Rorie’s eyes grew round and she clasped her hands together in excitement. “Oh, I must win, then!”

“Was there any doubt?” Graeme said dryly. “A more competitive lass I’ve never known. I’m still convinced you were born a lad and we just haven’t discovered it yet.”

Rorie stuck out her tongue at Graeme and turned to Genevieve.

“You set the target, Genevieve! ’Tis you who will be judge.”

Bowen observed the glow in Genevieve’s eyes. The shadows were gone, and there was not the haunted look he’d learned to associate with her. She looked happy, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

He wanted nothing more than to bear her back to the keep and make love to her for the next three days, until neither of them had strength any longer.

The men stood patiently and watched as the two lasses took their turns aiming at the target. Considering the short while they’d been practicing, both displayed impressive skill.

But it was Rorie who won the day, not that Bowen or Graeme was surprised. She edged Eveline about by the barest of inches with her very last shot. At which point she thrust her arms in the air and let out a bellow of victory that rivaled that of any warrior on the battlefield.

“Send word to your father, Eveline!” Rorie crowed.

Eveline smiled. “I’ll send a messenger on the morrow. My father’s library is filled with manuscripts. I’m sure there is something that will interest you.”

Rorie clapped her hands. “Anything he sends will be wonderful!” Then she threw her arms around Genevieve, and hugged her fiercely. “Thank you, Genevieve. ’Tis the most fun I’ve had in ages!”

Genevieve laughed and hugged her back. “You’re very welcome. If you continue to practice, you’ll be quite the marksman. Perhaps your brothers will seek to bring you into battle.”

Graeme scowled. “Not bloody likely. The imp finds enough trouble within the walls of the keep.”

The women laughed, and Eveline linked her arms through Genevieve’s and Rorie’s and they started back toward the keep. She turned and smiled sweetly at Bowen and Graeme.

“Be a dear and fetch Genevieve’s bow and arrows for us. I find I’m famished after so much exercise. We’re going to the kitchens to see what can be found to eat.”

Graeme sighed as the women walked back toward the keep, their chatter rising and filling the air. He shook his head and bent to retrieve the bow and the quiver that housed the arrows.

“I think my life will be anything but dull as long as they are together,” Graeme said in resignation.

But Bowen was staring after the women, his heart aching for what could be. Rorie and Eveline had welcomed Genevieve with open arms. This could be his future. Surrounded by his clan, the woman he loved, and a family so dear to him. This could be his life.

But Genevieve deserved to be with her own kin. He couldn’t imagine thinking Rorie dead and losing her. If she was alive, he’d want her back, and he’d move mountains to make it so. Genevieve’s family would be no different.

Chapter 42

Bowen held Genevieve close to him, nestled in the curve of his arm. He kissed her forehead and rubbed his hand up and down the silken skin of her arm as he lay contemplating the past few days.

They’d been idyllic. Borrowed time. Genevieve seemed so happy here. Her eyes were filled with a joy and light that he hadn’t seen when they were at McHugh Keep.

He knew the decision to take her away and have her reunited with her family here had been the right one. She needed distance from the place that had brought her so much pain and suffering.

But with each passing day, and each passing night spent in each other’s arms, he drew closer to the time when they would have to part, and a little piece of him died with every hour.

She stirred against him, whispered a sweet sigh of contentment, and then settled back into sleep.

The urgency with which he took her had increased with each stolen night. She’d barely settled into sleep before dawn had crept over the horizon, and he’d remained awake, watching her, soaking in every detail of her body, committing it to memory so that those images would sustain him through the coming years.

He knew he would never take a wife. He had no duty to fulfill or heirs to beget. There was no other woman for him than Genevieve. No other woman would ever fill the hole in his heart left empty by this brave, courageous lass who’d so captivated him.

A soft knock sounded at his door, and his pulse raced. He disentangled himself from Genevieve and carefully eased from the bed so as not to disturb her. When he opened his door, Graeme stood on the other side, his expression grim and regretful.

“I received word from our patrol. The McInnises come flying their banner. They move with great haste and, at their current pace, will arrive in an hour’s time.”

Bowen’s heart sank. He knew that it was likely the McInnises would waste no time once they received word that Genevieve was alive, but he’d hoped for a few more days. Just one more night to hold her in his arms.

“I’ll inform Genevieve and give her time to prepare,” Bowen said quietly.

Graeme’s face was a grimace of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Bowen. I know this is not easy for you.”

“No, but ’tis what’s best.”

He turned, leaving his brother and shutting the door behind him.

Genevieve was awake, levered up on her elbow. Her hair was in disarray, and she gave him a sleepy look as she watched him approach.

“Is aught amiss?” she asked.

He couldn’t even form the words. They stuck in his throat until he threatened to choke them.

He slid onto the bed, sitting on the edge, and gathered her hands in his. “There is something I must tell you.”

Worry flooded her eyes and she sat up further. She attempted to pull her hands from his, but he refused to relinquish his hold.

He took a deep breath, expelling it slowly.

“When we departed McHugh Keep, I sent word to your family that you were alive and that I was taking you to Montgomery Keep.”

She went absolutely still, her eyes so wounded that it nearly slayed him.

“Why?” she whispered in a cracked voice. “Why would you do such? You knew I did not want them to know of my shame. Do you have any idea what this will do to them?”

He swallowed and pulled her hands higher to his chest. “Aye, I know it, Genevieve. But I see the sadness in your eyes when you speak of them. I know what it would do to me to think my sister dead. I know you’ll never be truly happy—or free—unless you face this, face them.”

“And so you made the decision for me,” she choked out. “When I’ve had all my choices taken from me, you would do the same.”

“I do this because I love you,” he said, finally speaking the words he’d held so close to him. “And I want you, but, more than that, I want you to be happy. I want you to be whole again, and ’tis my feeling that you’ll never be healed until you are reunited with your family—the people who love you. Almost as much as I love you.”

Tears filled her eyes and slid unchecked down her cheeks. Then she flew into his arms and wrapped herself around him as tightly as she could.

“I’m so scared, Bowen,” she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. “What if they reject me? What if they look upon me in shame? I could not bear it. I would prefer they never knew I was alive than for them to suffer my presence, knowing they are shamed by my very existence.”

“They’ll not do such a thing,” Bowen said, his heart breaking at the fear in her voice. “I won’t allow it. I’ll not send you into such a situation, Genevieve, I vow it.”

Slowly she pulled away from him, vulnerability shadowed in her eyes. There was nothing he wanted more than to shut the door to the world and keep her locked to his side for the rest of their days. But he knew this was what she needed. Healing. The love and support of her family. She would never be whole, and he would only have part of her. He wanted her happiness and well-being above his own. Even if it tore his heart out of his chest to let her go.

“When do they arrive?” she asked in a small voice.

“Within the hour. Graeme brought word from a messenger that they were an hour away and riding swiftly. They must have come the moment they received my missive.”

She hastily wiped at her tear-stained face. “I must make haste. I need to dress, and my hair is a mess.”

Bowen leaned forward and kissed her slow and sweet. “I’ll send Rorie and Eveline to attend you.”

He reluctantly rose and started for the door.

“Bowen?”

He turned back and she launched herself into his arms once more, pressing her mouth to his. She kissed him hungrily and with quiet desperation. A farewell.

He held her close, crushing her in his arms, holding her as if he’d never let her go.

And then, because if he didn’t leave her now he never would, he gently pulled himself from her grasp and walked away.

Chapter 43

Eveline and Rorie fussed and worried over Genevieve’s appearance in between bouts of Rorie raging that Bowen had no right to interfere and send word to Genevieve’s family.

“ ’Tis because he wants what’s best for Genevieve,” Eveline said gently. “ ’Tis what you should want as well.”

Rorie’s face crumbled as Eveline put the finishing touches on Genevieve’s hair.

“But I shall miss her. ’Twas like having another sister, and a lass can never have too many sisters.”

Genevieve hugged the younger woman and squeezed her tight. “We’ll always be sisters. Of the heart, if nothing more. I’ll not forget you, Rorie Montgomery. Or your kindness.”

Rorie gave her a teary smile as she pulled away, and then Genevieve hugged Eveline, holding her fiercely. She waited until she’d stepped back before she spoke to Eveline, so that the other woman would understand her words.

“You’ve an understanding heart, Eveline. I was sore afraid to face you after all I’d done. I would not blame you if you’d insisted I leave your keep. But you welcomed me and you were kind. You’ve been a friend, even in the short time we’ve been acquainted. Thank you for that. I’ll not forget you either.”

“You must stop,” Eveline choked out. “The three of us will all be weepy messes when you greet your family. You are a special woman, Genevieve McInnis. Never lose sight of that. What you endured would break a weaker woman, but you’ve become stronger for it.”

“Promise me you’ll visit,” Rorie said fiercely. “I’ll worry until I know you are happy and settled. And if you ever have need of anything, you’ve only to send word.”

Genevieve hugged them both again, then took a step back to smooth the dress she’d dug from her trunk. It was one that her mother had lovingly sewn as part of her wedding dowry, and one of the few that remained of her trousseau.

“Do I look all right?” she asked anxiously.

Dread and fear crowded her heart at the thought of the upcoming reunion with her family. She could not bear to see disappointment in their eyes. It would kill her to bring shame to their name.

“You look beautiful,” Eveline said softly.

Rorie leaned from the window and then ducked back in, her eyes wide, her voice hushed in awe. “ ’Tis time, Genevieve. Your clan approaches. They stretch as far as the eye can see. I vow they’ve brought the might of their entire army.”

Genevieve hurried to the window and stared out, seeing, for the first time in a year, her father’s banner, unfurled and flowing in the wind.

’Twas an impressive sight, and one that brought a lump to her throat.

He’d come for her.

Bowen and Graeme rode with a small contingent of Montgomery warriors to meet Laird McInnis just outside the walls of the courtyard. Laird McInnis called a halt to his men and shifted on his horse as he eyed the Montgomery brothers.

Beside him, an ornate litter pulled by two horses came to rest beside the laird and Bowen could see a woman sitting, but the moment the horses stopped she sat up, her expression anxious and expectant.

“Where is my daughter?” the laird demanded.

His features were drawn into a warrior’s mask. ’Twas evident he did not know if he came to fight, but ’twas equally evident he was prepared for any outcome.

“Laird,” Graeme said respectfully. “I am Graeme Montgomery, laird of the Montgomery clan.”

“I know well who you are,” Laird McInnis said impatiently. “I want to know where my daughter is and if she is well.”

“Your daughter fares well,” Bowen spoke up.

The laird’s gaze fell on Bowen, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Are you Bowen Montgomery?”

“Aye, I am.”

“You are the one who sent the missive.”

Bowen nodded.

“Your missive was detailed enough, but there is still much I would know. The story was too fantastic to be true.”

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