Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)(41)

Chapter 20

It was late in the evening when Bowen began to stir. Genevieve sat up straight, her anxious gaze traveling immediately to Bowen’s face as his eyelids fluttered and struggled to open.

Her first instinct was to bolt from the room, but she had to ascertain his fitness. All through the day she’d stood vigil by his bedside, watching closely for any sign of a fever.

Even now, her hand went automatically to his forehead and down to his cheek, testing for abnormal warmth.

He uttered a sigh as her hand glided over his face, and, while his face felt cool to her touch, his words had her wondering if he had indeed been overtaken by illness.

“Such a beautiful lass,” he murmured.

She yanked her hand away, stepping back into the shadows cast by the burning candles. Though he had no apparent fever, ’twas obvious he was not fully awake, because he certainly wasn’t referencing her with his remark.

She took this opportunity to slip away, heading to the door to alert the others. ’Twas time for her to take to her own chamber. The laird was awakening and, by all accounts, he was well and seemingly pain free.

Hearing no protest from the bed, she quietly opened the door, slipping into the hall, where Geoffrey and Deaglan stood guard.

“The laird is awakening,” she said.

She swayed precariously, fatigue sapping what little strength she had left. Deaglan put a hand out to steady her, but she quickly stepped to the side.

“He hasn’t taken a fever and he isn’t thrashing about in pain. Perhaps he’ll be lucid now and aware of his surroundings.”

“We’ll see to him immediately and send word to Brodie,” Deaglan said. “Now, go to your chamber, mistress, and seek your bed. You’ve remained at his side for two full days. You have need of your rest.”

She nodded, only too willing to remove herself from Bowen’s chamber before he fully awakened. Oh, aye, sooner or later she would receive her reckoning, but it would be after she’d enjoyed a full night’s rest and could better face her judgment.

She went into her chamber, but even though she was weary to her bones, she couldn’t sleep. She was too agitated, and paced her chamber restlessly.

Needing the coolness of the night air, she pulled the furs away from her window and leaned from the sill, breathing deeply of the chill.

It was a beautiful night, stars scattered like jewels across the sky. It was clear, with no cloud in sight and nothing to hide the near-full moon from view.

It glistened off the river that snaked around the keep and softly illuminated the landscape, making it glow with an eerie light.

She rested her arms on the narrow ledge and stared longingly toward the horizon. Below, the courtyard was mostly silent. Torches blazed along the tops of the stone wall, and she could see motion from the night guards as they manned their posts.

But the land was blanketed in silence. Deceptively peaceful. There was no sign that, just two days prior, a bloody battle had been waged. Lives were lost. Women and children mourned husbands and fathers. Lives were irrevocably changed.

Sadness gripped her. ’Twas such a useless thing. And so unnecessary. Many had suffered for the actions of a few. Wasn’t that always the way of things? The collective suffered for the actions of an inept, ineffectual leader.

She closed her eyes and allowed the cool wind to blow over her face, ruffling her hair until finally a chill skated down her spine.

A shout below broke her from her reverie and she quickly looked down to see several men scrambling to open the gate into the courtyard. When she looked beyond, she saw dozens of men on horseback riding toward the keep, two torches in the lead.

Her heart leaped into her throat until she heard someone shout, “The Montgomerys have returned!”

Relief took over. Teague was back. The messenger had been successful in overtaking him. Reinforcements had arrived, and they would be safe from attack.

But with the arrival of Bowen’s brother came the fear that, surely, once Bowen had explained all, she would be an outcast. The kindness and understanding they’d shown her would be replaced by anger and thoughts of revenge.

She turned away from the window, agitation taking hold once more. For the first time, she didn’t want to be alone. The isolation of her chamber—something she once longed for more than anything—was stifling and overwhelming. But she had no desire to return to Bowen’s chamber, where even now her fate could be in discussion.

On impulse, she cracked open her chamber door, peeking out to see if Geoffrey and Deaglan were outside Bowen’s chamber. But nay, they must still be inside.

Quickly, she darted to Taliesan’s door and knocked. The entire time she waited, she jittered from head to toe, not wanting to be discovered lurking in the halls when she was supposed to be in her own chamber, resting.

Finally Taliesan opened the door, and when she saw Genevieve she instantly swung it wide for her to enter.

“Is aught amiss, Genevieve?”

Concern radiated from Taliesan and Genevieve hastened to assure her.

“Nay. I could not sleep and was … lonely. And restless. I saw below my window that the Montgomery forces have arrived, and knew I wouldn’t rest for the remainder of the night.”

Taliesan shut the door and turned, her eyes wide. Relief shone in their depths.

“Oh, ’tis good news you bring. We need no longer worry about having to fend off an attack when we are sorely undermanned.”