Highlander Most Wanted: The Montgomerys and Armstrongs Page 15

  “ ’Twas a brave thing you did,” Bowen continued. “One might wonder why you bothered. You put yourself at great risk by not seeking refuge, as you were told to do.”

  The shock of the cold was beginning to wear off. He looked to see that the bar of soap he’d brought with him was still lying on the bank with his clothing.

  He didn’t want to shock the lass by striding out of the water to fetch it.

  “Will you toss me the soap?” he asked.

  Genevieve glanced down and frowned, then looked back up at him. Careful to keep the blanket securely wrapped around her, she hoisted herself off the rock and then bent to fetch the soap. She underhanded it to him, and he caught it in the air.

  As he began to cleanse himself, he found her gaze again.

  “So why did you do it?”

  Her shoulders heaved as she expelled a sigh. “Because I hated Patrick McHugh as much as I hated his spawn of a son. ’Twas my right to kill him. I was denied the pleasure of killing Ian, but ’tis glad I am all the same that he met his end.”

  Bowen paused to rinse the soap from his arms. She was calm and unemotional about death and killing, something most lasses never had occasion to discuss, much less take part in.

  “And why did you choose to intervene in my battle?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Is that a reprimand?”

  He laughed at the instant fire in her eyes. The lass still had spirit.

  “Nay. I can hardly reprimand you when I stand here whole and hearty instead of lying in a shallow, cold grave, now, can I?”

  “It was the right thing to do,” she muttered. “ ’Twas a cowardly act to attack from behind.”

  “You have my thanks, and that of my clan.”

  She swallowed and her lips trembled as she spoke her next words. “We cannot pretend that our last conversation here in this same place did not happen.”

  Bowen sighed. “Nay, we can’t.”

  Her chin lifted, and again he saw that unflagging pride. And determination not to be beaten down.

  “Tell me my fate, Laird. ’Tis not comforting not to know.”

  Bowen sank into the water and tilted his head back to wet his hair. For a moment, he lost himself in the task of bathing, because the simple truth was he hadn’t decided the matter of her fate. He had no idea what to say to her. Not yet.

  As he righted himself, he saw Genevieve turn and abruptly stand up. She began walking toward the keep, her pace determined, and he called out for her to stop.

  She froze, still facing away, and then slowly turned, her eyes ablaze. “I’ll not play this game,” she said fiercely. “I’ll not be taunted. I’ll not have my fate dangled over my head like an axe about to drop. If you had any decency, you would not make me suffer so.”

  There was so much hurt in her voice that it made him flinch. And her eyes. Pools of green so sorrowful he could drown in them. Ah, but he was making a muck of this.

  “Don’t go, lass. ’Tis the truth I haven’t spoken of your fate because I haven’t decided it.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked incredulously.

  “Sit down, please. ’Tis likely the only place we can have a private moment to converse.”

  “ ’Tis hardly an appropriate place,” she said. “I should not be here watching as you bathe. If others knew of it, I would be painted a whore all over again. Only this time I would be the Montgomery laird’s whore.”

  She was right, of course, and yet he didn’t want her to walk away. He had a pressing need to get to the heart of the matter, for his own peace of mind. He didn’t want to condemn her. He wanted … He wasn’t sure what he wanted. He wanted her not to be guilty of what she was accused, but she hadn’t denied what he’d confronted her with.

  “Turn away so that I may fully rinse and dress. Then we’ll discuss the matter.”

  For a moment he thought she might refuse him, but then she turned away and stood rigidly, waiting for him to finish.

  He quickly rinsed the last of the soap from his body and then walked from the water. God’s teeth but it was cold. Colder than normal for an early summer morning. The sun was only just creeping its way over the horizon, a distant ball of orange painting the sky in shades of gold and amber.

  He grabbed the drying blanket and quickly toweled off before dragging his leggings and tunic back on. At least his body was behaving normally now. His cock had shriveled to nothing as soon as he’d touched the water.

  “You can turn around now,” he said.

  She took a cautious peek over her shoulder and, seeing him fully clothed, turned and went back to her rock. He sat on the one across from her and leveled an intent stare in her direction.

  “Tell me why,” he said simply.

  Her eyes lowered, and she fidgeted with the ends of the blanket held firmly in her grip. “Does it matter why? I did a terrible thing. You and your clan rightfully deserve justice for my sins.”

  “Aye, it matters,” he said in a low voice. “It matters to me, Genevieve. I would know what drove you to such.”

  She lifted her gaze and stared directly into his eyes, her voice earnest and passionate, almost as if she was pleading with him to understand.

  “Because you were my only hope.”

  The faint whisper sounded loud in the calm of the morning. He didn’t know what to say. How to respond. What could she mean? He shook his head in confusion.

  “I do not understand.”

  Tears filled her eyes, and she clutched the blanket even tighter around her, as if it were all that protected her from grave harm.

  “I knew if Ian were to take Eveline, his deed would not go unpunished. The Montgomerys and Armstrongs are two very powerful clans. They would never stand for such a wrong being done to one of their own, and Eveline was both Montgomery and Armstrong.”

  Bowen continued to stare at her as understanding slowly dawned. He let out his breath in a long exhale, as he finally realized her scheme.

  “You wanted us to come.”

  “Aye,” she whispered. “I did not know if my fate would be any better at your hands, but it could not be worse than what I endured with Ian. It was a chance I had to take.”

  Bowen’s head was swimming with all that she’d related. “I do not know whether to applaud your genius or condemn a plan that was so fraught with danger to an innocent woman.”

  Genevieve bit into her lip as if to stifle something she was about to say. Then she merely looked away, refusing to meet his gaze any longer.

  “What is to be done with me?” she finally asked, her gaze still averted.

  Her shoulders slumped in a posture that screamed defeat. Resignation. It pained him to see her so lifeless when he knew deep inside that there existed a passionate, vibrant woman.

  He took in a deep breath, knowing his decision would be met with arguments from both his kin and the Armstrongs if Genevieve’s part in Eveline’s abduction was ever brought to light.

  “I made you a promise, lass. One I intend to keep. I told you that I would either see you well placed within my own clan or I would see you entered into an abbey, as was your wish. ’Tis more likely that, given what you did, the abbey would be a better choice. I know not if my kin would ever forgive the wrong you did to Eveline.”

  A tear trailed down her perfect, unmarred cheek. The scarred side of her face was turned away, as was her habit, and she presented such an image of loveliness and tragedy that his breath caught in his throat.

  He had the fiercest urge to pull her into his arms and offer her comfort. He doubted the lass had experienced anything resembling comfort in all the time she’d been in captivity.

  “I do not deserve for you to keep your promise, Laird. It was exacted when you knew not what I’d done. ’Tis perfectly understandable if you wish to go back on your word. I would not blame you.”

  “But I would blame myself,” Bowen said. “I am not without sympathy for your plight. I cannot even say that your plan was not without merit. I
f ’twas any other woman than my brother’s wife that we spoke of, I would not feel the anger that overcame me when I discovered what you’d done. ’Tis hard for me to be objective when I know Eveline and the gentleness of her spirit. And yet I cannot discount the desperation and necessity of your actions. I cannot find fault with a lass for only wanting to be free.”

  A choked sob ruptured from her throat. She put a balled fist to her mouth in an attempt to stifle the sound of her distress. When she spoke, her voice cracked from the strain of holding back her sobs, and yet her words were earnest and heartfelt.

  “I would not wish harm on another, even to save myself. You have to believe that.”

  Bowen studied her a long moment, his heart aching with the need to touch her. “Aye, lass,” he said. “I believe I do at that.”

  “I should go now,” she said, rising with haste, the ends of the blanket flapping in the breeze. “The others will have risen, and I would not have them find me in a state of undress in your presence.”

  “Nay,” he murmured. “You have suffered the opinions of others too much already.”

  He watched as she made her way back to the keep. She made a forlorn picture, barefoot, her hair wet from her bath, and the drying blanket wrapped around her. When she topped the rise, she paused for a brief moment and looked back at him, their gazes connecting across the distance. And then she turned toward the keep and slowly disappeared over the ridge.

  CHAPTER 23

  “Where on God’s earth have you been?”

  Such was Bowen’s greeting when he entered the hall to find Brodie and Teague about to break their fast.

  Bowen sat next to Teague and across from Brodie.

  “A good morning to you, too,” Bowen said dryly.

  Teague frowned. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, and what were you doing outside the keep? You had no one with you?”

  Bowen chuckled. “When I need a keeper, I’ll most assuredly come to you, little brother.”

  “Did you lose your shoes wherever it was you went?” Brodie asked mildly.

  Bowen glanced down at his feet with a grimace. “I had no need of them for bathing.”

  “Why are you so bloody cheerful this morning anyway?” Teague asked suspiciously. “For a man who was wounded in battle, you don’t seem too aggrieved over the matter.”

  Bowen rolled his eyes. “Would you prefer I stomp around and bellow, ‘Off with their heads’?”

  “Depends on whose heads you’re demanding to be cut off,” Brodie offered.

  “I can think of one,” Bowen said, looking pointedly at Teague.

  “I’ll tell you, if the Montgomerys don’t arrive soon with different fare to eat, my stomach may eat itself from the inside out,” Brodie grumbled. “ ’Tis impossible to coordinate a hunt when we’re trapped at the keep for fear of attack.”

  Teague stared down at this morning’s offering and poked at it with his knife. “I’m not even sure what this is supposed to be. ’Tis not even warm, and the taste isn’t something I can identify.”

  Brodie leaned down and sniffed, his expression promptly turning sour. “ ’Tis a wonder the McHughs have survived this long if this is what they eat on a daily basis.”

  “Perhaps we should inspect the larder,” Bowen said. “Or perhaps ’tis better we never discover what’s within.”

  Teague nodded his agreement and then pushed his food aside. “I have not the stomach for this today. I was dreaming of savory food back at Montgomery Keep when we were overtaken by the soldiers bearing us news that you were under attack.”

  Brodie’s eyes gleamed with sudden light. “What say you we make a round of the borders. It could double as a hunt and, God willing, we’ll bring back something that’s actually fit for the table.”

  Teague brightened, his stomach already in agreement if the rumble was any indication.

  “A pox on both of you,” Bowen said sourly.

  Teague grinned. “And nay, you aren’t allowed to come with us. We’ll be back before the evening meal. I’ll set Geoffrey and Deaglan on you to ensure you don’t overtax yourself while we’re away patrolling our borders.”

  “Patrolling my arse,” Bowen grumbled.

  Still, as restless as he felt, and as much as he resented being confined to the keep and unable to participate in the patrol or the hunt, he was eager for an opportunity to spend more time with Genevieve without having to offer explanations to Teague or Brodie.

  Teague rose and clapped a hand on Bowen’s shoulder. “We’re off. Pray that we are successful. ’Tis no telling how long we’ll have to wait for a decent meal otherwise.”

  Bowen watched as the two men departed the hall. Teague and Brodie seemed to have developed a liking for each other that went beyond mere tolerance. It was an odd thought, the idea of a Montgomery ever willingly embracing friendship with an Armstrong, but it would seem that Teague and Brodie had done just that.

  The cold food in front of him held no appeal, and yet he was famished, not having eaten in two days’ time. With a grimace, he forced himself to choke down a healthy portion of the food and he chased it with copious amounts of water.

  When he was done, he rose, his stomach feeling as though it were filled with rocks. It may have been a better idea to have suffered hunger rather than actually partaking of what was masquerading as food.

  He headed up to his chamber, though he had no desire to remain there. His chest did bother him, aye, but he had no intention of spending another day abed.

  Once inside his chamber, he put on his boots and then combed out his long hair. He secured it at his nape with a leather tie, though it was still damp from washing.

  His fingers positively itched for a sword. Some kind of activity to remove the clumsiness from his blood. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He was slower to process and to react. A good battle would serve to wake him up.

  After examining his stitching to ensure there were no tears or bleeding, he adjusted his tunic and then left his chamber once more. Surely someone would accommodate his need for exercise this morn. He was in the mood to beat someone into a pulp.

  Genevieve had done an excellent job of avoiding situations where the McHugh clansmen would be present. It gave her no pride to admit that most of her time had been spent behind the closed door of her chamber.

  Only by going to the stream in the wee hours of dawn had she been afforded the privacy in which to bathe, although the last two times she’d gone, Bowen Montgomery had made an appearance.

  ’Twas obvious it was a practice she was going to have to give up.

  She paced the interior of her chamber, pausing ever so often to stare out her window to the distance. She’d seen Teague Montgomery and Brodie Armstrong depart with a few men accompanying them many hours past. It was well into the afternoon now, and she’d not eaten since Taliesan had brought cheese and bread to her chamber that morn.

  Anxiously she awaited the signs that the rest of the keep had taken their afternoon respite. After the midday meal and the tasks of the day were completed, the clan was allowed a time to rest and do as they wished.

  So far Bowen hadn’t changed the practice, though she’d never seen him, his brother, or his men take part in a period of rest. They seemed always to be so focused.

  Finally, the courtyard cleared and clansmen returned to the keep as well as to their cottages. Genevieve watched from her window as they walked toward their respective quarters.

  This was a time when she could venture outside to breathe the fresh air. Being sequestered in her chamber was enough to drive her daft. Even a short walk to the river and back would be most welcome. But the tedium of being isolated had not been enough to make her risk confrontation with the McHughs—any of them. Especially as it was probably widespread by now that she’d been the one to kill Patrick.

  Collecting her hooded cape and then gathering the hood tightly at her chin so her face was hidden from view, she left her chamber and hurried down the stairs.

  Not
wanting to risk going through the hall, she slipped through the door to the courtyard. She stayed close to the keep as she rounded the corner to head beyond the walls to the river.

  Perhaps she’d merely sit on the hill overlooking the grassy section where sheep had once grazed. There was only one sheep and her lamb, left only because Patrick had likely been unable to catch them. But the grassy knoll was pleasing to the eye, and it brought her a measure of peace to soak in the beauty around her.

  She sat with her back pressed to a huge rock outcropping so it would shield her from the view of anyone looking from the keep. Pulling her legs to her chest, she rested her chin on the tops of her knees and let out a deep sigh.

  It was such a beautiful afternoon. The sun was still high, and only just leaning toward the horizon in its descent. The skies were painted a vivid blue, with not so much as a whisper of clouds to mar the perfect canvas.

  She inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet-scented air. The sun’s rays bathed her in warmth, caressing her skin and instilling a comfortable lethargy. A nap would be next to heaven. Just her stretched out under the Highland sky, with the sun dancing across her flesh while the wind whispered a soft melody in her ears.

  Her eyes were closing, her muscles loosening as tension seeped from her body. She had nearly drifted off, her thoughts and dreams of forgotten places, when a sound rudely jerked her back to awareness.

  Her eyes flew open and her head whipped up to see that there was an intruder on her solitude.

  Fear and dismay gripped her throat and squeezed her stomach when she saw that Corwen McHugh stood only a short distance away, a belligerent look on his arrogant features.

  Ice spread through her veins until she was numb. What was he doing here? His presence could mean nothing good. Not for her.

  Instinctively, she scrambled to her feet, turning in the direction of the keep, looking for something … anything.

  “Are you happy now that you’ve brought destruction on the whole of the McHugh clan?” Corwen barked, his voice angry and petulant, like a child deprived of having his way.

  But he was no child. A chill snaked up her spine, and she shut her mind to the awful images that her memories conjured.