by Maya Banks
“She may hate me for it,” Bowen said bleakly. “I speak of denying her choices, and yet I seek to go against her wishes by informing her family that she lives. She will not thank me for it.”
“Sometimes the right thing is the most painful choice,” Graeme said quietly.
“Aye, I know it.”
Graeme’s eyes were full of sympathy, and regret filled his face. “I am sorry for your grief, Bowen. I can’t hope to understand the choices before you. I would be devastated if I ever had to face giving up my Eveline.”
“I would bring more trouble upon my clan were the McInnises to discover that their daughter was alive and under my protection. But, most important, I don’t think Genevieve will ever truly be happy if all is not resolved with her family. And I want her happiness more than I want my own.”
Graeme put his hand on Bowen’s shoulder again but remained silent as the two brothers gazed into the distance.
There was naught to say when Bowen was dying on the inside.
“Bowen!”
Bowen tensed at the distant call. He and Graeme both turned to see Teague approaching, a grim frown on his face.
“A group of McHugh women were doing their damnedest to stone Genevieve,” Teague said without preamble.
Bowen shot to his feet. “What?”
“I came upon her fleeing back to the keep with a mob of women on her heels hurling rocks at her. I took the lass back to her chamber and tended her wounds.”
“How badly is she hurt?” Bowen demanded.
“I think she’s just shaken up. She had one cut to her face, and she likely has bruises where the other rocks landed, but she was just frightened and upset. I told her to remain above stairs and not to come out.”
Bowen swore violently, his fingers curling into tight fists. “ ’Tis no way for her to live!”
He raked one of his hands through his hair and turned away, fury pumping through his veins.
“I cannot allow it to continue, Graeme. They’ve made the lass’s life hell. They won’t stop in their attempt to make her unwelcome here.”
“I understand,” Graeme said in a voice quiet with sympathy.
Bowen tried to collect his thoughts when his only thought was to go to her as quickly as possible. He turned to his brothers—both of them—his expression grim and determined.
“I cannot stay here with her. Even if I send word to her family. I cannot allow her to remain here another day. They hate her. ’Tis no way for Genevieve to live, and she cannot remain a prisoner in her chamber.”
He glanced up at Teague and then looked between him and Graeme.
“Will you stay, Teague, and carry out Graeme’s wishes as to the fate of the clan and the lands? I must return to Montgomery Keep and bear Genevieve with me so that she will be safe.”
Teague looked surprised and glanced at Graeme to gauge his opinion.
“I’m agreeable if you are,” Graeme said. “ ’Tis a lot to ask, but no more than I asked of Bowen. You have a mess here. ’Tis no doubt on that matter. It’s going to require a strong hand and much patience. What say you, Teague? Are you up to the task?”
Teague’s expression was solemn, but he nodded. “I’ll not tolerate the ridiculousness that Bowen has. ’Tis time someone took a much firmer hand with the lot of them.”
Graeme’s eyebrows rose. “I hardly call killing three of them having a light hand. Some might say he’s been overly intolerant.”
“They need to have the wits frightened from them,” Teague muttered. “Their women are nothing more than shrewish harpies intent on making everyone around them miserable, and their men are cowardly weaklings.”
Graeme turned to Bowen. “Perhaps ’tis best if you send word to Genevieve’s family and direct them to Montgomery Keep. Tell them all, but allow them to meet her at our keep. Their anger will be high if they’re forced to come to the clan responsible for all the harm done to their daughter. And, with the McHughs so hostile toward Genevieve, ’tis likely the McInnises will come ready to go to war. I wouldn’t blame them if they wanted to wipe the earth clean of the McHughs’ existence. If they ever did to a daughter of mine what they’ve done to Genevieve, I would not rest until I’d shed every drop of their blood.”
“Aye, ’tis the best course. I would remove her from this place immediately,” Bowen said. “If you’ll transcribe my words to the McInnis laird, I’ll send a messenger before we depart for Montgomery Keep.”
Graeme nodded. “Of course. I’ll write the message as you dictate it. I’ll accompany you back to our keep. I’ve seen enough. It turns my stomach to remain here any longer.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to Genevieve to see if she is all right and also to tell her of our departure,” Bowen said. “I’ll dictate the letter to her kin, and we’ll depart at dawn tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 36
Genevieve stood by the fire, warming her still shaking, chilled hands. It wasn’t hard for her to imagine harboring such intense hatred for another. She despised Ian and Patrick McHugh with all her heart. But it baffled her that the McHugh clan held such animosity for her over something that was clearly not her doing.
Were it not for the reckless, selfish acts of Ian McHugh, she would even now be married to another.
But it burned in the back of her mind that were she married to another, she would never have met Bowen and she would never have spent a precious night in his arms.
’Twas hard to say if she’d accept all that she’d endured in the past year for that one night, but the time spent loving him had gone a long way toward easing the pain and humiliation of Ian’s abuse.
Her door opened and she turned to see Bowen burst in and stride across the room toward her. She was in his arms in but a moment, and he squeezed her so tightly she could barely breathe.
His hand went to her temple, grazing over the small cut, and then both hands swept over her hair, stroking, as if looking for any sign of injury. ’Twas obvious his brother had told him all.
“Are you all right?” he demanded anxiously. “Teague told me what happened. Are you badly hurt?”
She shook her head. “Nay. A slight ache to my head, but ’tis all. I was frightened, but Teague set the matter to rights.”
He crushed her to his chest again and kissed the top of her head. “I’m taking you away from here.”
She went completely still. She was sure she could not have heard him correctly. Was he finally placing her in an abbey as she’d requested?
“Genevieve?”
He carefully pulled her from his chest and stared intently at her, his gaze questioning.
“Do you not want to go?”
Her breath stuttered over clumsy lips and she tried to smile, knowing she failed miserably.
“Of course I do. ’Tis what I’ve said I wanted from the start. That you’ll see me well placed in an abbey is more than I could have dreamed.”
He frowned, his expression turning fierce. “ ’Tis not an abbey I intend to see you to. You will ride with me to Montgomery Keep and we leave on the morrow.”
Relief made her shaky. She was so overcome that for a moment she simply could not speak. Her hands flew to cover her face as she tried valiantly not to lose her composure.
Bowen grasped her shoulders, his fingers tight. “I am sorry, Genevieve. ’Tis something I should have done long before now. Selfishly, I wanted you here with me and I allowed you to suffer as a result. Teague and Brodie will remain here to see to the mess that is the McHugh clan. I’m taking you from this place, and you’ll not be treated in this fashion again.”
She threw her arms around his waist and hugged him. Her cheeks were wet, but she kept her face buried in his tunic so that he would not see the intensity of her reaction.
But he knew.
He hugged her just as fiercely, and then finally he pried her away and cupped her chin, his eyes sorrowful and full of regret.
“The joy in which you embrace this news shames me. I should have sent y
ou from this place the moment I knew of your plight. I’m sorry, Genevieve. I’m sorry that I caused you more pain.”
She leaned to kiss him and placed both hands on his face. “ ’Tis glad I am you didn’t send me away from you. The night spent in your arms is one I’ll treasure forever.”
“I would spend this one with you as well,” he said gruffly, his eyes ablaze with desire.
A flutter worked deep in her chest. Her mouth went dry as he bristled, all delicious warrior male. And he wanted her.
It made no sense for a man such as he to want a woman scarred when he could have any woman he wanted at the crook of his finger.
She’d seen the looks the McHugh lasses had thrown his way. She’d heard the blatant invitations, the coy smiles, the boldness with which they made their desires known. And yet not once had he looked their way.
“I’d like that,” she said softly as she rubbed her cheek along his chest.
He grasped her shoulders and lowered his head to capture her mouth in a breathtaking, smoldering kiss. There was more demand in his movements tonight. He wasn’t as patient or tender as he’d been the previous night. It was as if he’d lost all ability to hold back and he wanted her with a desperation that overtook him.
Excitement coursed through her veins. Heat flushed her skin as her body responded to his demands.
“I want you,” he rasped. “God, Genevieve, I want you so. You’re like a drug in my blood. An addiction I have no desire to ever conquer.”
He picked her up as if she weighed naught and carried her to the bed, where he dropped her with a soft bounce.
He stood over her, looming, big and fierce, as he quickly divested himself of his clothing. He stripped his tunic over his head and she sucked in her breath at the expanse of muscles, the rock-solid breadth of his chest and his thick shoulders and arms.
So strong, able to protect, and yet capable of being exquisitely tender and loving. So very loving. There was nothing she delighted in more than lying surrounded by those huge arms, knowing that he’d allow nothing to harm her.
He pulled his leggings down and hastily pried his leather boots from his feet, tossing them across the room with no care.
He was magnificent, a study in a warrior’s form. Beautiful. Scarred and beautiful.
Realization was stark and strong as it struck her that she was willing to forgive his scars and even considered them beautiful. A mark of who he was. What made him the person he was. Aye, they made him beautiful, and yet she was deeply shamed by the mark on her face. She’d never viewed it as a badge of honor, proof of her survival and the ability to overcome devastating odds. But she was willing to grant those attributes to Bowen, denying herself the same accord.
They both bore scars. They were both survivors. These were marks to be borne with heads held high. Could she ever accept that and stop hiding behind her shame and humiliation? It was a nice thought, but the deepest scars were those unseen, the ones on her heart and her soul and her mind. And those were the most difficult to overcome.
“I’m going to take your clothing piece by piece so that I may enjoy seeing each part of you bared before me,” he said in a husky, passion-laced voice. “And then I’m going to love you until dawn’s rays reach through the window and signal our departure.”
Her pulse leapt to life and she arched restlessly, impatient to feel his hands on her body, coaxing it to life.
Never had she known pleasure at a man’s hand until now. Until Bowen.
He settled on the edge of the bed and began working at the lacings on her dress. With patience he’d not displayed while undressing himself, he worked at disrobing her, removing her clothes piece by piece, his gaze soaking in her body as it was bared.
“You are a sight to behold, lass,” Bowen breathed as he divested her of the last remaining piece.
She lay naked on the bed, vulnerable and open to his look, his touch. Her nipples were achingly erect, anticipating his mouth and hands. And her most feminine flesh pulsed as she remembered his mouth and tongue stroking over sensitive points.
Never could she have imagined the act of coupling as being a give-and-take, an act of mutual pleasure on the part of the man and the woman. With Bowen it wasn’t just him taking, her giving and being left with naught.
He gave all he received and often more. He was patient and exacting, ensuring that he gave her as much pleasure as she gave him.
For that reason, she wanted this night to be special. One that he’d long remember. Relying on her instincts—she’d never done more than lie and endure Ian’s brutality—she levered herself up and smoothed her hands over Bowen’s broad chest.
She kissed him, taking the lead, exhibiting a new boldness that was completely foreign to her. He groaned and melted into her touch, tilting precariously until she placed both hands on his chest to prevent him from coming down on top of her.
She maneuvered up to her knees so she would have position over him and then fused her mouth to his, hotly and as demanding as he’d been, and she bore him down to the bed.
He landed with a slight bounce, his eyes widening and darkening in the same breath. She kissed him deeply, taking her cue from the way he’d kissed her the night before.
Then she straddled him, taking him between her knees. His erection strained upward, resting against the sensitive skin of her belly, and she tentatively touched him, circling his girth with her fingers.
He flinched and she yanked her hands away, fearful that she’d hurt him in some way.
“God no, lass, touch me. Don’t take your hands away,” he groaned. “ ’Tis heaven, your fingers around me.”
Relieved that he’d liked her boldness, she gently took him in her grasp again, exploring his length and the fascinating mix of steel and velvety softness.
He sighed and arched in her grasp. His entire body was taut, and she marveled at the idea that she could bring him such pleasure with something as simple as a few caresses.
Reveling in her newfound role as temptress, she allowed her hands free rein, gliding over the dips and curves of his rock-hard body. She explored every inch of his flesh, delighting in the power she had to make him shudder and moan.
She leaned down and pressed her mouth to the flat of his belly. She smiled when his muscles bunched and coiled and his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. He’d made no move to stop her sensual assault. He lay back, his jaw tight and his eyes half-lidded as he tracked her every movement.
Then she lifted her head and hesitated, unsure of how to voice the question that plagued her.
He put his fingers to her hair, gently pushing the tresses behind her ears as he stroked downward.
“What is it, lass? You have a look of worry in your eyes, and ’tis the last thing I want you thinking on when you pleasure me so with your lips and hands.”
She took a deep breath, summoning her courage. “Do you remember last night when you put your mouth …” She blushed to the roots of her hair even thinking of verbalizing her thoughts.
“Where, lass?” he asked gently. “Do you mean when I kissed you betwixt your legs and put my tongue to your womanly parts?”
She nodded shyly. “Aye.”
“Did you enjoy it when I kissed you there?”
She nodded again. “Aye, I did. I wondered …”
“Say what’s on your mind, love. You have nothing to fear with me. There’s no need to be shy, no matter how adorable you are when you’re so hesitant. ’Tis the truth when you gift me with that shy smile I want nothing more than to press you to the bed and sink into you over and over.”
Her face went warm with pleasure at his heated words. It was obvious he meant every one of them and they weren’t pretty words meant to woo or distract her.
“I thought if ’twas so pleasurable for me to have your mouth … there … that perhaps you would find pleasure if I were to use my mouth … here,” she whispered as her hands found his length once more.
He went absolutely still. His j
aw was clenched and his eyes blazed with quiet intensity. His fingers curled and uncurled, gripping the sheets and pulling them tight.
Then he lifted his hands and cupped her breasts before gliding upward to feather over her face.
“I cannot imagine anything sweeter than your mouth around me, lass. But I do not want you to do such for me, only to please me. Just your hands upon me brings me greater pleasure than I ever dreamed.”
She leaned forward again until their mouths were but a breath apart. Their gazes connected, soulful and wanting. She kissed him, savoring each second they were in contact.
“ ’Tis the truth it would bring me as much pleasure to taste and explore you,” she whispered.
He groaned and closed his eyes, almost as if he were doing everything in his power to keep his control tightly reined.
“I am ever your servant,” he said hoarsely. “Do with me as you will. I’ll never gainsay you. I am yours to do with as you wish.”
Her confidence bolstered by the obvious approval in his eyes and his words, she kissed a path down his jaw to his neck, where she stopped to tease and nip.
She savored every moan, every quick intake of breath, every time his body tightened in obvious approval of her actions.
She worked her way down, pausing to pay special attention to the wound on his chest, kissing every inch of the puckered flesh. Then she made her way farther still, teasing a line to his navel.
He jerked when she slid her tongue around the shallow indention and then delved within. Chill bumps danced across his pelvis and his belly.
As she moved lower, his erection bumped her chin and she paused to curl her fingers around his massive length. She wasn’t entirely certain as to what she was doing. It was new territory for her. But instincts made up for a lot, and she was confident enough to follow those instincts.
She kissed the base, just above the wiry hairs that covered the heavy sac between his legs. Tentatively, she cupped his cods and massaged gently as she worked her way to the very tip with her lips and tongue.