Highlander Most Wanted

chapter 26





Genevieve snuggled tighter into Bowen’s embrace and sighed in utter contentment. Lazily, she opened her eyes only to discover that it was already past dawn.

Dismay filled her that the night was over. ’Twas the most beautiful night she’d ever spent. Never had she felt such peace, nor had she ever felt as safe as she had wrapped in Bowen Montgomery’s arms.

“The lass has awakened.”

Bowen’s teasing voice slid like silk over her ears. She was reluctant even to answer for fear that he would immediately cast her from his chamber. She wanted this moment to last forever.

“Aye,” she finally whispered, knowing she couldn’t delay the inevitable.

But he didn’t hurry her, nor did he tell her to return to her own room.

Instead, he stroked a hand up and down her back until she nearly moaned from the pleasure of it.

“How do you feel this morn, Genevieve?”

She rubbed her cheek against his chest, savoring the smell and feel of him. It seemed so odd to her that she felt no fear in Bowen’s presence. She’d learned to fear all men. There was not one she trusted, and she’d been abused by many.

And yet Bowen was … different. From the very start he’d been different. He’d treated her with kindness and gentleness, and he’d defended her.

“Better,” she said, her words escaping on a sigh.

“ ’Tis good to hear. I hope your jaw isn’t paining you too much.”

She attempted to shake her head, because she was too content to speak.

His hand closed over her nape, massaging and caressing. Then he nudged her head upward, using his other hand to slide under her chin and prop her up as he examined her mouth.

He frowned a bit as he tilted her head left then right.

“There’s a bruise. And your lip is still swollen.”

His expression was murderous by the time he finished his perusal of her features. Then, to her surprise, he hauled her upward, so that she sprawled over his body, her face just inches from his own. His arms closed over her back so that he hugged her to him.

“Bowen, your wound!” she protested.

“ ’Tis naught but a scratch, and you did a fine job stitching it. It doesn’t pain me at all.”

She didn’t entirely believe him, and it shamed her that she’d only just paid heed to his wound. He’d fought with her attacker when he was only a day from his sickbed.

“I should look at it,” she said anxiously. “You could have torn the stitching in the confrontation yesterday.”

He gave her an amused smile, his eyes alight with warmth.

“If it will put you at ease, I’ll let you examine it.”

She pushed back from his embrace and then positioned herself on her knees at his side.

He sat up and then tugged his tunic over his head, baring his muscled shoulders and chest to her view. Her gaze wandered over his torso, drawn inexorably to the expanse of male flesh.

Her fingers came out to trace the puckered line of the still sealed wound.

“Does it pain you?”

“Nay, lass. Not when you touch me so. I feel naught but the sweetest of pleasures.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks and she nearly snatched her hand away, but he captured it and held it firmly against his chest.

“I like your touch,” he said huskily. “I remember you touching me when I was insensible with the potion they gave me.”

More embarrassed now than ever, she ducked her head. How bold he must think her. She should not have taken such liberties with his person, certainly not when he was barely conscious.

“Are the stitches to your satisfaction?” he asked.

“Aye,” she whispered. “I see no sign of infection.”

He tugged her back down to his bare chest. ’Twas like being touched by fire. His heat surrounded her and beckoned her closer still.

His hand feathered over her cheek and then delved into her hair, circling to her nape, and then, to her shock, he raised his head and pressed his lips ever so gently to hers.

She gasped against the fullness of his lips, but all tension fled her as she relaxed into his hold.

Oh, aye, this was a kiss.

He was exceedingly tender as he explored her mouth, his lips sliding over hers. His tongue brushed against her bottom lip, lapping at the cut in the corner of her mouth.

It was intoxicating, like drinking too much ale. She was drunk on his touch and the sensation of him against her. She experienced a rush such as she’d never felt before, and she never wanted it to end.

His other hand went to her scarred cheek, and when she would have pulled away, he caressed the damaged flesh and framed her face with both hands in order to deepen his kiss.

When she let out a breathy sigh, his tongue slid inside her mouth, soft and sensual and coaxing. Shyly, she met his tongue with her own, dancing and teasing the way he was doing with her.

He pulled back, his breath coming raggedly and his eyes half-lidded. The color in his cheeks was high, almost as if he had indeed taken a fever. But that look … He looked at her as if she was the most beautiful lass he’d ever laid eyes on. For a moment she was able to forget that her face was ruined, and that she bore the mark of another man’s greed and lust. For in Bowen’s eyes she saw herself as a beautiful, desirable woman.

“You taste just as sweet as I knew you would,” he said in a husky voice laced with passion.

“ ’Tis my first true kiss,” she admitted.

His eyes softened. “And what think you of your first true kiss?”

He hadn’t misunderstood her intent. Aye, she’d been kissed, but never with such sweetness or reverence. It made her want to weep for all that she’d missed.

“ ’Twas wondrous. I’ve never experienced anything to match it,” she said honestly.

“ ’Tis glad I am to be the first.”

He continued to stroke her cheek and he thumbed her bottom lip, which was now swollen for an entirely different reason.

Then he raised his head and softly captured her lips in another lingering kiss. This time when he pulled away there was regret in his eyes.

“ ’Tis time for me to rise. I wish it were not so. ’Tis the truth I’d rather never leave this chamber, and I’d sell my soul to do nothing more than kiss you for the rest of my days. But I have matters to attend to and the issue of another dead McHugh. And we must take you to Taliesan’s chamber so our story will be sealed.”

Mentioning her attacker had the effect of being doused with cold water. She immediately withdrew, shame crowding her heart.

She was acting the wanton mere hours after another man had tried to rape her. What was wrong with her?

The McHugh clan didn’t need prompting to cry her whore, and here she was in the laird’s chamber. It was an open invitation for others to revile her more.

“Nay, don’t look like that, lass,” Bowen said in a quiet tone.

He sat up and reached for her, sliding his hand up her arm in a caress that made her shiver.

“You’ll hold your head high, for you bear not the blame for what has happened. The man who attacked you received what he deserved, just as anyone else will should they dare to touch you.”

“I am not worth such vehemence,” she said, refusing to meet his gaze.

He captured her chin and forced her to look at him. His eyes were angry, and his lips were drawn into a tight line.

“You’re worth it to me.”

She knew not what to say. She stared back at him in befuddlement.

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and rose from the bed.

“I’ll see you to Taliesan’s chamber and have her attend you. Perhaps ’tis best if you remain above stairs until I’ve made my case clear to the rest of the clan. You’ll not remain a prisoner of your own chamber, though. You are free to come and go as you please, and ’tis something you should be able to do without fear of attack. I’ll ensure that it is so.”

“I know not why you do this for me,” she said, her heart squeezing in her chest.

He extended his hand to help her from the bed.

“Because ’tis something that should have been done for you long ago.”