Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)(36)

Not having the experience to know the difference between Ian McHugh and any other man, she couldn’t say. She simply couldn’t fathom such kindness from a male, because she hadn’t experienced it in so long.

But it was a nice thought. One that brought her immense pleasure. More so than she would have ever dreamed. And it was best she left it precisely there. In her dreams. Leaving herself vulnerable and open to the kind of treatment she’d been subjected to would make her the worst sort of fool. A man couldn’t well abuse her if she never gave him the chance.

She rebelled at the thought that Bowen could be like Ian. There was nothing to say that she had any real knowledge of the man Bowen was, but it dismayed her to think she could be so wrong. She certainly hadn’t been wrong about Ian. She’d known from their very first meeting that he was a man to avoid, and she’d done so until he’d forced her hand by raiding her escort to her future husband.

With shock, she realized she’d given no thought to her betrothed in many a month. She’d not tortured herself by thinking on matters she couldn’t change. Even trying to imagine what her life would have been like married to a Highland chieftain was to open herself up to more hurt.

Was he married to another even now? ’Twas likely he was. Hers had been an arranged marriage. There was no affection involved. She’d only met the man once, when he’d come to formally offer for her hand on her father’s lands. The accord had been reached between him and her father. Her introduction to him had been a mere formality, and an afterthought once the agreement had been struck.

By now she could have had a child of her own. A wee bairn to fuss over and spoil shamelessly. Her mother would have visited often, and perchance her husband would have been agreeable to her visiting her father’s keep on occasion.

Grief overwhelmed her, and she quickly shut the door on old memories as they rushed to the surface. It was true enough that thinking on things she could not change was the fastest way to heartbreak.

But she still ached for what could have been, and perhaps it was why she had such fascination for Bowen Montgomery. He reminded her of the way things could have possibly been. Marriage to a man such as he, one with honor and loyalty, would have been appealing.

She absently stroked his cheek, sadness clinging to her like the most stubborn vine. Nay, those dreams were gone. Her life would be very different now. It was doubtful Bowen’s offer of a place in his clan, firmly under the Montgomerys’ protection, was still in place, but perhaps he would see fit to place her in an abbey as she’d first requested.

Making the best of less than desirable circumstances had become a way of life for her. She’d been forced to do it this last year, and she could do it again.

Chapter 18

Genevieve woke from a deep sleep with a start. Her eyes opened to darkness, and for a moment she was completely disoriented. All she knew was that she wasn’t in her chamber, and it took her several long moments to place herself as the day’s events came crashing back.

She scrambled out of bed, horrified that she’d fallen asleep and, worse, she’d been curled up right next to Bowen in the small space between him and the edge of the bed.

She sat up, wiping the sleep from her eyes and pushing her hair back from her face. The strands were in disarray, billowing wildly about her head.

What if someone had come in? What if someone had discovered her boldly sleeping next to the laird? She’d taken great liberties, and it had been a stupid risk.

She pushed up from the bed, desperate to put distance between her and Bowen. Stumbling in the darkness, she reached blindly for the candle that had been burning beside the bed only to find it nearly burnt to the wick.

In the hearth there were faintly glowing coals, not much left of the roaring fire that had burned hours earlier when she’d stitched Bowen’s wounds.

Sleep and disorientation still clinging fiercely, she set about lighting a few of the extinguished candles and then built the fire back up so that a respectable blaze burned. Then she turned back to Bowen, hoping beyond hope that he hadn’t been disturbed by her activities.

To her relief, he was still asleep.

She all but sagged back into the chair, reprimanding herself soundly for the urge that had overtaken her to be closer to the laird. If she’d learned nothing else, it had been to be cautious in all things, and yet the laird inspired her to idiocy.

Her eyes burned with the need to return to sleep, but she dared not allow herself to do so. Who knew what other foolishness she might embark on?

She yawned broadly, her jaw nearly cracking with the effort. Eyes watering, she focused her attention on Bowen, his face softly illuminated by candlelight.

He stirred, and again she breathed a sigh of relief that she’d awakened when she had. She wouldn’t have wanted the laird to awaken with her curled up next to him like a satisfied kitten.

He began to thrash about, his head twisting from side to side, until she feared he’d toss himself right out of the bed. She rose, instantly leaning over him, trying the method of touching his face, but this time he would not be calmed.

A ragged moan escaped his throat, and she realized that he must be in pain again. It had been quite some time since the earlier dram, but she’d require the help of one of the men to force another down his throat.

Hurrying to the door, she hoped that either Geoffrey or Deaglan would be outside, as Brodie had assured her. When she opened it, she breathed a sigh of relief to see that, indeed, both men were at their posts—one beside the door and the other on the other side of the hall, sitting on the floor, his back against the wall for support.