Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)(22)

Her eyes warmed and a hint of a smile curved her plump lips upward until he was fascinated by the twinkle in her gaze. In that moment, she was beautiful. ’Twas easy to forget the scar that marred the other side of her cheek, for the rest of her face was smooth and silky, and so beautiful that it made him ache.

Her courage and resilience gave her beauty that physical attributes—or the lack thereof—could never touch. She made such an effort to hide her deformity from him and the world that it was easy to forget it entirely, and it was always a shock when he was confronted with it.

More serving women came by the table, smiling shyly, some boldly in his direction, as they served him more ale and freshened his plate with warmer food. Not that he thought it would help.

He was surprised by the daring of a few. They coquettishly propositioned him with subtle hints—some less so than others. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to lasses making overtures. Graeme teased him about having more than his fair share of women, and Graeme and Teague both jested that Bowen would throw up the skirt of any willing woman.

It wasn’t entirely true, though he didn’t argue with their assumption. ’Twas no use when their minds were made up and their view of him had been sealed.

But he did gain a lot of female attention wherever he went, and while some men would welcome it, he found it inconvenient. Particularly when the women were married and he had to worry about irate husbands.

Genevieve’s lips grew tighter and tighter as the meal wore on. She looked pale, as though she were ready to retire before she dropped on the floor.

“Is aught amiss?” Bowen whispered, leaning forward so he could converse quietly with Genevieve.

“They are such hypocrites,” she bit out, every word laced with fury.

Taken aback by her vehemence, he lifted an eyebrow in question as he stared at her.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know precisely what they want from you,” she hissed. “And yet they would judge me and find me lacking for something that wasn’t my choice when they offer their bodies to you freely. ’Tis ridiculous.”

Her point was well taken, but Bowen also knew that nothing would change their opinions. Pointing out their blatant hypocrisy would only enrage them further and turn them even more solidly against Genevieve. If that were possible.

Genevieve gave an audible sigh of relief when the serving women began collecting the trenchers, signaling the end of the evening meal.

“I should like to go up to my chamber, Laird,” she said in a demure voice that didn’t quite fit the Genevieve he knew.

“You have been moved to the one adjoining mine,” Bowen said firmly. Let the clansmen make of that what they wanted, but they wouldn’t dare to speak out against him within his hearing or they would suffer the consequences. “You may go up as long as Taliesan accompanies you. I’ve moved her also, to the chamber on the other side of you.”

Taliesan looked surprise. “But, Laird, I’ve always resided in a cottage outside the keep. I’ve never been afforded the privilege of remaining inside.”

“Now you have,” Brodie said with a scowl. “You and Genevieve will reside in adjoining rooms.”

Taliesan clapped her hands together in excitement. “ ’Tis wonderful, Genevieve! No longer will you have to worry about unwelcome visits. You’ll have Bowen on one side of you and me on the other.”

Brodie was unsmiling as he said his next words, and yet there was something odd in his voice. “I will be across the hall from both of you. If you have need of anything, I expect you to come to me.”

“Or me,” Bowen said.

Taliesan smiled, her cheeks turning pink and her eyes sparkling with warmth. “We will.”

Chapter 11

Genevieve sagged onto the bed and placed her palms down on the soft mattress, caressing the linens in an absent manner. A bed was a luxury she hadn’t enjoyed in a year. Not since leaving her own chamber in her father’s keep.

She’d been spoiled. Shamelessly so. Her every need was seen to. She’d been loved, pampered, and doted on.

Sorrow plagued her, and she tried her best to shake it from her chest and heart.

The only time she’d been allowed on a real bed was when Ian was using her. She’d grown to dread such a thing as a mattress, for as long as she was on the hard floor with the thin mat she slept on, she was safe from his attentions.

Bowen had seen to her comfort by having someone light a fire in the hearth and leave a jug of water by the washbasin near the window. The furs had been tightly drawn and secured, and candles had been strategically placed and lit around the room, so that it was softly illuminated by the warm glow from the small flames.

She should crave the isolation. She should be relieved and grateful that no one would bother her. And yet she felt hopelessly alone. Fearful and edgy.

In all honesty, she had no idea what to do with herself.

She sat utterly still and absorbed the change in the direction of her thoughts. Her plans. Everything had been sorted out in her mind, and then Bowen Montgomery had changed it all with his bold directive.

It should chafe her that he ordered her to stay within the keep. For an entire year she’d been subjected to the authority and rule of a man who had no care for her other than the misery he could cause her. And yet something about Bowen Montgomery made her stupidly … hopeful.

Ah, that word again. Hope. How sweet it was.