Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)

Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2) Page 9

Acting quickly, Brodie caught her before she went down. She came up, her face scarlet with embarrassment, but she didn’t allow it to deter her from her goal.

After murmuring a quick thank-you and a curtsy to Brodie, she continued on her way, at a more sedate but no less determined pace toward Genevieve.

“I would speak to you before I depart on the morrow,” Teague whispered so only Bowen could hear.

Bowen nodded his agreement. “After the evening meal.”

Teague stepped away and motioned for one of the Montgomery men to tend to Bowen’s horse.

Taliesan finally made her way to Genevieve and grasped both of Genevieve’s hands, her face reflecting her obvious relief.

“Thank God you’ve returned,” Taliesan said.

Then, as if realizing the absurdity of what she’d said, she flushed and clutched Genevieve’s hands harder.

“I sent Bowen after you. Please don’t be angry with me. ’Tis no place for a woman alone, out on her own with no protection. I know you are unhappy here, but ’tis my hope that this will change under the Montgomerys’ direction.”

Bowen watched Genevieve closely, hoping she wouldn’t hurt the lass’s feelings, particularly when Taliesan had been so worried for her. Her heart had been in the right place, and she’d been genuinely concerned over Genevieve’s fate.

He needn’t have worried. Genevieve managed a half smile and she returned Taliesan’s squeeze. “I thank you for your concern, Talie. ’Tis true enough that Bowen fetched me back, and for now ’tis glad I am to be here.”

But Bowen saw the uncertainty and fear in her gaze as she surveyed the McHughs who dotted the courtyard and beyond, watching from the steps to the keep. There was scorn and derision in their stares that Genevieve would have to be a simpleton to miss.

She notched her chin upward, her face becoming bland and indecipherable. It was her mask, one he had quickly identified as her way of blocking out the shame and humiliation she experienced at the hands of others.

The lass may have said she no longer had pride, but she was dead wrong. She possessed more determination than most warriors of his acquaintance. She’d so perfected the “you can’t hurt me” shield that she resembled an ice princess whose features were implacable.

After hearing of all that Ian McHugh had done to her—and he was sure he hadn’t heard the whole of it—he wouldn’t blame the lass if she had no spirit or will left. But she did, and he couldn’t fathom how.

He would keep his promise to her to see her protected by his clan or well placed in the abbey of her choosing. But first he would attempt to change her mind about her family, because a lass needed her family above all else. He couldn’t imagine Eveline without the support of her family, as well as that of the clan she’d married into.

And, he realized, he wanted Genevieve to be happy, because when he looked at her he saw a sadness and resignation so deep that it weighed heavy in his chest. ’Twas not a comfortable sensation.

Her fate could have been Eveline’s. He’d grown to like his sister by marriage very much. She’d gained his respect and affection. Were it not for her resourcefulness, she would even now be wed to Ian McHugh.

The thought struck him that if Eveline had been married to Ian some years ago, as she was poised to do, it was likely Ian would never have met Genevieve. Never have become obsessed with her. Never have abducted and abused her for an entire year.

It was a sobering realization, and he felt guilt over his relief that Eveline had escaped unscathed.

“ ’Tis past time to be eating,” Bowen announced loudly.

Genevieve regarded him hesitantly and hung back, watching as he started toward the entrance to the keep. But he stopped beside her and extended his arm, waiting patiently as she surveyed him nervously.

Finally, she slipped her hand over the top of his arm, resting it delicately, as was proper, and then he started forward, escorting her into the hall.

When he glanced back, he was satisfied to see that Brodie had waited patiently for Taliesan to make her way and shadowed her every step, watching carefully that she didn’t fall.

Taliesan was a good lass, earnest and perhaps too trusting and good-hearted. Time had made Bowen cynical, and he knew it wasn’t a falsehood that Taliesan would eventually be hardened by her experiences with others.

He sighed, because it would be a sad day indeed for a lass such as Taliesan to learn such a hard lesson. It was one that Eveline had learned firsthand from his own clan. It shamed him to admit, but his clan had been horrid to her when she’d first come to them.

Bowen seated himself at the high table and placed Genevieve on his right, while Teague took the seat on his left. Aiden and Brodie sat across from each other, and Brodie positioned Taliesan next to Genevieve. Bowen nodded approvingly at Brodie for placing a friendly ally beside Genevieve.

The serving women began to bring out food, and Bowen frowned as he sampled the fare. It was cold. Not at all appetizing, and it tasted old. A glance around the room signaled that no one else seemed to have issue, but one look at his own table told a different story.

Teague nearly choked on the first bite of his food. Aiden didn’t even bother disguising his reaction, and promptly spat a mouthful onto the floor. Brodie swallowed with much difficulty, while Taliesan shoved the food around with her spoon.

Genevieve simply stared down at her plate, her face pale, her mouth set into firm lines. She reached for her goblet and took several swallows of the water she’d requested instead of ale.

She instantly choked and sputtered, water nearly spewing from her mouth. She bent her head and coughed harshly into her skirts. Her eyes watered and she couldn’t seem to gain her breath.

“Genevieve, is aught amiss?” Bowen demanded. “Is the water bad?”

“Just went down wrong,” she said, eyes still streaming. “ ’Tis nothing to concern yourself over.”

Suspicious, Bowen snatched the goblet before she could move it and took a cautious sip. He immediately grimaced, and he’d taken only the barest amount into his mouth. It was brine, so heavily salted that no one could possibly drink it.

His blood boiled at the insult leveled against Genevieve, and his fist pounded down on the table, causing several of the nearby serving women to jump and glance nervously his way.

“Bring me fresh water,” he roared.

A woman scurried to do his bidding, and he was careful to taste the water himself before handing it to Genevieve. She looked shocked, and slowly took it from his hand, raising it to her lips.

She gulped down several swallows and then eased the goblet down onto the table.

Salt was a precious and expensive commodity and that it would be wasted on a malicious prank when the clan had so little angered Bowen as much as the slight itself.

“Is the food always thus?” Bowen asked Genevieve and Taliesan.

Genevieve’s face flushed with color and she looked down, refusing to meet Bowen’s gaze.

“ ’Tis usual fare,” Taliesan said, seemingly confused by Bowen’s question.

But Bowen was focused more on Genevieve and her reaction.

“Genevieve? Do you not have an opinion on the matter?”

“I wouldn’t know, Laird,” she said quietly. “I was never allowed to eat in the hall. ’Tis the first time I’ve done so since my arrival here. I was always brought bread or cheese in my chamber. Sometimes gruel or an oatcake. The better fare was reserved for the clan.”

He was sorry he’d asked, because now he seethed with anger. Genevieve had been treated like an animal. A captive beast shown no regard or caring. It enraged him that any woman should be treated this way.

“Better fare?” Teague snorted. “ ’Tis more likely you had the better of it.”

Disdain was clear in his voice.

“I’ll be sure to bring staples,” Teague muttered. “Perhaps ’tis a good idea for you to lead a hunt while I’m gone. This meat tastes as though it was harvested months ago.”

Bowen nodded his agreement. One of his first priorities had to be stocking the larders.

“We had better,” Taliesan blurted.

Her face went dark red and she lowered her head.

“What mean you, lass?” Brodie asked in a gentle voice.

“ ’Tis disloyal of me to say,” she murmured.

“Speak freely. There’s no one to gainsay you here,” Bowen pointed out.

Still, she was reluctant as she raised her head. “The laird took most of the fresh stores, leaving the older meat behind. He packed two horses with meat from recent hunts. There was stag, boar, and lamb. He took it all.”

Teague scowled. “As soon as I’ve apprised Graeme of the situation, we lead a hunting party for Patrick McHugh. He has much to answer to.”

Again Bowen nodded. “ ’Tis true he is a priority, but our foremost concern is the care of the people of this clan. We cannot allow them to starve or be without adequate protection while we seek revenge on a coward who has fled.”

Aiden inclined his head. “ ’Tis true enough and you’ve the right of it, Bowen. ’Tis a good leader who thinks first of the clan.”

“I only do as I know Graeme would do if he were present,” Bowen said matter-of-factly.

He turned to Genevieve, who’d yet to touch her serving of food. She seemed afraid to try it after the water debacle. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

“What would you like, lass?” he asked in a low voice. “The fare they served the rest of us is not good. I can ask for bread and cheese if ’tis what you prefer.”

“I would like that,” she said quietly. “If ’tis not too much trouble. I do not want to cause strife.”

“And I care not,” Bowen said calmly. “They will obey without question or pay the consequences. They will offer you their respect and cease the childish jests against you. I will not be crossed in this manner.”

Her eyes warmed and a hint of a smile curved her plump lips upward until he was fascinated by the twinkle in her gaze. In that moment, she was beautiful. ’Twas easy to forget the scar that marred the other side of her cheek, for the rest of her face was smooth and silky, and so beautiful that it made him ache.

Her courage and resilience gave her beauty that physical attributes—or the lack thereof—could never touch. She made such an effort to hide her deformity from him and the world that it was easy to forget it entirely, and it was always a shock when he was confronted with it.

More serving women came by the table, smiling shyly, some boldly in his direction, as they served him more ale and freshened his plate with warmer food. Not that he thought it would help.

He was surprised by the daring of a few. They coquettishly propositioned him with subtle hints—some less so than others. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to lasses making overtures. Graeme teased him about having more than his fair share of women, and Graeme and Teague both jested that Bowen would throw up the skirt of any willing woman.

It wasn’t entirely true, though he didn’t argue with their assumption. ’Twas no use when their minds were made up and their view of him had been sealed.

But he did gain a lot of female attention wherever he went, and while some men would welcome it, he found it inconvenient. Particularly when the women were married and he had to worry about irate husbands.

Genevieve’s lips grew tighter and tighter as the meal wore on. She looked pale, as though she were ready to retire before she dropped on the floor.

“Is aught amiss?” Bowen whispered, leaning forward so he could converse quietly with Genevieve.

“They are such hypocrites,” she bit out, every word laced with fury.

Taken aback by her vehemence, he lifted an eyebrow in question as he stared at her.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know precisely what they want from you,” she hissed. “And yet they would judge me and find me lacking for something that wasn’t my choice when they offer their bodies to you freely. ’Tis ridiculous.”

Her point was well taken, but Bowen also knew that nothing would change their opinions. Pointing out their blatant hypocrisy would only enrage them further and turn them even more solidly against Genevieve. If that were possible.

Genevieve gave an audible sigh of relief when the serving women began collecting the trenchers, signaling the end of the evening meal.

“I should like to go up to my chamber, Laird,” she said in a demure voice that didn’t quite fit the Genevieve he knew.

“You have been moved to the one adjoining mine,” Bowen said firmly. Let the clansmen make of that what they wanted, but they wouldn’t dare to speak out against him within his hearing or they would suffer the consequences. “You may go up as long as Taliesan accompanies you. I’ve moved her also, to the chamber on the other side of you.”

Taliesan looked surprise. “But, Laird, I’ve always resided in a cottage outside the keep. I’ve never been afforded the privilege of remaining inside.”