“What are you doing here?” she queried. “Why have you come after me?”

He cursed again, making her flinch with the vehemence of his blasphemies.

“Think you I’m going to let you walk out of that keep alone, unprotected, with no clothing, coin, or food? How do you expect that you would last even a day? A lone female with no protector? You’d be easy prey for any man who happened along, and no one would ever be the wiser.”

The blood drained from her face, because that was precisely what had happened with Ian. He’d slaughtered her escort and whisked her away to a life of captivity and depravity. No one had been the wiser. To this day, no one knew.

Genevieve McInnis was dead.

“I will not stay there any longer,” she said in as firm a voice as she could muster. But it lacked conviction. She was afraid, and it was obvious to Bowen that she was afraid. Any fool could hear the quiver in her voice and see that her hands shook. “I already humiliated myself when I swore never to allow myself that kind of humiliation again. There’s naught left but for me to go before I sacrifice what little dignity I have left.”

Bowen put his hand on her arm. She tried to shrug away, but he persisted, drawing her closer to him with firm but gentle hands. It was obvious he made a concerted effort not to hurt her in any way. His palms smoothed up her arms to rest at her shoulders and he gave each a reassuring squeeze.

“I won’t allow you to go.”

She couldn’t help the dismay that overcame her. Disappointment—and gut-wrenching fear—choked her, robbing her of breath. How cruel was the promise of freedom only to have it yanked away.

He sighed, and his features softened. There was a hint of sorrow—and regret—in his eyes, and that puzzled her.

“You’ll not remain as a prisoner, Genevieve. Never that. You’ll be well cared for and will be treated as an honored guest. No one will harm you. You answer to no one save me. I’ll send word to your family, but until they arrive you’ll be given the utmost regard. I’ll have the head of anyone who dares cross me on this matter.”

“Nay!” she shouted hoarsely, ripping her arms from his grasp. “Nay, do not!”

His brows furrowed and he stared at her in clear confusion. “I do not understand.”

Her breath sputtered erratically from frozen lips. She was so panicked that she could barely force the words from her throat.

“You’ll not send word to my family.”

There was a note of hysteria in her voice that even she was cognizant of.

“Why the hell not?” Bowen demanded. “They must be sick with worry.”

Genevieve shook her head, tears filling her eyes. A sob welled in her throat, and she couldn’t call back the tears as they slid down her cheeks. It made her furious that this man could bring her to tears when Ian McHugh had never done so. She’d never allowed it. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“They believe me dead. That I perished with the rest of my escort a year ago.”

Bowen stared agape at her. “Then surely you would want to send word to them at once so they don’t linger under such a misapprehension any longer.”

She shook her head even more vehemently, and felt the frayed threads holding her together start to break. Perhaps she was finally going mad.

“ ’Tis better that they think me dead. If they knew all …”

She broke off, shaking her head and turning away, no longer able to look Bowen in the eye.

She dare not admit everything to him. She didn’t think she could bear to see the pity and disgust in his eyes. Nor could she bear to hear the cold recitation of the facts from her own lips.

“ ’Tis better this way,” she said again. “I would never have them know the whole of it. My shame is too great for them to bear. I would forever be a burden to them. There would be naught for me to do save return home and live in seclusion under my father’s care for the rest of my days, and for my family to bear my shame for all time.”

Bowen’s lips tightened. She knew that he likely thought her daft. Or extremely selfish. ’Twas not her pride preventing her from sending word to her family. She had none left. The knowledge of what had happened to Genevieve would destroy her mother and the rest of her kin. She could never live with herself for causing them so much pain. She would die before bringing dishonor to her father’s name.

“I have already brought dishonor to my clan,” she said in a quiet, pained voice. “I despise myself for what I approached you with earlier. Only a person without hope or honor would do such a thing, and ’tis clear I have neither. How could my clan ever welcome me back with open arms when I’ve done so much to bring shame to the people who loved me most?”

Bowen stepped forward, his hand pushing away the hood of her cloak to cup her scarred cheek. The action startled her so much that she stood frozen, staring at him wide-eyed.

He caressed the mangled flesh, her distress increasing with every second his fingers touched her with such gentleness.

“I propose that we both forget about what occurred in your chamber earlier. I acted reprehensibly.”

She shook her head, trying to free her cheek from his hand, but he palmed her jaw, holding his hand firmly in position.

“You reacted in disgust, as you should have. Who could blame you? What does a woman like me have to offer a man such as you? You’re beautiful,” she blurted out. “You could have any lass you crooked your finger at.”

Aye, ’twas true. The man was simply divine to look at. Not a single imperfection marred his body—or at least, what she could see of it. He was so beautiful to look at that she was sure many a lass had sighed upon setting eyes on him.

“I was once fair to look upon,” she whispered. “And now I am ruined.” She touched her face just above where his fingers rested and then offered a hoarse laugh that was abrasive in the still air. “Ruined in more ways than one. No part of me has survived Ian McHugh’s possession. I’ll never be whole again.”

There was blackness in Bowen’s expression that should have frightened her. Perhaps if she had anything left to lose, she would have been more afraid. As it was, she looked at him bleakly, resignation whispering through her veins.

“ ’Tis not your dishonor you wear,” he said darkly. “ ’Tis no shame for bearing what is done to you and working to preserve your dignity.”

She laughed again, the sound harsh and abrasive. “Dignity? I have none. None was allowed me. I proved that none remains when I offered to whore myself to you.”

She closed her eyes against a fresh surge of tears, humiliation chanting an awful litany in her head.

“You can’t imagine how it feels to have no other choice or to believe that all you’re worth is what you can offer a man through your body. I used to think I’d reached my absolute lowest point, and that I couldn’t possibly debase myself any more than I already had. I was wrong. ’Tis when I willingly offered my … s-s-services … to you that I realized I’d sunk as low as was possible. And yet I was so desperate for freedom that I was willing to debase myself, to face you with no shame or pride. I hate myself for that.”

She choked out the words, her anger and grief swelling with every passing second. She wanted to rage against the world. Wanted to scream at the helplessness of her situation and the unfairness of it all.

Bowen’s eyes glittered. He was furious. She couldn’t blame him.

“I wish with all my heart and soul that my brother hadn’t killed Ian McHugh,” Bowen growled.

Her eyes widened and her lips quivered. “Why would you want him to live?”

He pulled her close, until she was pressed to his body, his heat wrapping around her like the warmest fur in winter. He caressed her scarred cheek with a touch so tender that it was a physical ache in her soul.

His head lowered until his mouth was but mere inches from hers. His eyes were fierce, yet when he spoke his voice was quiet and resolute.

“So that I could kill him now for all he has done to you.”

Another tear crept over her eyelid and slipped unchecked down her cheek. He thumbed it gently away.

“Do not cry, Genevieve. ’Tis more than I can bear to see your tears.”

She bowed her head, staring downward, but he eased his palm down to cup her chin and then he carefully nudged upward so she was forced to meet his gaze again.

“I’m taking you back to the keep,” he said, his voice firm, brooking no argument. “You’ll be assigned a new chamber. I want your promise that you’ll not venture out alone again. I will not allow you to be ill-treated ever again, Genevieve. That is the promise I make to you.”

She couldn’t draw breath. She stared into Bowen Montgomery’s eyes, looking for any sign of deceit or treachery. All she saw was burning sincerity—and rage. Rage for her. Not at her, but on her behalf. It baffled her. He was a complete stranger. He owed her nothing. He had every reason to despise Ian McHugh and his whore. It would be so easy to lay siege to the keep and use her in any manner he saw fit. And yet he treated her gently.

The most unlikely of champions, and the most unlikely woman to inspire a man to champion her cause. She was naught but a scarred whore, and he was so handsome that he turned heads wherever he went. He was brother to one of the mightiest lairds in the Highlands, and he wielded much wealth and power.

It was absolutely true what she’d said earlier. This was a man who could have any woman he desired in all of Scotland.

And yet he seemed determined, whether she wished it or not, to see to her needs and … protect … her.

No one since her father and brothers had protected or sheltered her. No one had protected her against Ian, and Ian hadn’t protected her from the words and actions of his own clan.

She was so overcome that she couldn’t even put to words all that she was thinking.

“And when you leave?” she asked, fear already clutching her throat. “When you leave this place and I am naught but a memory, what then will happen to me?”

“I’ll not leave you to this fate,” he said in a quiet, firm voice. “If you have not changed your mind about sending word to your kin, then you’ll either be placed with my clan and offered the protection that extends to all Montgomerys or I’ll do as you asked and see you well placed at an abbey.”

Relief was sweet and swift. She sagged, her shoulders drooping, and closed her eyes to savor the promise of sanctuary.

Such a wondrous thing. Hope. Something she’d been so long without. And yet now it bloomed, like the first blossom in spring, spreading its petals to seek the sun.

It was overpowering in its intensity, and she welcomed it, savoring it like a lost friend.

Hope was the sweetest gift. It made her look to the future, not in dread or despair but with new eyes.

“Thank you,” she choked out.

Her fingers pressed into his muscular arms, her grip tight. She feared if she let go she would awake from a dream and find none of this was real.

“There is naught to thank me for. Now come. Let us return to the keep so that we may partake of the evening meal. You must be exhausted from your worries and the walk from the keep.”

“You are an angel sent from God at last,” she whispered. “I prayed for so long for one. I thought He had forgotten me, surely.”

Bowen’s features tightened and darkened. “I come too late. I have saved you from none of your misery. Would that I had known of your plight earlier. I would have come, Genevieve. I would have saved you.”

She put her hand on his forearm, noting the paleness of her skin against his much darker flesh. “ ’Tis not true. Your kindness is a beacon on the darkest night. I had forgotten that goodness exists.”

He seemed discomfited by her praise, but she met his gaze, never once looking away, so that her sincerity could not be questioned.

Then he slid an arm around her waist and guided her toward his horse a few feet away.

“Come. You ride with me. Let us return before the others become worried.”

Genevieve went gladly, marveling that she’d ever be happy about returning to McHugh Keep, a place that had been her hell for an entire year.

And she held his promise close to her heart, hugging it with every fiber of her being.

Chapter 10

When Bowen rode into the courtyard with Genevieve, he was treated to several knowing looks, which annoyed him. There were smirks from the McHugh clansmen, outright expressions of disdain from the McHugh women, and even his brother and the two Armstrong brothers raised their eyebrows.

Still, Teague, ever the gentleman, came forward to assist Genevieve from Bowen’s horse so that Bowen could dismount. Genevieve was wary of Teague and immediately put distance between them. Teague frowned at her as if she gave him insult for fearing he would harm her.

Taliesan limped heavily into the courtyard, her gait far too fast for a woman with a lame leg. He started to call out a warning to her when she stumbled.

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