Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)(54)

“My thanks, Taliesan. You are a good friend to Genevieve. I’ll make sure she knows of your kindness.”

Taliesan’s cheeks colored and she dipped a curtsy. “Please tell Genevieve that if she has need of me I am but a few doors away.”

Bowen nodded and then withdrew into the chamber, closing the door behind him.

Genevieve was sitting up in bed, the bed linens pulled to just underneath her chin. Blood had dried at the corner of her mouth and along her jawline, and her bottom lip was swollen.

“Taliesan brought you clothing,” Bowen said as he approached the bed. “Let me build up the fire and then you can dress in front of the hearth. I’ll not look. I promise.”

She smiled faintly. “ ’Tis too late for modesty, I think. You’ve seen all.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, her clothing on his lap. “ ’Tis not too late for respect,” he said in a serious tone. “And ’tis respect that I give by offering you privacy in which to dress and make yourself more comfortable.”

Damn if the lass’s eyes didn’t tear up again. It was like a fist to his gut, and suddenly it was hard for him to breathe.

He touched her cheek as if to ward off the tears.

“You’ve not had much to smile about, lass, but I plan to remedy that. I would give anything to make you happy again.”

“You are a good man, Bowen Montgomery,” she said hoarsely. “I was not wrong about you.”

He took the clothing from his lap and laid it next to Genevieve on the bed. “Let me go add logs to the fire so you’ll be warm. Your flesh is cold to the touch. When I am done, you can dress by the hearth.”

He stood and strode toward the bin where the pieces of wood were stacked. When he glanced back at Genevieve, she presented a sight that affected him deeply.

Hair tousled. Vulnerability reflected in her eyes. Covers drawn up to her chin and knees hunched against her chest. But the look on her face as she stared back at him … It was a look filled with wonder. Gratitude. Of discovery. As if she were seeing him in a whole new light.

It was a look that men coveted from women. A look that said he was her champion and that there was no other man in the world for her.

He reprimanded himself for letting his thoughts grow so fanciful. Aye, Genevieve may be grateful, but it didn’t mean she looked at him in any other way than that of gratitude. It was a look she would give to any man who’d defended her.

He busied himself building the flames, so that it became uncomfortably warm in the vicinity of the hearth. But he knew that she was chilled, that the traumatic event had given her the kind of bone-deep cold that was difficult to recover from. He’d see to her comfort even at the expense of his own.

When he was satisfied with his effort, he turned back to Genevieve and gently pried the linens from her tightly balled fists.

“Go and warm yourself by the fire, lass,” he said in a gentle voice. “I’ll stand by the door with my back turned, or, if you prefer, I’ll wait in the hall and you can summon me back inside when you’re finished.”

“You can stay,” she murmured.

Keeping her cloak tightly against her br**sts, she maneuvered out of bed and walked toward the fire. As promised, Bowen went to the door and crossed his arms over his chest as he faced away.

He could hear the light sounds of her dressing and he closed his eyes, imagining the sight behind him. Her nude figure outlined by the glow from the hearth. His breath caught in his throat and his body instantly hardened.

He chastened himself, berating himself for being no better than the bastard who’d tried to rape her. He should not be thinking on such things when the lass was recovering from the horror of being attacked.

But he wasn’t thinking of what he could take from her. He thought only of what he could give her. Of how he could woo her with sweet kisses. Tell her how beautiful she was. Stroke and caress her body until she sighed with contentment.

He wanted to show her how it could be between a man and a woman. Take away all the pain and humiliation and shame and, in their place, give her something beautiful.

Ah, he ached to be the one to show her how good loving could be. But ’twas more than that, for he wanted her more fiercely than he’d ever wanted a lass and he couldn’t even explain why. He cared not that she was scarred, that a man had marked her face so that no man would ever want her. If that had been Ian’s goal, he’d failed miserably, because Bowen wanted her with a need that bordered on obsession.

“You can look now.”

Her soft call tore him from his thoughts. He blinked and willed his body to calm, for he didn’t want to face her with the evidence of his arousal in plain sight.

Slowly he turned, positioning his body so that it wasn’t so readily obvious.

She looked even more beautiful. Clad in a nightdress, she stood by the fire, her bare feet peeking from underneath the hem. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves and her scarred cheek was turned away.

There was still the dried blood at her mouth, and he hadn’t queried her about other injuries.

He strode forward, taking one of the cloths he used for cleaning and he dipped it into the basin of water by the window. When he neared her, he cupped her chin with one hand and then gently dabbed at the corner of her mouth with the cloth.

She flinched but remained where she was while he cleaned the blood from her swollen lip.