Highlander Most Wanted Page 0,107
Bowen, as if she feared reprisal for instructing Eveline and Rorie on how to use a bow.
He held out his hand, not caring if the others saw. He had only a few days to be with her, and damn what anyone thought. He would take these days and savor them. Hold them close to his heart and remember them when he was old and gray.
He’d left her to rest the night before, knowing she was weary from her travels and from the anxiety of coming into a new clan where she was unsure of her welcome. But tonight she would spend in his chamber, in his arms, and every night until the McInnises arrived to bear her home.
He’d hold dear every single moment he had remaining with her, and those memories would sustain him his life through, because he knew he’d never love another as he loved Genevieve.
She shyly slid her hand into his, glancing nervously at the others for their reaction. He cared not. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his heart swelling with emotion. God, he did not want to let her go.
The selfish thing would be to keep her here with him. To never let her family know that she was alive. To keep her close and by his side and never share her with anyone.
He wanted so much. Love. Children. To wake every morn with her curled into his side. He couldn’t imagine his life without her, but, above all else, he wanted her to be happy. She’d been denied so much, and she’d endured so much pain and humiliation.
He had to let her go so she could soar and be the woman she was meant to be. Even if it killed him. And it may well do just that.
Genevieve blushed when he pulled away and glanced hesitantly at the others to gauge their reactions, but Rorie was grinning like a fool and Eveline wore a soft smile as she took in the tenderness between Bowen and Genevieve.
“Genevieve is teaching us her skill at shooting a bow!” Rorie said.
“Aye, that much is evident,” Graeme said in amusement. “How fare you?”
Eveline clutched Graeme’s hand. “I can hit the target! ’Tis amazing!”
“So can I!” Rorie interjected. “I’m quite good,” she boasted. “I aim to challenge you and Bowen to a match. I’ll best the both of you.”
Bowen chuckled. “It would not surprise me, sweeting. You’re determined and stubborn, if nothing else.”
“ ’Tis not a bad skill to have,” Graeme said in a more serious tone. “You have my gratitude for instructing them, Genevieve. I would have Eveline able to defend herself if I’m not within reach. She means everything to me. If knowing how to use a bow saves her life, I will be forever indebted to you. I’ll set to work having bows fashioned for both Eveline and Rorie.”
Rorie squealed her excitement and Eveline clapped her hands together in delight.
Genevieve glowed with happiness and pride. Bowen put his arm around her shoulders and held her close. His own pride knew no bounds. Genevieve was an extraordinary lass. She was a survivor. Even if she was to be here only a short time, he knew Rorie and Eveline would benefit from the time spent with her.
He kissed her again, because he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t be near her without wanting to touch her and hold her close.
Eveline and Rorie exchanged smug smiles, but Bowen disregarded them.
It then occurred to him that Genevieve wasn’t wearing her cape, nor was she attempting to hide her disfigurement. He squeezed her to him and pressed a kiss to the scar.
Maybe she was comfortable around Eveline and Rorie as well as him. She’d even shed some of the fear and nervousness that she’d exhibited every time she was in Graeme’s presence.
She’d gained confidence, even if it was only around a select few, but it made him feel triumphant that she could hold her head up with no shame. In his eyes, she had nothing to feel shame over.
“Why don’t you lasses show us what you’ve learned?” Graeme suggested.
“Oh yes, let’s!” Rorie exclaimed. “I think there should be a prize for the one with the truest aim.”
“Genevieve cannot participate,” Eveline interjected. “ ’Twould not be fair. You and I will try our hand.”
Rorie’s eyes gleamed with unholy glee. “And the prize?”
Eveline pondered a moment, then her face lit up. “If I win, you must do a reading after the evening meal. One of the stories Father Drummond has taught you.