Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)(8)

If she expected there to be any remorse in their eyes for their misjudgment of her, she was sorely mistaken. There was the usual mixture of disgust, disapproval, outright sneers, pity—yes, pity from a few—and confusion, because many of the McHughs had yet to determine why she hadn’t tried to murder them all in their sleep.

There was only one McHugh she’d dreamed of making suffer a long, drawn-out death. She’d actually been disappointed when Graeme Montgomery had ended Ian McHugh’s life so quickly. It hadn’t been bloody enough. Or painful enough. Ian deserved to suffer because he was a horrifying human being who deserved no mercy and no leniency.

Pity that Graeme had been concerned only with hying his wife to safety and so had dispatched Ian with ruthless precision so that he would no longer be a bane to anyone’s existence.

One day Genevieve would like to thank the laird in person, but there would be too many questions she had no intention of answering were she to do something so unladylike and unbecoming a gently bred lass as to offer her grave thanks for the killing of another man.

“Genevieve?”

Genevieve broke from her bloodthirsty thoughts and blinked rapidly to bring her focus back to the present. Taliesan stood in front of her, her delicate features pulled tight with concern.

Genevieve sighed. Taliesan was the closest thing to a friend that she had—not for lack of trying on Genevieve’s part to remain aloof and distant. The very last thing Genevieve had wanted was any kinship with these people.

Nay, they weren’t to blame for the actions of Ian McHugh, but Genevieve was resentful of the situation that had been forced upon her, and every slight she suffered at the hands of the McHughs had only compounded her determination never to form a bond. She wanted to be gone from this place. Someplace where she could be alone, and then maybe she could forget the last year of her existence and she could find peace.

Such an elusive creature. Peace and happiness were things she’d long taken for granted, sheltered in the loving bosom of her family.

Even now, just remembering them made her chest ache fiercely. Sorrow weighed down on her, as if she carried a load of rocks on her back.

A year ago, she’d been so happy. So very naïve, convinced that nothing bad could ever befall her. Ian McHugh had proved her wrong, and had changed her, irrevocably, from a starry-eyed young lass ready to take on life’s challenges with a smile and a laugh to a mere shell of her former self. A person she could never hope to regain.

“What is it, Taliesan?” Genevieve asked gently, not allowing her rage to bleed into her voice.

Taliesan was a sweet lass who’d dealt with adversity and remained as good as an angel despite her lameness.

“I worry for you, Genevieve,” Taliesan said in a low voice. “We have no idea what manner of man this Bowen Montgomery is. The Montgomery laird is said to be a fair man. ’Tis obvious he has great affection for his wife. ’Tis also said that he treats her with great respect and demands the same from everyone around him. In his hands, I’d not worry over the fate you would suffer.”

Genevieve reached to touch the other woman on the arm. “ ’Tis not your concern, Talie.”

“But it is,” Taliesan said fiercely. “My clan has wronged you grievously. What you have suffered at Ian’s hands makes me want to weep. Think you I don’t know all he has done to you? All he has made you suffer? And my clan is no better, because they know. They know, and yet they turn their backs because they know they did nothing to stop Ian. Just as Patrick did nothing to stop his son. And so they scorn you instead, because to acknowledge that you are a victim would be to acknowledge that they allowed you to be so.”

Genevieve’s cheeks bloomed with heat, and she felt ill hearing it so clearly outlined how evident was all that Ian had subjected her to. She hadn’t thought her humiliation could be any deeper. She was wrong.

That everyone knew sickened her. That Taliesan so clearly pitied her was more than Genevieve could bear. She longed to be away. Where she could be someone else. So that Genevieve McInnis could quietly die as she was believed to have done a year past.

“Do not interfere,” Genevieve said firmly. “ ’Tis best if you concentrate on you and your kin. Do not concern yourself with me. I’ve survived the worst. Naught can be done that is more than I’ve endured at Ian’s hands.”

“I cannot turn my back on you,” Taliesan said, her voice thick with emotion. “I won’t ignore your plight as others have done.”

“Talie, please,” Genevieve pleaded softly. “I pray that Bowen Montgomery is as fair as his brother is reported to be, and that he will allow me to travel to an abbey where I may seek refuge and seclusion.”

“Oh Genevieve, no!” Taliesan said in a shocked whisper. “What of your family? You’re young and you’ve your entire life ahead of you.”

Genevieve shook her head, sadness tugging relentlessly at her heart.

“ ’Tis better that my family believe I am dead, as was reported a year ago. I could never face them. I could never shame them thus. No man would ever want me, Ian McHugh’s whore. I would never gain an advantageous marriage. I would be a burden to my father and mother all the rest of their days. My mother’s heart would be broken, and they could never hold their heads up at court. Nay, ’tis better this way, for they have already mourned me and I died with honor. I would prefer that over living in shame and bringing dishonor to my family.”