Highlander Most Wanted

chapter 45





“ ’Tis so good to have you home, Genevieve,” Sybil exclaimed as she bounced onto Genevieve’s bed.

Genevieve smiled. “ ’Tis all you’ve said these past weeks.”

“It can never be said enough. I missed you so.”

A look of sadness crossed her friend’s face, and Genevieve reached to squeeze her hand.

So much had changed in the time Genevieve had been gone. Sybil had married and remained on McInnis land with her new husband, who acted as Laird McInnis’s second-in-command.

Grief had altered her mother and father. They both looked older than Genevieve remembered. There were new lines on her father’s beloved face, and wrinkles around her mother’s eyes.

Not a day went by that her parents didn’t cosset her endlessly. They worried over her comfort, her happiness, whether she was plagued by unpleasant dreams or memories of her time with Ian McHugh.

Genevieve didn’t discuss the matter much, and her parents respected her wishes, not prying when she didn’t volunteer information.

There was no point in their knowing all Ian had subjected her to. It would only make them grieve more, and there was naught to be done about it now. It was all in the past, and she was determined to leave it there. It was a part of her life best forgotten.

The only good that had come out of all of it was … Bowen.

She lay awake at night, aching for him. It carried over into her days. She wasn’t herself. She was tired and lethargic, and she tried her best to exhibit enthusiasm, because she didn’t want to worry her parents.

“Do you like being married?” Genevieve asked, knowing this would turn the conversation to Sybil’s husband.

As expected, Sybil’s face lit up and she fairly glowed. It filled Genevieve with jealousy and longing.

“I love him so,” Sybil said wistfully. “He’s strong and honorable. The perfect warrior. And he spoils me shamelessly.”

Genevieve laughed. “ ’Tis a good thing, that.”

Sybil grinned. “Aye, it is.”

A knock sounded at Genevieve’s chamber door, and Sybil bounded up to answer. Genevieve’s father stuck his head inside, his gaze seeking Genevieve.

“I thought you might want to go out hunting with me. Your mother has a taste for rabbit stew, and we make a good pair. Let’s see if your archery skills are still up to par.”

Genevieve smiled, warmed by the fact that he sought her out to spend time with her. Both her mother and her father had kept her close ever since their return. She couldn’t walk for bumping into one of them.

“Aye, I’d like that. Give me but a moment to change into something suitable for hunting.”

Pleasure lit her father’s eyes and he smiled back. “I’ll wait in the courtyard. I’ll ready your mount while you dress.”

“They grieved for you so,” Sybil said in a quiet voice when the door had closed. “Your father was desolate for months, and not a day went by that your mother didn’t weep for her loss. I thought never to see them smile again. When they received the missive stating you were alive, it was as if they were given new life. They were so afraid that it was false news and someone was playing a cruel jest. Your father packed up and they left in the dead of night to make haste to fetch you.”

“I grieved for them too,” Genevieve murmured. “I thought never to see them again.”

Sybil patted Genevieve on the cheek. “You are their only child, beloved beyond measure. The entire clan rejoiced when they heard the news, for it was painful for all to see how broken they were over your disappearance.”

Genevieve swung her legs over the side of the bed and went to her wardrobe to fetch the leggings and tunic her father had given her for their hunting excursions. No lass could properly hunt in a dress, according to him, so he’d outfitted her in men’s garb.

She ran her hands lovingly over the worn clothing. Not a single thing had been changed in her chamber the entire time she’d been gone. Everything was as it had been when she’d left. Though she’d taken most of her clothing with her, she’d left the hunting apparel, since she couldn’t be sure that her new husband would approve.

In the time since her return, her mother had worked feverishly to replenish Genevieve’s wardrobe. She had a contingent of women working around the clock, sewing new dresses and undergarments.

Genevieve slipped out of her dress and pulled on the leggings and tunic, noting that they were larger on her than they had been before. She was thinner and didn’t have as much flesh on her bones as she had a year ago.

It wasn’t a surprise. She’d been treated little better than a dog, tossed a few scraps and the occasional meal during her imprisonment. But somehow seeing the clothing on her now brought home the realization of just how much she’d changed.

Her hand went to her face, and her fingers slid down the puckered flesh that marked the vivid scar. Her mother had been horrified and tearful when she learned how and why Genevieve had been disfigured so. Though Bowen had told her father of the event, his face had purpled with rage in the retelling of the story.

It was then that Genevieve had decided not to impart any further details of her captivity. She hated to see them so aggrieved.

She retrieved her bow and quiver of arrows and then motioned for Sybil to accompany her down the stairs. She met her father in the courtyard, where he stood beside two horses, holding their reins.

He smiled when he saw her, and then assisted her into the saddle. After mounting his horse, he took out in the direction of a section of dense forest on their lands.

Genevieve breathed deeply of the air, soaking in the feeling of home. She’d spent her entire childhood running wild over these hills. From a very early age, she’d tagged along on her father’s hunts. He’d taught her skill with a bow and arrow, and she was adept with a knife as well.

They traveled a path well trod, a familiar trail into the wooded area where they’d hunted for years.

The first rabbit took her unaware and skittered across her path before she could react and draw her bow. Shaking off her sluggishness, she drew her bow and nocked an arrow. Her sharp gaze studied the bush for movement.

A moment later, one of the horses spooked a rabbit and it ran down the path. Genevieve took aim and pierced the rabbit with an arrow, pinning it to the ground.

Her father jumped down from his horse to retrieve the animal, grinning at her.

“Well done, lass. I see you’ve not lost your skill at all.”

She smiled back, and then nocked another arrow.

By the time the sun began to sink in the sky, they had a dozen rabbits tied to her father’s saddle and he turned them back toward the keep.

They rode into the courtyard, where their horses were taken by one of the McInnis men, and she followed her father around to where they skinned their bounty from hunts.

It wasn’t an unusual thing for Genevieve to take part in the cleaning and preparation of the animals, but at the very first cut into the hide her stomach revolted and sweat broke out on her forehead.

Nausea coiled in her belly and she swallowed, desperately trying to control her reaction.

When her father peeled back the skin of a rabbit, Genevieve lost the battle and bent over, retching violently onto the ground. The smell offended her. The sight of blood made her stomach recoil. Her eyes watered from the force with which she heaved.

Her father’s arm came around her, and he shouted an order to one of his men to take over the care of the rabbits. Then he led her inside the keep and to her mother.

“Elizabeth, do something,” her father said in desperation. “The lass is sick.”

“Hush now, Lachlan. I’ll tend to her. You go on and finish with the rabbits. ’Tis woman’s work to be done here.”

“She’s my daughter,” he growled. “ ’Tis nothing womanly about my concern.”

Still, Lady McInnis waved her husband off and helped Genevieve up the stairs to her chamber.

“There now, lass, lie down a bit and catch your breath,” her mother said as soon as she’d tucked Genevieve into bed.

“Tired,” Genevieve said faintly.

The bout of sickness had left her exhausted, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

Her mother ran a cool hand over her forehead. “I know, lass. Rest, now. I’ll check in on you later.”

“Love you, Mama,” Genevieve said in a drowsy voice.

Her mother smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “And I love you, my darling. Sleep now.”