Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)(29)

Bowen broke away and shouted harshly to his men to ready themselves. Then he called up to the tower watchman.

“Do you see them yet?”

“Aye, Laird!” the man called down. “They are topping the last rise to the keep, coming from the north.”

Bowen turned, sword in hand, raising it above his head as he stared at the assembled troops.

“No mercy!”

“No mercy!” they roared back.

Genevieve frantically pulled on a simple day dress, not bothering with any underclothing. Her hands and knees shook until she was a clumsy mess and she wanted to scream in frustration.

“Genevieve, we are under attack!”

Taliesan’s fearful cry from Genevieve’s chamber door gave Genevieve a start. She whirled around, nearly tripping as she attempted to fasten her dress.

“Aye, I know it. Help me,” she said grimly, offering her back to Taliesan.

Taliesan’s fingers shook as she fastened the dress. As soon as she was done, Genevieve broke away and went to the small trunk positioned close to her pallet. She’d managed to keep so few of her things. Ian had taunted her with the gifts from her parents. Not many had survived, but what did remain, she cherished greatly. He’d taken great pleasure in breaking or ruining an object when he perceived she needed punishing.

She opened the trunk and pulled out the bow and the quiver of arrows fashioned especially for her smaller frame by her father. She slung the quiver over her shoulder as Taliesan looked on, mouth wide open.

When she started past Taliesan, the other woman put her hand out, gripping Genevieve’s arm.

“Where are you going? What do you think to do?”

Genevieve squared her shoulders and looked Taliesan directly in the eye. “Listen to me. Go and seek refuge in one of the tower chambers. Make sure it’s a room with no windows—and bar the door. Seek as many of the women and children as possible, and encourage them to do the same. Do not allow anyone inside who is not known to you.”

“And you?” Taliesan asked fearfully. “What of you, Genevieve?”

“I will not be imprisoned again,” Genevieve said fiercely. “The Montgomery men are all who stand between me and the McHugh Laird bearing down, seeking to reclaim his keep. I’ll either aid the Montgomerys in defending their position or I’ll die trying. I’ll never again be subjected to the whims of a single McHugh.”

“Have a care, Genevieve. I beg you. Do not do anything foolish.”

Genevieve snorted. “I would hardly call killing a few McHughs foolish.”

“God be with you,” Taliesan said, pulling Genevieve into a fierce hug.

“And you,” Genevieve returned. “Now go and seek shelter in the tower.”

She swept past Taliesan and hurried down the hall to the stairs. As she descended, the sounds of battle could be heard echoing through the courtyard. The clash of swords and shields. The roars of rage and cries of pain.

As she stepped through the doorway, the smell of sweat and blood tainted the air and was oppressive in her nostrils.

The courtyard was a sea of chaos. It was hard to discern who fought whom. Her gaze sought out the now familiar Montgomery and Armstrong warriors, though their numbers were smaller than just a day before.

Patrick, being the coward he was, likely had set a watch on the keep and had attacked the moment the bulk of the Montgomery and Armstrong forces departed.

Her gaze halted when she found Bowen in the midst of a fierce battle with two of the McHughs who had departed with Patrick. He was holding his own, though, and didn’t need her aid.

She searched farther, looking for Patrick, though she didn’t expect him to be in front leading the attack. Nay, he’d be on the fringes, avoiding confrontation.

Finally, she found him and, as she suspected, he was lurking on the perimeter, sword in hand, but he wasn’t engaged, and two of his warriors were solidly in front of him.

Rage suffused her as she stared at the source of her torment for the last year. Nay, he may not have taken an active part in her abuse, but he turned a blind eye to Ian. He never once called his son down for his actions. Never said to him he was being dishonorable.

He’d stood by while she’d been repeatedly used, a means for Ian to slake his twisted desires. He hadn’t cared that she’d been broken numerous times. That, at times, she’d wanted to die. Or that her very soul had been forfeit to demons she could never hope to escape.

She reached over her shoulder to grasp one of the arrows by the fletching and quickly notched it. She raised the bow and set her sights on the man in front of Patrick. She would have to act quickly. Once Patrick sensed danger, he’d slink away like a rat in the darkness.

Rapidly taking aim, she let the first arrow fly. Savage satisfaction coursed through her veins when the warrior just in front of Patrick clutched his chest and toppled forward, her arrow embedded deeply in the area just above where his chain mail protected his vulnerable areas.

Patrick sent a panicked look, desperately searching for the source of the attack. He instantly hunkered down, cowering behind his shield, all the while hoarsely yelling for someone to come to his aid.

Her lips curling into a snarl, she notched another arrow and took aim, waiting patiently for the right opportunity.

Sweat beaded and rolled down her back. Her entire focus was on her target. Her arm ached from the strain of holding the bow at full draw, but she’d wait forever if that was what it took.