She went into her chamber, but even though she was weary to her bones, she couldn’t sleep. She was too agitated, and paced her chamber restlessly.
Needing the coolness of the night air, she pulled the furs away from her window and leaned from the sill, breathing deeply of the chill.
It was a beautiful night, stars scattered like jewels across the sky. It was clear, with no cloud in sight and nothing to hide the near-full moon from view.
It glistened off the river that snaked around the keep and softly illuminated the landscape, making it glow with an eerie light.
She rested her arms on the narrow ledge and stared longingly toward the horizon. Below, the courtyard was mostly silent. Torches blazed along the tops of the stone wall, and she could see motion from the night guards as they manned their posts.
But the land was blanketed in silence. Deceptively peaceful. There was no sign that, just two days prior, a bloody battle had been waged. Lives were lost. Women and children mourned husbands and fathers. Lives were irrevocably changed.
Sadness gripped her. ’Twas such a useless thing. And so unnecessary. Many had suffered for the actions of a few. Wasn’t that always the way of things? The collective suffered for the actions of an inept, ineffectual leader.
She closed her eyes and allowed the cool wind to blow over her face, ruffling her hair until finally a chill skated down her spine.
A shout below broke her from her reverie and she quickly looked down to see several men scrambling to open the gate into the courtyard. When she looked beyond, she saw dozens of men on horseback riding toward the keep, two torches in the lead.
Her heart leaped into her throat until she heard someone shout, “The Montgomerys have returned!”
Relief took over. Teague was back. The messenger had been successful in overtaking him. Reinforcements had arrived, and they would be safe from attack.
But with the arrival of Bowen’s brother came the fear that, surely, once Bowen had explained all, she would be an outcast. The kindness and understanding they’d shown her would be replaced by anger and thoughts of revenge.
She turned away from the window, agitation taking hold once more. For the first time, she didn’t want to be alone. The isolation of her chamber—something she once longed for more than anything—was stifling and overwhelming. But she had no desire to return to Bowen’s chamber, where even now her fate could be in discussion.
On impulse, she cracked open her chamber door, peeking out to see if Geoffrey and Deaglan were outside Bowen’s chamber. But nay, they must still be inside.
Quickly, she darted to Taliesan’s door and knocked. The entire time she waited, she jittered from head to toe, not wanting to be discovered lurking in the halls when she was supposed to be in her own chamber, resting.
Finally Taliesan opened the door, and when she saw Genevieve she instantly swung it wide for her to enter.
“Is aught amiss, Genevieve?”
Concern radiated from Taliesan and Genevieve hastened to assure her.
“Nay. I could not sleep and was … lonely. And restless. I saw below my window that the Montgomery forces have arrived, and knew I wouldn’t rest for the remainder of the night.”
Taliesan shut the door and turned, her eyes wide. Relief shone in their depths.
“Oh, ’tis good news you bring. We need no longer worry about having to fend off an attack when we are sorely undermanned.”
Genevieve wished she could be so relieved over the news. Worry was about to eat a hole in her stomach.
“Sit, Genevieve. Do you have need of anything?”
Genevieve settled on the edge of Taliesan’s bed and shook her head. “Nay, just your company.”
Taliesan, clad in only her nightdress, sat on the bed, dragging her lame leg up so that it didn’t dangle over the side.
“ ’Tis glad I am for your company. Things are so tense within the clan. I finally sought refuge in my chamber, because everywhere I turned there was naught but worry, anger, fear, and stress. The clan has no idea what to think or how they should feel. Many are resentful of the Montgomerys’ and Armstrongs’ intrusion, even as they realize the sins committed by Ian and Patrick and weigh this against the loyalty they feel they should have toward their own kin, regardless of their transgressions.”
“I suppose we’ll wait it out in your chamber together,” Genevieve offered faintly.
“Why don’t you try to sleep, Genevieve. You look exhausted. You can share the bed with me. No one will bother you here.”
Genevieve glanced at the pillow and then stifled a yawn.
“Come. I have a nightdress you can change into. No need to go back to your chamber. I’ll help you out of your dress, and then we’ll both have a long sleep.”
Chapter 21
Bowen let out a groan and then pushed himself up in the bed, surprised when pain set fire to his chest. He sagged back, all his breath leaving him in an excruciating rush. What the bloody hell?
His head hit the pillow and he reopened his eyes to see Brodie Armstrong looming over his bed.
“What are you doing here?” Bowen grumbled.
“Seeing how you fare. How do you feel?”
It was an odd question, but it gave him pause, because the fuzz was starting to clear from his mind, and the more it cleared the more the ache in his skull increased.
He felt as though he’d been thrown from his horse, dragged through the mud, and then stepped on repeatedly.
“I’ve felt worse.” And it was true enough.
He struggled to make sense of why he was lying abed with Brodie in his chamber. Beyond Brodie he saw Geoffrey and one of Brodie’s men, Deaglan, standing at the end of the bed.
It was a regular gathering in his chamber, apparently.
When he tried to maneuver onto his side, at least, his chest protested and it felt as though someone had driven a thousand tiny needles into his flesh. He glanced down to see a fresh wound, jaggedly cut across his chest.
It was stitched tightly and looked clean. The stitches were close together and had sealed the flesh completely closed. Whoever had performed the task had done an excellent job.
“What happened?” Bowen asked, still rubbing bleary eyes.
His head was a vast void of nothingness, and trying to think only made it ache more vilely. His mouth was overdry, and his tongue felt large and thick. Almost as if he’d consumed far too much ale and suffered in the aftermath. Only, he knew he had done no such thing.
Brodie frowned. “We were attacked. Do you not remember?”
Rapid images flashed in Bowen’s mind. It all came in one giant bombardment until he was dizzy.
“Tell me all,” Bowen said curtly. “I want a full report. How long have I been abed? What of the rest of the clan. Did we suffer losses?”
Brodie held up his hand. “Your brother has arrived. It would be far simpler if I only give an accounting once, and he’ll want to hear the whole of it.”
“Teague? What the hell is he doing here?”
“Genevieve sent for him,” Brodie said evenly. “The lass roared the order, in fact. She sent three of your men to intercept your brother. But I’ll explain all when Teague arrives. I expect him at any moment. He was dismounting just moments ago.”
Bowen simmered with impatience, but he fell silent, nodding his agreement that they would discuss all when Teague was present.
He remembered his confrontation with Genevieve on the bank of the river. He certainly remembered seeing her bathing, and how stunningly breathtaking she was. He also remembered well how pale she’d gone when he’d asked her if all he’d heard about her involvement in Eveline’s abduction was true. The lass hadn’t needed to say a word to confirm his suspicions. It was all there to see on her face and in her eyes.
But then he also remembered staring at her in the heat of battle and being convinced she was about to fell him with an arrow, only for her to take out a McHugh warrior behind him who’d been prepared to plunge a dagger into his back. And then she’d rushed to his side, refusing to let him fall to the ground.
After that, everything was a blank. He had no recollection of any of the events that had followed. And he still didn’t know long he’d been in bed out of his senses.
“How long has it been since the battle took place?” Bowen demanded.
“Two full days,” Brodie said.
Bowen swore. ’Twas certainly long enough to be abed with an injury as paltry as his.
The corners of Brodie’s mouth turned up into a slight smile. “If it makes you feel any better, you were abed for so long because we held you down and forced a sleeping draft down your throat.”
Only a little mollified, Bowen leaned back and then pushed himself upward to a sitting position.
They didn’t have long to wait, as Brodie had suspected. Only moments later, Bowen’s chamber door burst open and Teague strode in, his face drawn into grim, worried lines.
His expression lightened when he cast eyes on Bowen, and he hurried to his brother’s bedside.
“Are you all right?” Teague demanded. “I came as fast as I could. We were nearly to Montgomery Keep when your men overtook me.”
“Aye, I am well. ’Tis a paltry wound. Not worthy of two days abed. I’ll be up on the morrow.”
Teague turned to Brodie. “What in God’s name happened?”
Brodie pulled up a chair, turned it backward, and then straddled the seat, resting his arms along the back.
“Patrick McHugh attacked, along with the McGrieves. We beat them back, but not before Bowen was injured. There was an attempt by a McHugh who’d remained behind and sworn allegiance to the Montgomerys. He snuck up on him and nearly stabbed him in the back as he did battle with another warrior.”
Teague quirked up an eyebrow. “And yet he didn’t.”
Brodie shook his head. “Nay. Genevieve felled him with an arrow.”
Teague did an instant double take. “Wait. Genevieve did what?”
“She put an arrow straight through the man’s forehead, and then she finished off the soldier Bowen had been doing battle with. The lass was fierce in battle. And she has good aim.”
Teague glanced at Bowen, his eyebrows drawn together. “What say you about this, Bowen? And what of the matter we discussed before I left?”
Bowen sent Teague a look that instantly silenced his younger brother.
“I’m more interested in the fate of Patrick McHugh. I saw him not in the heat of battle. Is he still lurking out there, hiding in some dark hole? And what of the other members of the McHugh clan. There was one traitor. Were there others?”
Brodie grimaced. “Aye. We found at least three. They were executed at dawn. They aided Patrick and the McGrieves, as well as their kin who rode with Patrick.”
“And Patrick?” Teague asked. “What of him?”
Brodie took in a deep breath. “This is rather interesting. Patrick is dead.”
“Dead? How? And who killed him? Find me the name of the soldier who ended Patrick’s life so he can be handsomely rewarded,” Bowen said.
“Well, that’s the thing,” Brodie hedged. “We found two arrows in Patrick McHugh. One in his leg and one right through his neck. Both arrows belong to Genevieve.”
Bowen and Teague gaped at Brodie and then looked at each other in astonishment.
“Are you certain it was the lass who killed him?” Teague asked skeptically.
“I saw her shoot the two men in defense of Bowen. It’s not a stretch for me to believe she felled Patrick as well. The lass is calm under pressure. And she’s lethal with that bow of hers.”
“What happened after I blacked out?” Bowen asked.
He wanted to know all, because he was haunted by strange sensations. He could swear that Genevieve was at his side, her hand touching his face. It was a soothing balm to his pain, and he hadn’t wanted her to leave. Only, when he’d awakened Geoffrey and Deaglan were present and there was no sign of Genevieve.
“Genevieve propped you up so you didn’t plant your face in the ground,” Brodie said with thinly veiled amusement. “Then she started barking orders like a seasoned commander. ’Twas she who sent riders to fetch Teague. She was concerned that we might suffer another attack, and with Bowen hurt and losses during battle we were considerably weakened.”
Bowen shook his head, utterly perplexed by the lass. He should be angry—nay, furious—with her for her part in Eveline’s abduction, and yet he couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for administering any sort of punishment for her crime.
At least, not until he heard her reasoning.
“She guarded you as fiercely as a wolf bitch with her pups,” Brodie said, admiration clear in his voice. “She stitched your wound and then stood vigil by your bedside for two days. I came in to find her sleeping next to you during the night. The lass had exhausted herself and had fallen asleep. I left before I could disturb her, but she remained in that chair by your bed for two days straight, barely eating or sleeping the entire time.”
Teague was frowning harder by the moment, and Bowen could see that he battled to remain silent. Bowen shot him a warning look before turning his attention back to Brodie.
“How many losses did we suffer?”
“Not many, but with a force as small as what we had after the departure of Aiden and Teague with the bulk of our soldiers, even a few is too many. I lost one of my men, and two Montgomery warriors were killed in battle.”
Bowen swore. “I should not have sent Teague away.”
Brodie shrugged. “ ’Twas necessary. We had need of supplies. Food. This clan has little, and if they are to survive, they need aid. Even with fewer men, we were superior on the battlefield. The men with Patrick and the McGrieves outnumbered us, but their losses are far greater than ours.”