“Then perhaps ’tis best they never find out,” Bowen said quietly. “ ’Tis a private matter, and one that should not be openly discussed. Graeme will have to know the whole of it, aye. But he is the only one. He is my laird. Not the Armstrongs. They have no say in Genevieve’s fate.”
“I suppose you are right,” Teague said wearily. “Still, ’tis not an easy path you’ve chosen.”
“Aye, I know it. But ’tis also true that nothing easy is ever worth it. And Genevieve will be worth every effort I make on her behalf.”
Chapter 28
Genevieve was exceedingly shy with Bowen after the night she slept in his arms. He found it endearing, and his heart melted a little more every time she ducked her head or smiled when she thought he wasn’t looking.
He was working on the lass. He had no intention of suffering in the hell that was unrequited love. It was an interesting enough dilemma, given that many a woman had reportedly suffered such with him. It was also true that he’d never given it much consideration. Now he knew how those women must have felt when they reportedly pined for his attentions, because he found himself playing the love-sick fool vying for a crumb of attention or approval from Genevieve. Anything to make her smile. Make her happy. He’d give her the damn moon if that was what it took.
He also realized—not that he hadn’t already known it—but it was driven home with more force that she’d never enjoyed a man’s attentions. Had someone pay court to her. She’d never been wooed. Her marriage had been arranged, and on her way to her husband-to-be Ian had taken her and turned her life into a living hell.
Bowen was determined to give her all she’d never had, and so he set about courting her.
Teague and Brodie despaired of him. Teague routinely made Bowen the butt of his jests, and both men threatened to throw him into the river if he continued on his present course.
Bowen took it all in stride. Never before would he have tolerated the teasing and taunting, but he found he cared not. The way Genevieve’s face lit up when he complimented her made every taunt well worth it.
He did, however, keep the verse that he’d memorized a strict secret. He felt uncomfortable enough whispering the words to Genevieve under the softness of moonlight, but when she looked at him, her eyes shining like twin suns, all discomfort disappeared.
In that moment he wouldn’t have cared if the whole of the keep heard his recitation. The look on Genevieve’s face was an image he’d long carry with him and treasure.
They walked slowly under the glow of the moon, the rays bouncing off the surface of the gurgling river. He laced his fingers through hers, enjoying something as simple as holding her hand.
His past associations with women shamed him. He didn’t discuss such with Genevieve. They both bore shame, but for different reasons. Genevieve’s had been forced upon her. But Bowen’s had been solely of his own choosing.
He’d embraced his liaisons with women. He’d enjoyed loving. And what man didn’t like a good tup? He and Teague used to tease Graeme for his monkish ways, but Bowen thought now that Graeme had the right of it for being more discerning in his bed partners.
Graeme had come to Eveline without having bedded every lass in the vicinity. Bowen certainly couldn’t say the same, and just thinking on it made him wince.
What would Genevieve think if she knew of the casual way in which he’d divested lasses of their skirts? Would her opinion of him change? How could it not?
It wasn’t that he didn’t have great love for women. Indeed, it was the opposite. But now he wondered at the lack of respect he’d shown them. It pained him to be lumped in the same category as Ian McHugh. While he’d certainly never forced himself on any woman, could he say he hadn’t made them his whore?
He couldn’t even think on it any longer, because he did not like the potential results.
Genevieve had fundamentally changed him. Maybe from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, but certainly the moment he’d heard her story and knew of her pain and her bravery.
He wanted to be a better man for her. He wanted to be someone worthy of her.
He wanted her to love him.
“What are you thinking on?” she asked softly.
He blinked in surprise and lowered his gaze to hers. Many days had passed since her attack and the night she’d spent in his arms, and each day he’d carefully wooed her, gaining her trust. And it hadn’t been easy, because he’d vowed not to make her the brunt of clan gossip, and so every effort had been made in secret and it was taking a toll on them both.
What should be something wondrous was stressful, as they sought to hide from the prying eyes of others. But still, he looked forward to every stolen moment. Every opportunity to steal away and spend time in Genevieve’s presence.
Never had he displayed so much patience and forethought with another woman. He was determined to win Genevieve’s heart, no matter how long it took.
“You looked so deep in thought. I wondered what caused you to be so pensive.”
Bowen smiled. “I was only thinking that ’tis a beautiful night made only more beautiful by the woman who walks beside me.”
’Twas obvious she blushed, even in the glow cast by the moon. It was in her mannerisms, the way her gaze skittered sideways and she ducked her head in that shy way.
But he also saw her smile. It was a sight that never failed to tighten his chest. It had never been brought home to him the fact that she never smiled until finally she did. And now he sought to make her do so at every opportunity, because it was a sight he savored.
“You’ve a silver tongue, Bowen Montgomery,” she said, her teeth flashing with her smile. “A silver-tongued devil, you are.”
“I’d prefer to use my tongue for other purposes,” he murmured.
She paused, turning to face him as they topped the rise overlooking the river.
“And what purpose would that be?” she asked innocently.
The little imp was teasing him. It delighted him that she’d be so free with him. She’d always been so reserved and cautious. Careful never to make any overtures that could possibly be misconstrued.
Yet tonight she was looking at him with a devilish gleam in her own eyes. He may be silver-tongued, but she was developing one of her own and he loved it.
“I can think of several,” he murmured as he lowered his lips to capture hers.
Her breath caught, as if she’d swallowed his. This time she boldly returned his kiss, almost as if she’d grabbed hold of her courage and put it all on the line.
He was content to allow her to dictate the kiss. His hands slid up her neck, to just beneath her ears, and his fingers splayed out, his palms gliding over her jaw.
Kissing her was something he’d never grow tired of. It was like drinking warm sunshine or licking the sugary sweetness of honey from a spoon.
Smooth, silky-soft, and delicate and ultra feminine. She inspired possessiveness such that he all but screamed that she was his.
And the hell of it was she didn’t even know it.
He hadn’t told her.
Not one single word.
No “I love you.” No soft entreaty for the words to be offered to him in turn.
It was a vow he’d made before God and on her behalf. He’d pressure her into nothing. He’d not demand a single thing she was unwilling to give.
He’d wait for bloody ever if that’s what it took.
“Kissing is so very nice,” she said with a breathy sigh. “I never thought so before now. I always thought it rather horrid.”
She winced as if she regretted being so bold in her words. ’Twas likely she hated that she’d brought up a subject that was inherently shameful for her. But for Bowen, it was a signal that she was growing more comfortable with him, and so he embraced her willingness to discuss the terrible things that had happened to her.
“ ’Tis because you were not kissing me,” Bowen said smugly.
Genevieve laughed, and it was the most exquisite sound. It captivated him and made him want to pull it from her again and again.
“Mayhap you have the right of it,” she said in a rueful tone. “You are very skilled at it.”
He went quiet, not wanting to delve into the topic of why he was so skilled at kissing. ’Twas a dangerous topic. One he would be well rid of.
So he kissed her again, because he knew it would silence any further questions or comments. Besides, kissing her was no hardship.
They were deep into a breathless, bone-melting kiss when Bowen heard a shout in the distance. He immediately picked up his head, using one hand to shove Genevieve behind him while his other hand went to the hilt of his sword.
He strained to hear the voices while Genevieve clutched at his tunic, huddled against his back.
“Montgomerys arrive!”
The call was picked up and echoed through the watchtowers and around the perimeter of the keep. Bowen relaxed his grip on both Genevieve and his sword, and then pulled Genevieve back around to his side.
“ ’Tis my kin,” Bowen explained. “They bring supplies. Come. Let’s return to the keep so that I may greet them.”
Chapter 29
Genevieve’s heart was in her throat the entire walk back to the keep. Bowen was solicitous, slowing to match her pace even though ’twas obvious he seethed with impatience to greet his kin.
She’d heard Teague laughingly say that he was certain Graeme would arrive himself once he learned that the keep had been attacked and Bowen had been injured. With all her heart, she hoped that he’d remained behind and had not accompanied his men to McHugh Keep.
Her time with Bowen had been nothing short of perfect. Aye, she was living on borrowed time. It couldn’t last forever. She didn’t expect it to. If Graeme had arrived, it would be over a lot sooner. He would learn of all she’d done, and he’d want retribution. How could he not?
She’d done harm to his wife. She’d endangered his entire clan. It wasn’t something she expected to be forgiven for, even if Bowen had seemed willing to overlook her transgressions.
She clung tighter to Bowen’s hand as they neared the courtyard, where the Montgomery soldiers were even now piling in. Then she yanked her hand back, realizing the intimacy of holding Bowen’s hand and the fact that his clan would be looking on.
It was instinctive to reach for her hood and pull it over her head. She’d relaxed around Bowen. Something about him made her feel comfortable. She didn’t seek to hide from him.
Her cheek itched, and she lifted her hand to rub at the scar before gathering the neck of the hood and pulling it tight so the material was pressed against her face.
She wanted to flee. Duck in the back and escape to her chamber. The last thing she wanted was to stand before Bowen’s kin as though she had the right to do so. She was nothing to Bowen and even less to his clan. She had no interest in being present when she was judged.
“Genevieve, ’tis all right,” Bowen said in a soft voice as they neared the courtyard.
“Pray can I be excused, Laird?” she asked, her lips stiff from nerves.
He stopped in his tracks and gathered her hands in his, not caring who looked on. She wanted to pull her hands away before they were seen. Desperation gripped her. The last thing she wanted was to present a spectacle.
For a long moment he stared into her eyes, and then his gaze softened. He touched a hand to her face and gently pushed a tendril of hair from her cheek.
“Return then to your chamber. I’ll see you later.”
She all but fled across the terrain, making certain she circled the keep so she could enter through the back entrance to avoid any confrontation with Bowen’s kin.
Her heart beat so wildly that she feared passing out as she became light-headed. At the top of the stairs, she nearly ran into Taliesan, and she was so grateful to see the other woman that she gripped Taliesan’s hands.
“The Montgomery forces have arrived,” Taliesan said. “I heard them arrive from my window. They bring food and supplies. We’ll be safe from attack now, surely!”
“Aye,” Genevieve said as she sought to catch her breath.
She glanced toward her chamber and turned, all but dragging Taliesan along with her.
“Keep me company,” Genevieve urged. “I find I have no desire to be alone this night.”
Taliesan good-naturedly complied and, with the door shut behind them, Taliesan sent a concerned frown in Genevieve’s direction.
“You look as though you’ve suffered a fright, Genevieve. You’re nervous, and your hands are shaking! Whatever is the matter?”
Genevieve sought to calm herself as she stood in front of the hearth. She debated setting a fire, but she wasn’t sure her hands were steady enough for the task. Still, it would do her good to busy herself with something.
“I heard Teague say he would not be surprised if Graeme Montgomery himself arrived with the party bearing supplies.”
Taliesan nodded. “Aye, I saw him below. He arrived with his men. Teague and Brodie went out to greet him.” Then she frowned. “I did not see Bowen. Were you with him?”
Genevieve’s face exploded with warmth and she turned her back to Taliesan as she set logs for the fire. She and Bowen had spent a great deal of time with each other of late, but they’d not done so in an obvious manner. Bowen had been careful to keep appearances, something for which Genevieve was grateful, even if she had no care for what the McHughs thought.
It wasn’t so much what they thought as what they would do. They would take any opportunity to disparage Genevieve. Many held her accountable for Ian’s death, and now Patrick’s. With Bowen killing her attacker and issuing his warning to the entire clan that anyone doing harm to Genevieve would suffer the same fate, their animosity toward her had only intensified.