Highlander Most Wanted (16 page)

Not having the experience to know the difference between Ian McHugh and any other man, she couldn’t say. She simply couldn’t fathom such kindness from a male, because she hadn’t experienced it in so long.

But it was a nice thought. One that brought her immense pleasure. More so than she would have ever dreamed. And it was best she left it precisely there. In her dreams. Leaving herself vulnerable and open to the kind of treatment she’d been subjected to would make her the worst sort of fool. A man couldn’t well abuse her if she never gave him the chance.

She rebelled at the thought that Bowen could be like Ian. There was nothing to say that she had any real knowledge of the man Bowen was, but it dismayed her to think she could be so wrong. She certainly hadn’t been wrong about Ian. She’d known from their very first meeting that he was a man to avoid, and she’d done so until he’d forced her hand by raiding her escort to her future husband.

With shock, she realized she’d given no thought to her betrothed in many a month. She’d not tortured herself by thinking on matters she couldn’t change. Even trying to imagine what her life would have been like married to
a Highland chieftain was to open herself up to more hurt.

Was he married to another even now? ’Twas likely he was. Hers had been an arranged marriage. There was no affection involved. She’d only met the man once, when he’d come to formally offer for her hand on her father’s lands. The accord had been reached between him and her father. Her introduction to him had been a mere formality, and an afterthought once the agreement had been struck.

By now she could have had a child of her own. A wee bairn to fuss over and spoil shamelessly. Her mother would have visited often, and perchance her husband would have been agreeable to her visiting her father’s keep on occasion.

Grief overwhelmed her, and she quickly shut the door on old memories as they rushed to the surface. It was true enough that thinking on things she could not change was the fastest way to heartbreak.

But she still ached for what could have been, and perhaps it was why she had such fascination for Bowen Montgomery. He reminded her of the way things could have possibly been. Marriage to a man such as he, one with honor and loyalty, would have been appealing.

She absently stroked his cheek, sadness clinging to her like the most stubborn vine. Nay, those dreams were gone. Her life would be very different now. It was doubtful Bowen’s offer of a place in his clan, firmly under the Montgomerys’ protection, was still in place, but perhaps he would see fit to place her in an abbey as she’d first requested.

Making the best of less than desirable circumstances had become a way of life for her. She’d been forced to do it this last year, and she could do it again.

Genevieve woke from a deep sleep with a start. Her eyes opened to darkness, and for a moment she was completely disoriented. All she knew was that she wasn’t in her chamber, and it took her several long moments to place herself as the day’s events came crashing back.

She scrambled out of bed, horrified that she’d fallen asleep and, worse, she’d been curled up right next to Bowen in the small space between him and the edge of the bed.

She sat up, wiping the sleep from her eyes and pushing her hair back from her face. The strands were in disarray, billowing wildly about her head.

What if someone had come in? What if someone had discovered her boldly sleeping next to the laird? She’d taken great liberties, and it had been a stupid risk.

She pushed up from the bed, desperate to put distance between her and Bowen. Stumbling in the darkness, she reached blindly for the candle that had been burning beside the bed only to find it nearly burnt to the wick.

In the hearth there were faintly glowing coals, not much left of the roaring fire that had burned hours earlier when she’d stitched Bowen’s wounds.

Sleep and disorientation still clinging fiercely, she set about lighting a few of the extinguished candles and then built the fire back up so that a respectable blaze
burned. Then she turned back to Bowen, hoping beyond hope that he hadn’t been disturbed by her activities.

To her relief, he was still asleep.

She all but sagged back into the chair, reprimanding herself soundly for the urge that had overtaken her to be closer to the laird. If she’d learned nothing else, it had been to be cautious in all things, and yet the laird inspired her to idiocy.

Her eyes burned with the need to return to sleep, but she dared not allow herself to do so. Who knew what other foolishness she might embark on?

She yawned broadly, her jaw nearly cracking with the effort. Eyes watering, she focused her attention on Bowen, his face softly illuminated by candlelight.

He stirred, and again she breathed a sigh of relief that she’d awakened when she had. She wouldn’t have wanted the laird to awaken with her curled up next to him like a satisfied kitten.

He began to thrash about, his head twisting from side to side, until she feared he’d toss himself right out of the bed. She rose, instantly leaning over him, trying the method of touching his face, but this time he would not be calmed.

A ragged moan escaped his throat, and she realized that he must be in pain again. It had been quite some time since the earlier dram, but she’d require the help of one of the men to force another down his throat.

Hurrying to the door, she hoped that either Geoffrey or Deaglan would be outside, as Brodie had assured her. When she opened it, she breathed a sigh of relief to see that, indeed, both men were at their posts—one beside the door and the other on the other side of the hall, sitting on the floor, his back against the wall for support.

When they saw her, they rose to their feet, any sign of fatigue quickly wiped away.

“I have need of your aid,” she whispered. “The laird
is in pain and ’tis time for another potion. I cannot do it myself.”

“Of course, mistress,” Geoffrey said. “Deaglan and I will see to the matter.”

The men followed her back inside, and Deaglan collected the small cup that held the mixture he’d concocted. With Geoffrey’s help, they held Bowen’s head and shoulders up enough that they could tilt the cup into his mouth.

Bowen coughed and sputtered, but most of the liquid went down.

They settled Bowen back onto the bed and then turned to Genevieve.

“He should rest easy for the next several hours,” Deaglan said. “If you have need to return to your chamber, we will keep watch until you return.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of that. Whether it was an offer for her to rest or a suggestion because she stank of blood and sweat from the earlier battle. Either way, she must look a mess and, truth be told, she would appreciate the opportunity to wash.

“I should like to take a moment to change my clothing and rid myself of the smell of blood,” she said with a faint smile. “I shall return in a short while.”

Both men nodded, and she quickly retreated from the chamber to go next door to her own.

Stripping out of her clothing, she went to the small basin along the wall and poured water from the pitcher into the washing bowl. She’d love a full bath—it might take two to scrub the blood, dirt, and smell of death from her body—but she dare not risk venturing outside the keep, not only because of the dangers presented by a possible attack but from the McHughs themselves.

She had no way of gauging the current mood of the clan, or if Brodie had indeed uncovered more traitors than the one who had tried to murder Bowen. It was a
sure bet that by now word would have spread as to her part in Meagan’s husband’s death and that she’d singled him out as a betrayer.

Having intelligence didn’t signal being a coward. A smart lass knew when to stay out of direct fire, and she had no intention of braving the McHugh clan until she was certain as to what occurred after the attack on the keep.

She brushed her hair and took a washing cloth to the long strands, scrubbing as best she could the dirt and matted blood from her tresses. When she was reasonably satisfied with the result, she donned a clean dress and then sank onto her bed. A bed that she still marveled was her own. That she didn’t have to share with anyone or fear that she would have unwanted bodies there.

She lay her head down and closed her eyes, enjoying the comfort of her pillow. It was heaven. And yet she’d slept so soundly next to Bowen. It was an oddity she wasn’t sure she understood.

Never did she sleep too soundly. Too many times she had awakened to Ian’s abuse, and she’d learned to always be prepared—even in sleep—for the worst. But the entire keep could have been laid siege to over the last hours and she wouldn’t have known.

Surely it was because she was exhausted from the stress of the day, as well as from the mind-numbing task of stitching Bowen’s wounds.

It had been no easy feat, and there had been extraordinary pressure for her to seal the wound properly. One misstep could have earned her serious reprimand and censure. She shuddered to think what her punishment might have been.

One of the ties securing the furs over the window had loosened, and a light breeze lifted the end, allowing the first faint shades of dawn into the room. Soon the keep
would be alive with activity, though she was uneasy about the sort of goings-on that would be initiated.

’Twould be best if she remained here or in Bowen’s room until such time as she was forced out. She had no desire to face what awaited her. She was delaying the inevitable, but at the moment, she cared not. She was more concerned with her self-preservation than with anything else.

When a knock sounded at her door, her dread immediately intensified. She scolded herself for being so quick to draw conclusions. It could simply be one of Bowen’s men, seeking a report on his condition. Or Brodie himself come to ask how Bowen had fared through the night.

As she was attempting to right herself enough so that she could rise from the bed, the door swung open and she frowned at the breach of her privacy. Not that she’d been guaranteed any such thing. But she’d assumed, and she should have learned better by now.

Relief was instant when she saw it was Taliesan poking her head through the door. Genevieve immediately smiled in welcome, happy to see a friendly face.

“Oh, ’tis good you’re awake. I much wanted to speak to you regarding the laird’s condition and what is happening within the clan,” Taliesan said. “May I enter?”

“Of course,” Genevieve said, motioning her forward.

She patted the edge of the bed encouragingly, aware that she’d never been so openly inviting to another person in all her time here.

Taliesan seemed delighted with the overture and limped over, her gait much quicker and smoother this morn. Genevieve hoped that meant Taliesan’s leg wasn’t paining her as much as usual.

Taliesan settled on the bed next to Genevieve and impulsively reached over to hug her.

“What was that for?” Genevieve asked in bewilderment.
But she found she didn’t mind the affectionate gesture at all. It made her feel … wanted.
Liked
.

“You just looked as though you needed it,” Taliesan said kindly.

“I did, and thank you,” Genevieve said with a smile.

Taliesan’s expression sobered. “What goes on, Genevieve? The Armstrongs and Montgomerys alike are being close-lipped about the laird’s condition, which has fueled gossip that he lies dying in his chamber. There is much worry as to what our fate will be if that happens. ’Tis widely known that Patrick instigated the attack, and that some of the men who swore allegiance to the laird turned betrayer.”

“How many?” Genevieve asked sharply.

Taliesan’s eyes widened. “You do not know?”

Genevieve grimaced. “I know not anything. I spent the night tending the laird’s wounds and watching for any sign of fever. I’ve only just come to my chamber a short time ago.”

“Then ’tis sorry I am for disturbing you. You should be resting.”

Genevieve shook her head. “I am well rested,” she lied. “I would know what is occurring within the clan. Brodie left Bowen’s chamber last eve to determine if there were more traitors in our midst.”

Taliesan sighed, her mouth turning down in an unhappy frown. “ ’Tis a sad and disgraceful tale I bring you. There were three other McHugh warriors who remained behind and made a vow to support Bowen Montgomery. ’Twas discovered that they played a part in the killings of two men. One a Montgomery and one an Armstrong. They are to be executed, and the clan is in uproar over it.”

“ ’Tis not less than they deserve,” Genevieve spat. “They follow in the old laird’s footsteps. A path steeped in treachery and dishonor. They bring shame to your
clan’s name. The clan should be first to want justice to be served.”

“But they are husbands and fathers to our clan’s women and children,” Taliesan said quietly. “ ’Tis not such a simple matter when wives and children will be left without a husband and father.”

“Aye, I know it, but they should have given the matter due consideration. The consequences of their actions were spelled out long before they chose to travel the path they trod.”