanted. His father is as much to blame as he.”

Bowen nodded. “Aye, he was. The lass put an arrow right through his neck. She sought retribution for the wrongs he allowed Ian to visit on others. She was full of hatred for them both.”

“ ’Tis not an easy matter before you, Bowen. Even if I grant my blessing and consent, there is the matter of her clan. You cannot hide the lass forever. ’Tis possible you’d even see them when you attend court. They would be hurt and furious if ’twas discovered that you’d kept the news of her being alive from them. They might even wage war with our clan over it.”

Bowen took in Graeme’s words, but they were not matters he hadn’t already considered. He well remembered the look on the lass’s face the night before, when she’d spoken of her family. How haunted her eyes had been. And the longing in her voice when she’d admitted she missed them.

And now Graeme was putting before him a very solid point. Bowen wanted to marry Genevieve. He wanted to take her to the Montgomery clan so she would be happy and well protected. But Graeme was right. He couldn’t keep her hidden away forever. He didn’t want to.

Never would he want her to think he was shamed by having her as his wife. He didn’t give a damn what people thought of her disfigurement. She was beautiful and breathtaking to him. He’d take down anyone who said otherwise.

Dread filled his heart because he knew, but was loath to acknowledge, the path that lay before him. He knew what was right—what was best—and it filled him with desolation.

“I need some time to think on things,” Bowen said in a low voice.

Graeme sighed. “If it makes things any easier for you, I will relent. I take back all that was said last night. I will welcome the lass into our clan if ’tis your wish. You are my brother, and I love you above all others. I want what is best for you, and I want you to be happy. If the lass makes you happy, then I will accept her.”

Bowen nodded and clasped his brother’s arm.

“I would meet the lass when you’ve had time to think on all that plagues you,” Graeme said.

“Aye, you will. I’ll introduce you myself.”

“I’ll leave you then.”

Graeme clapped Bowen on the back and squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Bowen offered a grim smile and turned back toward the river and made his way down the hill to the banks.

The same banks where he and Genevieve had conversed more than once. Where he’d seen her glowing like a sea nymph, her body wet and glistening.

Christ’s bones, but the realization of what he had to do crippled him. He was paralyzed by the mere thought. Grief consumed him, but at the same time there was a peace slowly seeping into his consciousness.

’Twas the hardest thing he’d ever have to do, but it was the right thing.

Chapter 35

Genevieve left her chamber a few hours after Bowen departed, even though he’d told her to remain inside. Normally, she’d obey his dictate—she’d done so until now—but the tiny, cramped chamber was driving her daft and she needed but to stretch her legs a short while.

She paused outside Taliesan’s door, tempted to see if she was within. Genevieve would feel better with the lass’s company, but neither did she want to involve Taliesan if one of the McHughs came across Genevieve and hurled insults and accusations at her.

Genevieve had been very careful to avoid the majority of the McHugh clan ever since the battle, and she knew not if they had knowledge of her part in Patrick’s killing. But even if they didn’t, the fact that she’d been the reason for Corwen’s death was enough for them to vent their anger on her.

Gathering her cape and hood around her, she rapidly descended the stairs, hesitating as she peeked into the hall. ’Twas time for the noonday meal, and many were gathered round the tables in the hall. She’d make her escape through the exit to the courtyard and pray that she passed unmolested.

Ducking her head, she hurried on her way, her stride rapid. The wind pulled at her cape when she stepped outside, and she shielded her eyes from the sand and grit kicked up by the gusts.

When she rounded the corner, she came face to face with a group of women who were returning from the river with their washing.

Their expressions turned to anger the moment they realized it was she. One woman dropped the basket of damp clothing and, without saying a word, picked up a rock and hurled it at Genevieve.

It struck her on the arm, and she flinched in pain. She turned to protect herself and, to her horror, the other women followed suit.

“Whore!” one spat as she threw a rock that sailed over Genevieve’s head. Thank God.

“Murderer!”

The litany of names made Genevieve recoil. She took her hands from their protective barrier long enough to collect her skirts so she could run back toward the keep as fast as she could.

One of the rocks struck her square in the middle of her back, and she cried out in pain. Another grazed her temple, and she felt the warm trickle of blood slide slowly down her cheek.

But it was the one that hit her in the back of the head that felled her.

She went sprawling forward and nearly fell into the arms of Teague Montgomery as she rounded the corner to the courtyard.

She hit the ground with a painful thud, but she knew she couldn’t remain down. They’d be on her like a pack of wolves, and she feared they wouldn’t stop until they killed her.

“What the devil?” Teague demanded as he knelt on the ground beside her.

As he turned her over, she saw that Brodie Armstrong was at his side, and his face was drawn into a fierce scowl.

Teague wiped his thumb over the blood on her face, his eyes narrowed. “Who did this to you?” he demanded.

“They’re coming,” she gasped.

Teague glanced up, and Genevieve could hear the shriek of the women as they rounded the corner, their thirst for blood—her blood—evident in their cries.

“Brodie,” Teague barked. “See to it.”

Teague gently gathered her in his arms, shielding her all the while with his own body. Brodie roared his order for the women to halt and then he laid into them for what they’d dared.

Genevieve huddled in Teague’s arms, her head burrowed into his chest as he rapidly strode for the door to the keep. Her prayers were answered when he bypassed the hall and headed straight up the stairs to her chamber.

When he shouldered through her door, he plunked her down on her bed, and then immediately left her to wet a washcloth in the basin.

She lay there numbly, shock making her cold and insensible. She was vaguely aware of pain in her head and in other places, but all she could picture over and over was the rage and hatred on the faces of the women.

Oh God, she would never have a place here. She’d known it, but somehow having Bowen here had made her look beyond the intense dislike the McHughs had for her.

She closed her eyes as a tear squeezed from the corner of one and slid wetly down her cheek.

“Don’t cry, lass,” Teague said gruffly. “ ’Tis enough to make me panic.”

Her eyelids fluttered open and he swam in her vision. He sat on the edge of the bed next to her and, with a frown of concentration, carefully wiped the blood from her scarred cheek.

She was mortified to have him in such close proximity performing such an intimate task. But he held her chin firmly with one hand so she couldn’t turn away while he cleaned the wound with his other hand.

“ ’Tis naught but a knick,” he assured her as he pulled the cloth away. “It won’t leave a permanent mark.”

Her eyes watered again, and she had to call back the laughter that threatened to escape. “The last thing I’m concerned about is another mark on my face,” she said with a sob.

Sympathy twisted his features. Then he rose, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Shall I fetch Taliesan for you?”

She shook her head. “Nay,” she whispered. “I’d rather be alone right now.”