Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)(51)

“Speak to me, Genevieve,” he urged.

He was afraid to touch her for fear of hurting her. Blood trickled from her mouth. ’Twas obvious the bastard had dealt her at least one blow, but who knew how many more or what the extent of her injuries were?

He had been in time to prevent her from being raped, but the lass was still deeply traumatized.

“I’m all right,” she said faintly.

It was enough to make him rise and turn his attention to the McHugh warrior, who lay on the ground a few feet away. Fresh anger smoldered within him. He was seething with fury that this man would dare to abuse Genevieve.

The warrior attempted to scramble to his feet, but Bowen leveled him, knocking him flat upon his back again. Bowen’s chest protested, his wound fiery with pain, but he paid it no heed. His sole intent was to remove this man as a threat to Genevieve forever.

The warrior threw a punch in an effort to dislodge Bowen, but he was solidly pinned to the ground. Bowen doubled his fist and rammed it into the other man’s face, and then before the warrior could respond, Bowen grasped the McHugh man’s head and gave it a great yank, effectively breaking his neck in one swift motion.

’Twas the truth he’d rather make the bastard suffer, but his focus was on ending things quickly so he could attend to Genevieve.

Bowen dropped the warrior’s head and it lolled to the side, his eyes glassy in death. He stood to his feet, staring down in disgust, before turning his attention once more to Genevieve.

He knelt at her side and gathered her gently in his arms.

“Speak to me, lass. Did he hurt you?”

She stared at him in shock, eyes wide. “Y-y-you k-killed him.”

“Aye, I did,” he said grimly. “He well deserved it.”

Her gaze shifted sideways, toward the felled warrior, her mouth round. It was all too much for her to take in.

Bowen gently directed her gaze back to him.

“Do not look upon him, Genevieve. He is not worth your regard.”

Her head snapped back and there was a fierce light in her eyes. “Nay. He is not.”

Just as quickly, she seemed to realize that she was all but naked to Bowen’s gaze. Shame filled her eyes and she made a grab for her cape, trying to shield her nudity.

Bowen carefully helped her arrange the cape to cover her as best he could, all the while holding her firmly in his embrace.

He could feel her heart beating frantically against his own chest.

But what nearly killed him was when he found her gaze again, her eyes were shiny with tears.

“Ah lass, do not cry,” he said hoarsely. “He is not worth your tears.”

She buried her face in his shoulder, and Bowen went to his feet, bearing her slight weight with him. Mindful that she was properly covered, he began the walk back to the keep.

Fury beat at him. He was livid that she’d been attacked under his watch and care. That she would continue to suffer at the hands of the McHughs filled him with rage all over again.

The lass had endured enough. When would it end?

Her muffled sobs tore at him. He wanted nothing more than to bear her safely back to his own chamber, where he could be certain no one else would hurt her.

He ignored the looks and questions of others as he made his way through the hall to the stairs. He warded off his own men, determined not to stop until Genevieve was well out of the sight of others.

When Taliesan met him at his chamber door, her face stricken with worry, he gruffly told her to be off and to ensure no one came to his chamber door.

He knew the lass was only concerned about Genevieve, but he also knew that Genevieve would want to be away from the prying eyes of others, and he would fulfill that wish above all else.

As soon as he shouldered his chamber door closed, he placed Genevieve on his bed and seated himself at her side. He touched her swollen bottom lip and thumbed away a smear of blood.

“What did he do to you?” he demanded.

The fresh wave of tears nearly slayed him. ’Twas true enough he was a disaster around female tears. They made him feel helpless to fix whatever was the matter, and God only knew he’d do anything to remedy a lass in distress.

Her lips trembled and her voice was a near-whisper, so that he had to strain to hear her. “Naught that has not been done before.”

As if it didn’t matter. As if she were resigned to her fate.

It only infuriated him all the more. He wanted to go kill the bastard all over again. His death had not been long or painful enough.

His fingers curled into tight fists as he sought to control the rage working within him.

“You’ll not suffer such again,” he said fiercely. “I vow it, Genevieve. You will never be made to give anything but what you choose to give freely.”

She turned her face away, but not before he saw a silver trail of tears leak from her eyes.

He lowered his head and pressed his lips to her temple. “I am sorry I was not there sooner.”

She turned, her eyes a wash of vibrant green, shiny with moisture and a silent plea.

“Will you …”

She bit her lip and stifled whatever it was she was going to ask. He touched a finger to her unmarred cheek and let it trail downward in a comforting caress.

“What is it you ask, lass? You have to know if ’tis within my power I’ll do it for you.”

Faint color suffused her cheeks, and she looked suddenly nervous.