Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)(45)

Bowen smiled. “Rest easy, brother. I’m harder to kill than that. It would seem the lass was determined that I not go down that day. Though, even if I had suffered a dagger in my back, ’tis just as likely I would have survived.”

“I’d rather not chance it if ’tis all the same to you.”

Bowen nodded wearily. “Aye, neither would I. ’Tis the truth this paltry cut pains me greatly, but I’ll not say anything lest I have another potion poured down my throat. I’ve been insensible for two days from that poison they keep feeding me.”

“I’ll leave you to rest,” Teague said, rising to his feet. “On the morrow, I’ll meet with Brodie to determine if more needs be done to ensure the safety of the keep. If it’s not too much trouble, perhaps you could remain abed and out of trouble.”

Bowen grinned and raised his arm to clasp his brother’s. “I’m glad you returned, even if I have no liking for the circumstance that prompted it.”

Teague grasped Bowen’s arm in his firm grip. “Well, don’t be surprised if Graeme himself makes an appearance after he’s heard all there is to hear.”

Bowen groaned. “God help us.”

Chapter 22

The next morning, Bowen slowly attempted to rise from his bed. Movement stretched the flesh sewn together, and he winced as he righted himself.

He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the wound and testing to see how tender it was.

While he certainly wouldn’t be back on the battlefield this day, he could at least take himself from the bed before he became a permanent part of it.

He staggered to the washbasin and cleaned his face. What he needed was a good bath. He still smelled of sweat and blood. There was a layer of grime on him that only a good scrubbing would take away.

Throwing a tunic on over his head, he searched for a clean pair of leggings and decided not to bother with boots. He’d retrieve them after he’d washed.

Geoffrey was alone in the hall, and he stood at attention the moment Bowen stuck his head out.

“Do you have need of aid, Laird?”

Bowen shook his head. “Nay, I’m going to bathe.”

Geoffrey fell into step behind him and the two went down the stairs to find the hall empty, not yet alive with the day’s activities.

Bowen continued out the back of the keep, deciding that he’d make use of Genevieve’s stream.

The chill would certainly wash away the remnants of sleep, and his head needed a good clearing.

The brisk morning air hit him as soon as he stepped outside. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the lavender-painted sky that heralded the coming sun.

He’d nearly forgotten that Geoffrey was just a few steps behind when he topped the slight hill overlooking the stream. The sight that greeted him halted him in his tracks.

Genevieve was in the stream, her hair pulled over her shoulders as she rinsed the strands.

He turned sharply to Geoffrey. “Return to the keep at once.”

Geoffrey looked startled, but Bowen knew the moment he saw beyond to where Genevieve was bathing. The younger man’s cheeks reddened and he looked hastily away.

“Of course, Laird,” he mumbled, even as he backtracked as fast as he could.

Satisfied that Geoffrey could no longer see Genevieve, Bowen turned back to the river and pondered whether he should intrude yet again on her bath.

She was a lure too strong to ignore. He should be gallant and step quietly away, but instead he moved forward, his gaze never leaving her.

“It seems to be a habit, my finding you here,” he said mildly when he was within hearing distance.

Genevieve’s startled gaze shot up, and she immediately covered the upper portion of her body with her arms. The action made the soft mounds bulge upward, so that the pale globes were readily visible.

“What are you doing out of bed?” she demanded. “ ’Tis too soon for you to be moving about. What if you tear the stitches?”

“I have it on good authority that the person who set the stitches did an excellent job.”

She stared cautiously at him, her eyes dark and wounded. She expected the worst and, in a way, he couldn’t fault her for that. She’d only been given the worst thus far. Ian McHugh certainly hadn’t shown her any kindness, and, from what he’d witnessed, neither had most of the McHugh clan.

“ ’Tis freezing, lass. What are you doing in the river at this hour?”

“I needed to clean the dirt and blood from my hair,” she said in a low voice. “I would do so in privacy, if you please.”

“Well now. It would seem we have a bit of a problem, because I came here myself to wash.”

“Turn your back then, please, so that I may leave the water and dress, and then I’ll leave you to your privacy.”

He did as she bade him and presented his back. He could hear the splash of water, and he imagined her naked, water glistening on her skin. His body hardened as desire lanced through him like quick fire. It caught him completely by surprise.

He willed himself to regain control, but his body clearly had other ideas. His mind was filled with images fired by his imagination. And he had a rather vivid imagination where Genevieve was concerned.

Still, it made no sense that he had such a strong reaction to her. She bore the mark of another man—a man who’d made her his whore. There was much for her to answer to in regard to his clan, and yet he found himself making excuses for her. His mind sought a reasonable explanation for her actions, when there was nothing reasonable about her placing Eveline in such grievous danger.