Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)(11)

To Bowen and Aiden he said, “ ’Tis a good idea for you to accompany Teague. We will meet in the courtyard after you’ve viewed all there is to see. Call the clansmen together so that we may address everyone in residence.”

“And where are you going?” Teague asked, his brows drawn together as he stared at his older brother.

“I have matters to discuss with Genevieve,” Bowen said.

Genevieve sat rigidly on the small mat that served as her bed. She hadn’t bothered lighting a candle or pulling the furs far enough from the window to fully bathe the room in light.

She was finally breaking, and she marveled that it hadn’t happened before. The horror of last year would have broken even the strongest person, and yet she’d been determined that she would never crack in front of Ian.

It had infuriated him. He wanted to break her, had become obsessed with coming up with more ways to humiliate her, to hurt her, to demean and debase her.

She’d become immune to the remarks of others, and Ian had allowed them to speak to her and of her as they liked. They could look, but not touch. They could torment her, but she was Ian’s possession—obsessively coveted to the point of madness.

She existed in a world that had become her public and private hell. In the first months, she’d spent an inordinate amount of time questioning. Why? Why was this being done to her? She was obsessed with knowing what sin she’d committed to merit such treatment. Animals were treated with better regard than she.

Every word, every comment, every dig, she’d taken to heart. Until the day she’d become numb to it all. It worried her on a distant level that she’d become so … inhuman. Like a thing. A ghost with no feelings, no emotions. Her body remained, but her spirit had long since departed.

But how else was she to survive? Moreover, why was she so determined to survive? It seemed so silly that her pride wouldn’t allow Ian to fully break her. She wouldn’t give him or his clan the satisfaction of knowing they’d completely destroyed her. Nay, she’d survive this, and after she left this place? Then she could die or not die. Survive or not survive. It mattered not, because no one would know.

She sucked in several breaths as they jerkily left her body in ragged spurts. She’d very nearly lost control of her emotions there in the hall, in front of everyone.

Her humiliation had been so great that she’d been tempted to tears. To let it all unravel there and finally let go.

Thank God she hadn’t. Thank God she’d kept it together just long enough to seek solace in the tiny chamber that was her only sanctuary. If only she could bar her door against the world, but Ian had allowed her no bolt, no lock, no loops in which to place a slat of wood to secure the door shut.

She had no privacy save that afforded by others. She had no rights, no privileges, not even the basest, most inconsequential things that others took for granted.

The mat was hard and uncomfortable. Her leg was prickly and numb from the awkward position in which she sat, so she drew her knees upward until she hugged them to her chest and hunched over to rest her cheek over the tops.

She closed her eyes and wondered what bargain she could strike with Bowen Montgomery that would gain her the freedom she craved above all else.

There was only one skill she possessed that a man like Bowen Montgomery might be interested in—if one could even call it a skill. And the idea of whoring herself willingly sickened her to the point that her stomach rebelled and protested vehemently.

But what else was she to do? What else did she have to offer?

Nothing.

What was one more coupling compared with gaining her freedom? Surely Bowen could not be as brutal as Ian. There was kindness in his eyes. She hadn’t imagined it. Perhaps he would be gentle with her, or, at least, not as sadistic as Ian.

It was a hope that she clung to when there was nothing else to hold on to.

Fear struck her as she remembered Bowen’s brother and the two Armstrong warriors who’d accompanied Bowen on his quest. What if they demanded her services as well? What if Bowen wanted to share her with them?

A low moan escaped her. It was a pitiful sound that came out as more of a soulless wail. She clamped her mouth shut, refusing to give in to the abject despair that clawed at her.

She wouldn’t give up. Not now. Not when she’d survived so much.

She had hope, no matter how unlikely it might be. It was more than she’d had in the past. Ian was dead. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t control her, any longer. Now she just had to trust that not all men were as evil as Ian. And pray to God they didn’t prove her wrong.

Chapter 6

Bowen stood in the doorway of Genevieve’s room, staring through the three-inch opening to where she sat on a shabby sleeping mat.

Her legs were drawn protectively to her chest, and he wondered if she had any idea how vulnerable such a position made her look.

Then she let out a low wail that was so filled with despair that it clutched at his throat, squeezing until it was difficult to draw breath.

He hesitated, his earlier determination to speak to her waning. She was suffering. Privately. Away from prying eyes and the disparagement of others. He should walk away and not let on that he’d been here at all.

But he couldn’t. It made no sense to him that he was fascinated by this particular lass. She intrigued him. She was a mystery he was determined to solve.

And he owed her a debt for the aid she’d given his brother in finding Eveline. Aye, he did, and he left no debt unpaid.