There were also enough younger men who hadn’t yet achieved warrior status within the clan to do the hunting and tend to the remaining livestock. Horses would be needed, because there weren’t enough mounts for working or traveling.
“ ’Tis obvious you have vast knowledge of the workings of the keep,” Bowen said to the two older men.
Peter McHugh puffed out his chest, his pride stoked by the compliment. Hiram nodded. “Aye, we do, Laird.”
It still took Bowen aback to be addressed as Laird. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, though if he were truthful, it gave him great satisfaction.
“I need good men who know the workings of the keep. I need men who will be loyal to me while working for the good of the clan.”
Peter nodded solemnly. “You’ll find no more loyal men. Our concern is for the clan, not one man. Patrick McHugh turned his back on the clan. For that, he does not deserve our loyalty or our regard.”
Bowen exchanged looks with Brodie, who nodded his agreement to Bowen’s suggestion.
“Then the two of you will be in charge of your clan and you’ll act as my go-between with your kin. ’Tis important that they have a face they are familiar with and that they trust. They’ll not accept or embrace me straightaway. You’ll take my orders to your clan and you’ll ensure that those orders are carried out, as well as bear any concerns or problems that arise directly to me.”
Both men nodded.
“It will be our honor and pleasure, Laird,” Hiram said gravely.
“Laird! Laird!”
Bowen and Brodie swiveled with a frown as the feminine cry of distress reached them.
Taliesan was doing her best to hurry toward them, but she was hampered by her lame leg and nearly stumbled.
Bowen and Brodie both rushed forward, not wanting her to injure herself. It was obvious that she was highly agitated.
Brodie caught her by the arm just in time to prevent her from sprawling forward.
“You need to have a care,” Brodie said, a frown darkening his features.
Ignoring Brodie’s reprimand, Taliesan turned her pleading stare on Bowen.
“You must stop her, Laird. Please, she’s distraught. She has nowhere to go. I dare not imagine what fate will befall her out on her own.”
She wrung her hands, tears clouding her blue eyes.
Bowen held up his hand to stifle the endless babble of words.
“What do you speak of, Taliesan?” he asked. “Who are you talking about, and what has happened?”
“Genevieve,” Taliesan burst out.
Bowen’s lips formed a tight line, and then he sighed. “What has she done?”
“She’s left the keep. On foot. She has nothing. Nowhere to go. No one to care for her.”
Bowen blew out his breath in irritation. “I have no time for feminine tricks and manipulation.”
Taliesan’s eyes burned with sudden anger. “Think you that she’s doing this for attention? To tug at your heartstrings or to gain a boon? Sir, you don’t know Genevieve. You can’t hope to know all that she has suffered. She told no one of her plan. But I saw her as she was departing. There was no life in her eyes. No hope. Nothing but death and despair, and ’tis a sight I hope never to see again. There is nothing for her here and she well knows it, yet there is nothing for her outside this keep, either.”
“I think ’tis time we spoke frankly,” Bowen said in a grim voice. “I would know all there is to know of Genevieve’s situation before I take the time away from my duties to chase after a woman fool enough to strike out on foot on her own.”
Taliesan sent Bowen and Brodie an unhappy look, indecision clearly reflected in her eyes.
“Come and sit before you fall,” Brodie said, gently leading her toward the benches outside the bathhouse.
Bowen waited patiently as Brodie seated Taliesan, and then he stood before the younger lass and fixed her with a determined stare.
“You do not betray Genevieve by telling me her situation. I can’t help her if I don’t know the whole of it. My conversation with her has not painted her in a positive light. I would know if I’ve formed the wrong impression of her.”
Anger tightened Taliesan’s features.
“I can assure you that whatever impression you may have formed of Genevieve is indeed very wrong.”
“Then correct my assumption,” Bowen said patiently.
Taliesan sucked in a deep breath, grief once more swamping her eyes.
“I know of no other woman who has suffered as Genevieve has suffered,” she said quietly. “Her clan name is McInnis and she hails from the Lowlands, close to the English border.”
Brodie’s eyes widened and he arched one eyebrow in Bowen’s direction.
Bowen shook his head. “Wait a moment. She is a McInnis?”
Taliesan nodded. “Aye, she is—or rather, she was.”
“The McInnis clan has strong ties to the Crown,” Brodie murmured. “The laird is a longtime friend, and the McInnis clan wields much influence and power. The king is oft in residence as a guest of the McInnis laird.”
“She is the laird’s daughter,” Taliesan softly interjected.
“That makes no sense!” Bowen exclaimed. “The daughter of the McInnis laird no more than Ian McHugh’s whore?”
Taliesan flinched at the insult and her eyes blazed with fury.
“ ’Twas not of her doing!”
Taliesan yelled the words, startling Bowen with her vehemence.
“Tell us all, Taliesan,” Brodie urged.
“I don’t know all,” she said in frustration. “Genevieve has never confided in me. ’Tis not something she would do, for she is intensely private and she has so little pride left that she maintains what she can.”
“What do you know?” Bowen asked. “Was she truly Ian’s whore?”
Taliesan flinched again, the color high in her cheeks. Brodie shot him a reprimanding look for offending the lass yet another time, but Bowen was only growing more impatient.
“Ian brought her here. She did not come willingly. This I know. I saw firsthand the manner in which he treated her. It was worse for her because she resisted—or she tried to.”
“Jesu,” Bowen muttered. “And yet naught surprises me when it comes to Ian.”
“He was like a petulant child denied his favorite toy,” Taliesan said. “He brought Genevieve here and vowed that no man would ever look upon her with desire again. He … he cut her face,” Taliesan choked out. “Apurpose. He scarred her so she would not gain the attention of other men. He vowed that no one save him would ever possess her.”
“He did that to her face?” Bowen asked hoarsely.
Taliesan nodded. “Aye, but that wasn’t the worst of it.”
“Not the worst?” Brodie asked incredulously.
“Nay,” Taliesan whispered. “He made her his whore. His unwilling whore. He was obsessed with her and jealously possessive. No one could touch her or so much as look her way or she was punished severely. He broke her, Laird. Her family thinks her dead, and in a way she is, for she is no longer the Genevieve McInnis she once was.”
Disgust swirled like sour ale in Bowen’s belly. The conversation in her chamber replayed over and over in his mind, and he was gutted by his own disdain for the lass. He’d judged her and found her lacking. He’d acted as though she were beneath him, and he’d ignored her plea for help.
“Sweet mother of God,” he muttered.
“You have no idea the depths of his depravity,” Taliesan finished in a whisper.
Bowen was speechless as he took in all she had to say. Brodie wore a dark scowl and his eyes gleamed with a murderous light.
“His death was too quick,” Brodie snarled. “Graeme had far too much mercy. He should have been made to suffer for all he has inflicted on innocent women.”
“How long?” Bowen asked hoarsely. “How long has Genevieve been his captive?”
“An entire year, Laird,” Taliesan said quietly. “If you think Genevieve is being dramatic or that she seeks to manipulate you or others by taking out on foot, you’re wrong. She has no expectation that anyone will come after her or care enough to worry over her fate. Quite simply, she doesn’t care what happens to her. She only wants to be free and to enjoy a moment’s peace. She would feel deeply betrayed by all that I’ve confided in you. It brings me no pride that I have done so. But I would not have her mistreated any longer.”
Bowen reached to take Taliesan’s hand in his. “You did right, lass. And you needn’t worry that Genevieve will be mistreated any longer.”
Taliesan’s gaze was hopeful as she stared back at Bowen. “Then you’ll go after her?”
Bowen’s lips formed a grim line of determination as he rose. “I’ll not return without her.”
Chapter 9
Genevieve stared at the rolling hillside dotted with rock outcroppings that spanned as far as the eye could see. A feeling of hopelessness weakened her with its intensity, and she tried valiantly to shake it off.
It mattered naught where she was. Walking out of the keep had been freeing in a manner she hadn’t expected. As soon as she’d ventured beyond the walls, the oppressive weight bearing down on her had lifted.
No matter what happened to her from now on, she was no longer a helpless victim. Ian McHugh couldn’t use or debase her ever again. No more would the McHugh clan mock and revile her.
She pulled the cape closer around her face, though there was no one to see her. There wasn’t a single person or animal that she could see in any direction.
The keep had long since faded behind a hillside as she put more distance between her and her prison of a year.
Someone would help her. Someone would direct her to an abbey. She had to have faith, because at this point she simply couldn’t fathom any more cruelty in the world around her.
There were good people in this world. She knew it firsthand. Her family were the best kind of people. They would die if they knew of her circumstances, and that was why she’d die before ever divulging her fate. It was kinder to let them think she’d been killed than to have them know the truth.
Her kin were loyal to their bones and fiercely protective of everyone they called friend or clansmen. Though court was rife with deception and greed, Genevieve had never experienced these things herself. Everyone had been kind and courteous to her. Everyone save Ian McHugh.
She froze as a distant sound reached her ears. Faint vibrations tingled her feet. A horse’s hooves. Someone was close, and riding closer still.
She fled toward a small grove of trees nestled in the valley of two hills. A stream flowed through the middle, and congregated close to the banks were trees and other greenery. She all but dived into the bushes, praying that she hadn’t been spotted.
The sound grew closer and then it stopped. She held her breath and peeked through the branches to see the body of a horse on the path she’d been walking. She couldn’t see who was astride the horse because the foliage obscured her view.
Then the horse started forward again, and Genevieve sighed in relief. Still, she waited several long moments before extricating herself from the bushes and making her way back to the path.
The climb over the next hillside took more of a toll than the others. It was steeper and the rise was higher. When she topped the hillside and began her descent, she halted so suddenly that she nearly tripped and went tumbling down the incline.
Astride his horse just a short distance away was Bowen Montgomery. He was facing in her direction, calmly surveying her, almost as if he’d been waiting for her.
She had no idea what to do. No idea why he was here. Her first instinct was to flee, but she’d done nothing wrong. Whatever sins Ian committed had nothing to do with her, and she’d be damned if she was going to pay for them.
Pulling calm around her like a warrior’s armor, she walked stiffly on, her head down. She was past Bowen when she heard him sigh. Then the soft thud of his feet hitting the ground as he dismounted his horse.
It took everything she had not to panic and run.
“Damn it, Genevieve.”
Bowen’s soft curse reached her ears mere seconds before his hand curled around her arm and he pulled her to a halt, turning her so she faced him.
It was instinctive to ward him off with her hands, to put a protective barrier between herself and the much bigger warrior.
But the action sparked anger in his eyes. His jaw tightened with fury, and fear scuttled up her spine.
“Don’t look at me that way,” he growled. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never hurt you. I’m angry because you thought you had to defend yourself from me. No one is going to hurt you, Genevieve. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”
She stared at him in bewilderment, wondering where this outburst had come from. For that matter, what was he doing here and why had he stopped her?
She finally found her voice—and her courage.
