Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)(35)

She glanced up in alarm. “There are more?”

“I know not,” Brodie said grimly. “You spoke of one who tried to plunge his dirk into Bowen’s back. If there was one, there may well be others.”

She nodded her understanding even as dread gripped her heart. McHugh Keep was already hostile enough for her. She’d named Bowen’s betrayer, and if more were uncovered, she’d likely receive the blame for the consequences.

Chapter 17

It was late into the night and Genevieve sat awkwardly by Bowen’s bed. She had rearranged herself countless times in the wooden chair where she’d taken position for the past hours, and still her muscles ached and stiffness had worked its way into her back and neck until they were screaming in protest.

And yet she hadn’t moved. She kept watch as Bowen slept, silently transfixed by the image he posed on the bed. She drank in the sight of him, allowing her gaze to boldly roam over his torso and up to his perfect, unmarred features.

Here was a man, though scarred in body, whose face was utterly unblemished by so much as a mark. No crooked nose. No bump to signify a break during battle. The rest of his body was weathered, yet still beautiful in its imperfection, but his face was simply perfect.

Never before had she come into contact with a man to rival Bowen Montgomery in looks, and she’d seen many a fair face at court. She’d seen men who’d never seen the light of battle and had never sullied their hands in such a fashion.

Bowen’s hands and fingers were rough and callused. He was well used to hard work and fighting. He was a man unafraid to do labor, and yet, at a glance, he looked superior to those men who’d never stepped onto a battlefield.

But it wasn’t his looks that compelled her. It wasn’t his face that fascinated her. Perhaps it was his gentleness from the onset. Before he’d learned of her sinful deed. She didn’t expect him to ever understand her motivation. How could he? She’d been responsible for much wrong done to his kin and clan. He was ever loyal to his brother. That much was evident in his every word and action, and just as evident was the fact that the same loyalty extended to his sister by marriage.

He stirred for the first time since he’d received the first draft. He turned his face, a low moan escaping his dry lips. Instinctively, she lay her hand on his face in a soothing manner, and as she stroked, she murmured in a low voice that all was well and for him to rest.

She had no idea if he was cognizant of her words or if they had any impact, but he stilled nonetheless and settled back into sleep, his breathing slowing as his body relaxed.

Leaning forward in her chair, she grew bolder, sliding her fingers toward the thick long hair that hung past his shoulders. He was so beautiful it was hard not to touch him, and what harm would it do? No one was there to look on. Bowen would never remember that she’d offered him comfort while he rested.

It brought her solace she couldn’t explain. Simply being able to touch someone without being forced. To offer something of herself that wasn’t demanded of her. Having a deeper contact with another human being after being treated little better than an animal for so many months.

As soon as her hand left his face, he stirred again, a frown marring his face. His brow drew into a wrinkled line and he mumbled something indecipherable. She hesitated, her hand still in the air, and he turned his head first one way and then the other. His breathing sped up, and he seemed to grow more agitated by the second.

Taking a chance, she laid her hand on his forehead again, smoothing the lines away with gentle fingers. He instantly relaxed, and his breathing slowed.

’Twas like soothing a savage beast. He seemed to like her touch, though she was sure any who touched him would receive the same response. It was fanciful of her to think even for an instant that he would welcome her hand if he knew who offered him solace.

But for now she could pretend and enjoy a fleeting moment of peace.

She leaned forward in her chair, seeking to alleviate the awkwardness of her position. Her limbs ached and the muscles in her back protested every movement.

Leaving her hand in place, she gingerly stood, biting back the moan that threatened to escape when her body creaked and spasmed. So many hours in one position on a hard chair had taken its toll.

She glanced around, but seeing no remedy, she grappled with herself over whether to be so presumptuous as to take position next to Bowen on the bed. What if he awakened and found her there? What would his reaction be? Would he even remember that she’d saved him, or would his sole memory be of his confrontation with her on the banks of the river?

She perched on the edge of the bed, facing Bowen and sliding her bottom just so that she could enjoy the softness of the bed. She bumped up against his side and held her breath, praying she wouldn’t awaken him from his slumber.

When he didn’t move, she relaxed and then fidgeted until she found a comfortable position. Then she resumed stroking his forehead, every once in a while straying to his hair to delve into its thickness.

He gave a deep sigh and mumbled once again before turning into her palm, nuzzling against the inside of her hand.

The simple action invoked a powerful response within her, one she hadn’t thought she was capable of after a year in Ian McHugh’s hands.

She began to imagine how it would be to have a warrior such as Bowen Montgomery touch her in the way she was touching him. With such aching gentleness. With respect for her pleasure and wishes. Would he be content with simply holding her and stroking her in a comforting manner, or would he be intent solely on his own pleasure?