Her lips quivered and fresh tears shone in her eyes.
“What the hell is going on here, Bowen?” Brodie demanded.
Bowen turned to see a scowling Brodie advancing toward him and Taliesan, his mouth drawn into a menacing line.
“Taliesan and I were reaching an agreement on a few things,” Bowen said in a mild tone.
“Then why is she crying?”
Brodie sounded so horrified that it nearly amused Bowen.
“Because he is a brute and he frightens me,” Taliesan blurted out. “And he’s going to hurt Genevieve. I know it. I do not trust such smooth words and promises. Ian offered them time and time again. Pretty words from fair-of-face men. No thank you.”
She ended on a shudder that had both Bowen and Brodie frowning with puzzlement. An uneasy sensation gripped Bowen’s midsection and, judging by Brodie’s black scowl, he was likely thinking along the same lines.
“What did he do to you, lass?” Bowen asked quietly.
She flinched as though he’d slapped her. It was an involuntary action brought on by the shock of his question. It was clear that she’d expected no such topic to arise, and she looked dumbfounded as to how to answer.
“N-nothing,” she stammered.
“You said you never lie,” he chided gently.
“That bastard did something to you?” Brodie all but roared.
She shrank back, and it was clear she wanted to be as far away from the two men as possible. He couldn’t blame her. They were overwhelming presences. One alone would frighten a lass senseless. But the two of them together?
“ ’Tis nothing I cannot bear,” she said in a regal tone laced with strength and acceptance. It made Bowen admire her spirit and ferocity even more. He could respect her loyalty and her protection of Genevieve. Even if he wasn’t entirely certain the lass deserved such devotion from Taliesan.
“Where is Genevieve?” Bowen asked one last time, his stare leveled directly at Taliesan. He pinned her with his most forceful look and refused to look away until she was all but fidgeting beneath his gaze.
“She does not like to bathe in front of the other women,” Taliesan said in a low voice. “They ridicule and mock her. She prefers to bathe alone, in the stream beyond the bathhouses. ’Tis the same stream that feeds the bathhouses. When Ian was alive, he forced his men to go with her, and they were allowed to look their fill. Sometimes she would go days without being clean because she couldn’t bear their cruelty.”
Bowen felt himself softening toward the lass when it was the last thing he could afford to do. There was too much about her that he didn’t understand and didn’t know. Little about her made sense to him, and the more he learned, the more intrigued he became.
“Take Taliesan to break her fast,” Bowen directed. “I have need to speak to Genevieve.”
Taliesan’s eyes were stricken. “I beg you, Laird. Be merciful with her. She’s so fragile that she could break at any moment. I don’t know how she’s managed to remain so stalwart for so long.”
“I’ll do my best, but, Taliesan, what you must realize is that if she’s a traitor to my people, she will have to be dealt with accordingly.”
Taliesan’s face crumbled and she looked away, her hands wringing in obvious distress. Brodie touched her arm and guided her back toward the keep.
Bowen sucked in a deep breath and turned in the direction of the stream that snaked through the back of the keep beyond the protective stone walls. It was foolhardy for a woman alone to venture out to bathe in the stream. Anyone could happen upon her and either abuse her on the spot or spirit her away and she’d never be seen or heard from again.
But then if she’d had to endure constant escort from Ian’s men, he could well understand why she’d seek privacy to wash herself. He paused a moment, guilt overtaking him at the idea of intruding on her. He could wait until she finished, could he not?
Then he stalked forward again, angered that he was allowing this slip of a lass to rule his thoughts and actions. She was a manipulative deceiver and he would not be taken in by her sad eyes any longer.
When he topped the slight rise that looked over the stream, he was not prepared for the sight before him, even though he well knew what he might encounter.
Genevieve was rinsing soap from her hair, and Jesu, she looked like a goddess. Her right side was turned toward him, her face arched into the sun as she poured water over her head from a clay jug.
There was such contentment, a visible sigh puffing from her lips, and the sun shone over her features, illuminating every beautiful line of her face and body.
She was small and delicate, her features tiny but lush. A gently curved waist, plump bu**ocks, rounded hips, and her br**sts … A hot flush traveled through Bowen’s body and his breath came in ragged spurts as he took in the sight before him.
She was stunning. So beautiful that his cods ached. His hands fair itched to touch her, to caress her sleek flesh and coax sounds of pleasure from her lips.
The moment she turned her face and he saw the ravages of all that had been done to her, he went cold, and guilt surged through his veins.
He was acting no better than Ian McHugh, staring at her with lust in his eyes and heart. Thinking that she was no better than a vessel for his pleasure. He should not be here, intruding on her privacy. There was no honor in making a woman feel unsafe.
Before he could retreat, she looked up, as if feeling his gaze on her body. Her eyes were startled, and yet she didn’t move. Perhaps she saw the foolishness of trying to hide now when she was in plain view.
Heat crawled over his cheeks. It brought him shame that he stood staring at her even once his presence was known. And yet he drank his fill of the vision before him. Aye, her face was scarred, but somehow it didn’t matter. The lass’s beauty could not be denied.
Or maybe it was her calm courage. The way she faced him, unwilling to flinch or play the shy maiden. She utterly fascinated him, and that was troublesome given his doubts about her.
’Twas true the lasses always paid him extra attention. His brothers teased him about his looks and his charm. He knew women found him comely and were eager to invite him to their beds.
He was used to the attention and could shake it off when there were more serious matters to attend to. But he did enjoy a warm, willing lass in his bed, and he’d never had to go without when he desired one.
But Genevieve didn’t look at him with lust or a teasing glint to her eyes. There were no coy mannerisms or come-hither looks.
She merely stared back at him, as if unwilling to be the first to blink in their silent standoff. There was false bravado in her expression, as if she’d steeled herself for whatever was to come. Almost as if she fully expected pain or humiliation from him.
It made what he’d come to confront her over even more distasteful, and a pang of unwanted guilt nagged at him. He hadn’t realized until now how much he wanted to be wrong.…
Finally, he started down the incline, breaking the visible tension between them. The lass was likely freezing, standing there hip-deep in the water.
He tried very hard not to let his gaze wander, but he was inexorably drawn to her br**sts and down the flat line of her belly to where the dark curls of her womanhood were barely visible above the waterline.
Jesu, but he was breaking into a sweat and the morning air still had a decided chill to it.
Her body was perfect, and simply made for a man’s hands to appreciate. Her br**sts were plump but not too much so. Just enough to fill his palm … and his mouth.
And ah but he could well imagine cradling her luscious backside in his hands as he stroked in and out of her.
As he neared the water’s edge, Genevieve lowered herself in the water, her eyes hooded and wary.
“I would speak to you, Genevieve,” Bowen said, his voice graver than he intended.
“I would prefer our conversation to take place when I’m at least covered,” she said in a tart voice that gave him hope.
A saucy Genevieve he could take. A beaten-down, frightened Genevieve made his stomach knot.
“I’ll turn my back and allow you to leave the water so you don’t grow chilled,” he offered.
When he didn’t immediately proffer his back, she frowned and made a circling motion with her hand.
Smothering a smile that surprised him by twitching at his lips, he swiftly turned his back and stared at the keep looming in the distance.
Damn it but he didn’t want to be soft toward her. He didn’t want her to make him smile—or anything else. But he was a liar if he suggested such. He could tell himself all he wanted, but there was something about the lass that was compelling.
His body and mind were not in accord on this matter, and his body was fast winning the battle.
Soft splashing sounds reached his ears, and a shiver stole down his spine at the idea that she was rising from the water. Rivulets would be sliding down her sleek body and, even now, chill bumps would dot her torso, hardening her ni**les, and water would cling to the damp curls between her legs. Hiding all that warm, moist womanly flesh that he ached to explore.
A blistering curse burned his lips. It was absurd for him to carry on like a lad who hadn’t yet reached manhood. He stood there fidgeting like a nervous boy who’d just laid eyes on his first naked woman.
“You can turn around now.”
Genevieve’s voice was soft and sweet, and he spun immediately, eager to drink in her appearance again.
She was wrapped in a drying blanket. It covered every inch of her skin. Only her head poked out. Her wet hair lay limply over her head and was arranged to cover her scarred cheek.
He wanted to tell her that she needn’t hide her disfigurement from him. It certainly didn’t make him want her less. It had been Ian’s intention to ruin her for any other man, but Ian was a bloody fool for ever thinking that scarring the lass’s face would make her any less desirable.
His fingers curled in anger at the thought of Ian holding her down and flaying open her cheek with a knife.
She cleared her throat awkwardly at his prolonged silence.
“Laird? You wanted to speak with me?”
He let out his breath as she settled on one of the large boulders that lined the river. Her blanket was pulled even tighter around her as she huddled behind its protection.
The right thing to do would be to allow her to dress and return to the keep, but he didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation.
Deciding to sit across from her on the banks of the stream rather than to continue looming over her, he settled down and then met her gaze.
“I would ask you a question, and I’d like an honest answer.”
Her eyes narrowed at the slight and she pursed her lips, but she remained silent. Then she merely nodded.
“Did you have anything to do with Eveline Montgomery’s abduction?” he asked bluntly.
She froze. Went completely still. Where before she’d fidgeted nervously in the folds of the blanket, now she didn’t so much as move a muscle. Her jaw tightened and fear crawled, ugly and dark, into her eyes.
She gripped the blanket so hard the tips of her fingers went white and the blood drained from her face.
Nay, the lass would never make a warrior, as he’d observed before. There was no way for her to disguise her actions. It was all there to see in her eyes.
However much he tried to control his anger, it crept over him, itchy and hot, until he was no longer able to remain sitting there.
As soon as he stood, she flinched back, becoming a much smaller target. There was such desolation in her eyes that it froze him from the inside out. ’Twas like looking over the most barren winter landscape. Cold and haunted.
“Tell me you didn’t do this thing,” he whispered.
“I can’t do that,” she said, her voice cracking like dry wood.
“Sweet Jesu, why?” he thundered. “How could you do such a thing, especially knowing the manner of man Ian McHugh was?”
He came across more forcefully than he wanted, but he was near to exploding.
“Genevieve? I expect an answer.”
She looked so stricken, her eyes wide. Her mouth opened, but she swallowed and then closed it again.
They both jumped and turned toward the keep when shouts went up in the distance. Bowen strained to hear what the noise was about, and when he finally heard the distinct call his blood went cold.
“To arms! We’re under attack!”
Chapter 14
Bowen made a grab for Genevieve, hauling her up beside him and then urging her back toward the keep.
“Run!” he urged. “Make haste.”
Genevieve scrambled over the rocky terrain in her bare feet, the blanket still wrapped tightly around her body. Her clothing still lay on the bank of the river, and Bowen gave her no time to retrieve it.
He ran as fast as he was able with Genevieve in tow, until they reached the back entrance through the skirt. He ducked inside, his hands still firmly wrapped around Genevieve’s arm.
“Go inside,” he ordered. “Take cover in your chamber.”
He nudged her forward and then broke into a run, unsheathing his sword as he went. When he reached the courtyard, it was chaotic.
The McHugh warriors looked bewildered, while the few remaining Montgomery and Armstrong soldiers were preparing for battle.
Bowen found Brodie in the crowd and shouted to him. Brodie looked up and then stalked a determined line over to where Bowen stood.
“What is happening? Who called the men to arms?”
“I did,” Brodie said, his features grim and his eyes dark with the promise of battle. “The McHugh idiots were set to welcome their laird home. ’Tis not a welcome he seeks!”
“Patrick McHugh rides against us?” Bowen asked incredulously. Could they be so fortunate as to have the jackal come to them? “It will certainly save us time hunting him down.”