Highlander Most Wanted: The Montgomerys and Armstrongs Read online

  “And your women do all the talking on your behalf,” Brodie added. “Why are they not better protected? Why are they left to confront your enemy? ’Tis disgraceful. What measure of man not only allows such a thing but encourages it?”

  The man who’d posed the question as to their fate took a step forward, his expression grim and ashamed. But he met the gazes of Bowen, Teague, Aiden, and Brodie unflinchingly, his chin lifted as if to convey that he’d take their censure and whatever retaliation they wished to mete out.

  “We worried that if a warrior met you at the gates it would be seen as a challenge, and we had no wish to wage war against you. We know we’re outnumbered and outmanned. Patrick McHugh was not a man well versed in training. And Ian—”

  He broke off, clearing his throat in obvious discomfort.

  “I would speak freely if I may, good sir. ’Tis not respectful, what I have to say, but ’tis the truth all the same.”

  Bowen nodded. “By all means. I would have your honesty. By what name are you called?”

  “Tearlach McHugh.”

  “Carry on, then, Tearlach.”

  “Ian was a dishonorable man. Not only for his treatment of those weaker than himself, but for his tactics in warfare. He’d stab a man in his back rather than ever face him in a fair fight. We aren’t trained, Montgomery. ’Tis readily apparent enough. We wouldn’t have stood a chance against you, and so those of us who remained behind decided to place our fate in your hands and that of your laird’s. ’Twas our only choice. We have wives and children, and we have no wish to die and leave them uncared for and unprotected, even though you think we do neither.”

  It was a sincere speech, one that impressed Bowen for its honesty. It was apparent that he had no liking for speaking ill of his laird’s dead son, but he stated the truth matter-of-factly.

  “I appreciate your candor, and I’ll return the favor by being just as straightforward,” Bowen said, sweeping over the assembled crowd with his gaze.

  Genevieve hadn’t moved. She stood stock-still, her hands folded rigidly in front of her. And her eyes looked so far away that Bowen doubted she had any idea of what went on around her. It was as if, just for a time, she’d taken herself to another place.

  Her scarred cheek was turned away from him, and he marveled at how beautiful she was with her profile presented. Never had he seen a woman to rival her, and yet when both sides of her face were visible it was startling how that beauty was transformed into something pitiable.

  There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but none were appropriate to the occasion. He couldn’t afford to become distracted from his goal. His brother had tasked him with this duty, and Bowen would fulfill it at all cost.

  “My brother, Laird Montgomery, is with his wife, Eveline, whom Ian captured and sorely abused. He will remain at her side until he’s satisfied that she has fully recovered and is safe from any and all threats. Patrick McHugh is a threat to Eveline and to both the Montgomery and the Armstrong clans. And we do not tolerate any threat.”

  The people tightly grouped together in the hall began to grow nervous. Their agitation was evident as they began to fidget and exchange fearful glances.

  “I claim this holding and all that belongs to Patrick McHugh for my laird until such time as he decides what is to be done with the land, the keep … and the people.”

  Bowen held up a hand when everyone began talking at once.

  “My brother is a fair and just man. Give me, and him, no reason to call you enemy and you will fare well. For the interim, I will act as laird and my brother will assist me in compiling a full report as to the workings of this keep and land so that I may pass it to Laird Montgomery and he may determine what is to be done. If you work hard and give me no cause to doubt your loyalty, there will be no issues. If you betray my trust, you will be dealt with swiftly and severely. There will be no second chances. Are we understood?”

  There were murmurs of “Aye” and grim expressions all around. Some were fearful. Some were resentful. Some were angry. But not a single McHugh voiced their disagreement.

  Bowen glanced at Taliesan, as well as Genevieve, to gauge their reaction to his strong words, but neither lass was so much as looking in his direction.

  Taliesan had retreated behind the older man who’d supported her when she would have fallen, and Genevieve stood rigidly a short distance away. She resembled a statue. Cold and imposing, as if she felt nothing at all. But Bowen knew that to be untrue. He’d seen the flash of emotion in her eyes in that one unguarded moment. He had the feeling that beneath the icy façade she presented to the world was a fiery, passionate woman who seethed with tightly held emotion.

  Shaking off his thoughts and the distraction posed by Genevieve, he turned to Teague, Aiden, and Brodie. “We must assess the situation with all haste. I do not like leaving my brother and his wife nor your family,” he said to Brodie and Aiden, “without adequate protection, and we have the might of our combined armies here. We have no need of so many.”

  Teague nodded his agreement. Then he glanced back at the McHughs, who were still watching the four men fearfully.

  “Let us go back to our men and discuss what it is we will do,” Teague said. “I do not want every McHugh privy to our conversation.”

  CHAPTER 4

  As soon as the Montgomery warrior quit the room, Genevieve’s shoulders sagged, and for the first time she allowed her gaze to sweep over the gathered McHughs.

  If she expected there to be any remorse in their eyes for their misjudgment of her, she was sorely mistaken. There was the usual mixture of disgust, disapproval, outright sneers, pity—yes, pity from a few—and confusion, because many of the McHughs had yet to determine why she hadn’t tried to murder them all in their sleep.

  There was only one McHugh she’d dreamed of making suffer a long, drawn-out death. She’d actually been disappointed when Graeme Montgomery had ended Ian McHugh’s life so quickly. It hadn’t been bloody enough. Or painful enough. Ian deserved to suffer because he was a horrifying human being who deserved no mercy and no leniency.

  Pity that Graeme had been concerned only with hying his wife to safety and so had dispatched Ian with ruthless precision so that he would no longer be a bane to anyone’s existence.

  One day Genevieve would like to thank the laird in person, but there would be too many questions she had no intention of answering were she to do something so unladylike and unbecoming a gently bred lass as to offer her grave thanks for the killing of another man.

  “Genevieve?”

  Genevieve broke from her bloodthirsty thoughts and blinked rapidly to bring her focus back to the present. Taliesan stood in front of her, her delicate features pulled tight with concern.

  Genevieve sighed. Taliesan was the closest thing to a friend that she had—not for lack of trying on Genevieve’s part to remain aloof and distant. The very last thing Genevieve had wanted was any kinship with these people.

  Nay, they weren’t to blame for the actions of Ian McHugh, but Genevieve was resentful of the situation that had been forced upon her, and every slight she suffered at the hands of the McHughs had only compounded her determination never to form a bond. She wanted to be gone from this place. Someplace where she could be alone, and then maybe she could forget the last year of her existence and she could find peace.

  Such an elusive creature. Peace and happiness were things she’d long taken for granted, sheltered in the loving bosom of her family.

  Even now, just remembering them made her chest ache fiercely. Sorrow weighed down on her, as if she carried a load of rocks on her back.

  A year ago, she’d been so happy. So very naïve, convinced that nothing bad could ever befall her. Ian McHugh had proved her wrong, and had changed her, irrevocably, from a starry-eyed young lass ready to take on life’s challenges with a smile and a laugh to a mere shell of her former self. A person she could never hope to regain.

  “What is it, Taliesan?” Genevieve asked gently, n
ot allowing her rage to bleed into her voice.

  Taliesan was a sweet lass who’d dealt with adversity and remained as good as an angel despite her lameness.

  “I worry for you, Genevieve,” Taliesan said in a low voice. “We have no idea what manner of man this Bowen Montgomery is. The Montgomery laird is said to be a fair man. ’Tis obvious he has great affection for his wife. ’Tis also said that he treats her with great respect and demands the same from everyone around him. In his hands, I’d not worry over the fate you would suffer.”

  Genevieve reached to touch the other woman on the arm. “ ’Tis not your concern, Talie.”

  “But it is,” Taliesan said fiercely. “My clan has wronged you grievously. What you have suffered at Ian’s hands makes me want to weep. Think you I don’t know all he has done to you? All he has made you suffer? And my clan is no better, because they know. They know, and yet they turn their backs because they know they did nothing to stop Ian. Just as Patrick did nothing to stop his son. And so they scorn you instead, because to acknowledge that you are a victim would be to acknowledge that they allowed you to be so.”

  Genevieve’s cheeks bloomed with heat, and she felt ill hearing it so clearly outlined how evident was all that Ian had subjected her to. She hadn’t thought her humiliation could be any deeper. She was wrong.

  That everyone knew sickened her. That Taliesan so clearly pitied her was more than Genevieve could bear. She longed to be away. Where she could be someone else. So that Genevieve McInnis could quietly die as she was believed to have done a year past.

  “Do not interfere,” Genevieve said firmly. “ ’Tis best if you concentrate on you and your kin. Do not concern yourself with me. I’ve survived the worst. Naught can be done that is more than I’ve endured at Ian’s hands.”

  “I cannot turn my back on you,” Taliesan said, her voice thick with emotion. “I won’t ignore your plight as others have done.”

  “Talie, please,” Genevieve pleaded softly. “I pray that Bowen Montgomery is as fair as his brother is reported to be, and that he will allow me to travel to an abbey where I may seek refuge and seclusion.”

  “Oh Genevieve, no!” Taliesan said in a shocked whisper. “What of your family? You’re young and you’ve your entire life ahead of you.”

  Genevieve shook her head, sadness tugging relentlessly at her heart.

  “ ’Tis better that my family believe I am dead, as was reported a year ago. I could never face them. I could never shame them thus. No man would ever want me, Ian McHugh’s whore. I would never gain an advantageous marriage. I would be a burden to my father and mother all the rest of their days. My mother’s heart would be broken, and they could never hold their heads up at court. Nay, ’tis better this way, for they have already mourned me and I died with honor. I would prefer that over living in shame and bringing dishonor to my family.”

  Tears filled Taliesan’s eyes. “I hate him for what he did to you.”

  Genevieve’s nostrils flared. “I hate him too, but ’tis a wasted emotion, for now he is dead and can never hurt one weaker than himself again. ’Tis time to pull together the pieces that remain and, hopefully, find … peace.”

  “I will not rest until you are happy and well placed,” Taliesan ground out.

  Genevieve smiled and laced her fingers through Taliesan’s and squeezed the other woman’s hand.

  “I think we would have made great friends,” Genevieve said sadly. “Aye, I would count myself fortunate to have a friend such as you.”

  Taliesan’s lips formed a tight, mutinous line. “I am your friend.”

  Genevieve shook her head. “Nay, ’tis better this way. I would not have you suffer the condemnation of your clan because you associated yourself with me. You know not the importance of such things. It takes only a few well-placed words to destroy a lass’s reputation and ruin her chances of marriage, children, or any sort of future. Heed my words, Talie. Beware whom you ally yourself with.”

  “You speak of dishonor and of dying with honor over living with shame. There is no greater dishonor than choosing loyalty based on what it loses or gains me. If marriage, a husband, children, a secure future are my forfeit for choosing a friendship with a woman with more honor in her soul than the mightiest warrior, then I have no desire for those things.”

  Genevieve’s eyes widened at the determination and utter sincerity in Taliesan’s impassioned speech. She had no response. What could she possibly say?

  “I thank you then,” Genevieve said softly, emotion crowding her words. “I would be honored to call you friend for as long as I remain on these lands.”

  Taliesan smiled and shook her head. “Nay, Genevieve. We are friends no matter where you go from here. ’Tis the way friendship works.”

  Impulsively, Genevieve pulled Taliesan into a fierce hug. She closed her eyes, savoring the contact with the other woman. It had been so long since she’d had the comfort of another. Something as simple as a hug. The support of friendship. Unwavering support—and loyalty.

  All the things she’d thought long lost to her.

  For an entire year, Genevieve had known only brutality in the touch of another. Ian hadn’t allowed anyone other than himself to touch her, unless it was to cause her pain or humiliation. He guarded her jealously, like a prized plaything only he was allowed to indulge in. It had been the loneliest year of Genevieve’s life. It had changed her, and she didn’t like the person he’d made her into.

  Genevieve slowly let go of Taliesan, reluctant to sever the bond, no matter how momentary it had been. She was starved for the simplest of things. Human touch. Laughter. A smile. The smallest moment of happiness. Affection. Camaraderie. All the things she’d enjoyed growing up in the arms of her loving family.

  Taliesan caught Genevieve’s hands and squeezed. “What will become of us, you think?”

  “I know not,” Genevieve said honestly. “Their anger is directed at Ian and your laird. Ian is now dead, and the laird is long gone from this place. ’Tis doubtful he’ll return. It would serve no purpose to vent their ire on the McHugh clansmen. They know well who was responsible for the injustice heaped upon Eveline Montgomery.”

  Many McHughs had stopped to listen to Genevieve’s careful explanation, and though they would never acknowledge her, she could see the relief in their eyes as they reasoned that her words made sense. Hope replaced the fear.

  There were a few who were more outspoken, and determined that Genevieve not be spared even a moment’s humiliation.

  “What does a whore know about the way a man thinks?” Claudia McHugh sneered.

  One of the McHugh men who stood close to Claudia chuckled. “She knows their thinking in one regard. ’Tis a well-known fact she spread her legs for Ian and whoever else was present.”

  Claudia and two other women snickered. “Aye, you have the right of it there. But whoring is all the lass knows. If Graeme Montgomery’s brothers want to be pleasured, the lass will spread her legs quick enough. For the Armstrongs, too, I wager.”

  “With a face like that, a lass has to compensate in other areas. If she’s good enough on her back, ’tis no matter what her face looks like. A man can close his eyes.”

  More laughter rang out, and Genevieve died a little more. Inch by inch, they chipped away until soon there would be nothing left to salvage.

  Then a sound behind Genevieve made her turn, and the blood leeched from her face when she saw that Bowen Montgomery stood just a short distance away, flanked by his brother and the two Armstrong brothers as well.

  It was equally obvious that all four men had heard Claudia’s assessment, as well as the words of the McHugh man.

  Despair filled her heart and threatened to burst right out of her chest. She wanted to weep, but her tears had long since been spent, and they did no good. They never had.

  Never had she wished harder for the floor to open and swallow her whole. Never had she wished so hard that she had been murdered in the raiding party that had taken the rest
of her escort.

  To the world, Genevieve McInnis was long dead, and now she wished with all her heart that it were true. Only then would she be able to escape the hell that was her daily existence.

  CHAPTER 5

  Bowen’s nostrils flared and his lips twitched as he stared at Genevieve, watching as the life literally left her body, her eyes, her very soul.

  Never before had he seen death in the gaze of someone who wasn’t mortally wounded. But her eyes were wounded. The death blow was figurative rather than literal, but it had inflicted just as much damage.

  All the color fled her face. She was dangerously pale, and she swayed like a sapling in the wind.

  Tears filled her eyes, and he could see her biting into the inside of her cheek in an effort to call them back. Her hand went to her face, covering the scar, almost as if she sought to hide from the view and judgment of others.

  Here was a woman who despised being weak before others, and yet a line had been crossed that even she couldn’t pretend indifference to.

  Teague’s jaw twitched, and he glared a hole through the McHughs who’d been so loose with their tongues.

  Bowen waited, fully expecting Genevieve to defend herself, and perhaps he wanted to know what it was she would say. She didn’t strike him as a woman who had any issue with stating her mind. She’d certainly done so with him.

  Instead, she walked stiffly past him, her gait slow and painful, as if it took everything she possessed just to remain standing. It was the shuffle of a much older woman, one wizened with age, the weight of an entire lifetime bearing down on her.

  Teague stared at the offending McHughs in disbelief. Brodie and Aiden both frowned, and then Brodie made a move toward Genevieve, but she glanced up, and when she saw Brodie take that step forward, she stiffened further and hurried at a faster pace out of the hall.

  Bowen shook his head, still unable to believe the overt animosity directed at a woman who should inspire pity in others. Not such hatred.