Highlander Most Wanted Page 0,13

finally let go.

Thank God she hadn’t. Thank God she’d kept it together just long enough to seek solace in the tiny chamber that was her only sanctuary. If only she could bar her door against the world, but Ian had allowed her no bolt, no lock, no loops in which to place a slat of wood to secure the door shut.

She had no privacy save that afforded by others. She had no rights, no privileges, not even the basest, most inconsequential things that others took for granted.

The mat was hard and uncomfortable. Her leg was prickly and numb from the awkward position in which she sat, so she drew her knees upward until she hugged them to her chest and hunched over to rest her cheek over the tops.

She closed her eyes and wondered what bargain she could strike with Bowen Montgomery that would gain her the freedom she craved above all else.

There was only one skill she possessed that a man like Bowen Montgomery might be interested in—if one could even call it a skill. And the idea of whoring herself willingly sickened her to the point that her stomach rebelled and protested vehemently.

But what else was she to do? What else did she have to offer?

Nothing.

What was one more coupling compared with gaining her freedom? Surely Bowen could not be as brutal as Ian. There was kindness in his eyes. She hadn’t imagined it. Perhaps he would be gentle with her, or, at least, not as sadistic as Ian.

It was a hope that she clung to when there was nothing else to hold on to.

Fear struck her as she remembered Bowen’s brother and the two Armstrong warriors who’d accompanied Bowen on his quest. What if they demanded her services as well? What if Bowen wanted to share her with them?

A low moan escaped her. It was a pitiful sound that came out as more of a soulless wail. She clamped her mouth shut, refusing to give in to the abject despair that clawed at her.

She wouldn’t give up. Not now. Not when she’d survived so much.

She had hope, no matter how unlikely it might be. It was more than she’d had in the past. Ian was dead. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t control her, any longer. Now she just had to trust that not all men were as evil as Ian. And pray to God they didn’t prove her wrong.

CHAPTER 6

Bowen stood in the doorway of Genevieve’s room, staring through the three-inch opening to where she sat on a shabby sleeping mat.

Her legs were drawn protectively to her chest, and he wondered if she had any idea how vulnerable such a position made her look.

Then she let out a low wail that was so filled with despair that it clutched at his throat, squeezing until it was difficult to draw breath.

He hesitated, his earlier determination to speak to her waning. She was suffering. Privately. Away from prying eyes and the disparagement of others. He should walk away and not let on that he’d been here at all.

But he couldn’t. It made no sense to him that he was fascinated by this particular lass. She intrigued him. She was a mystery he was determined to solve.

And he owed her a debt for the aid she’d given his brother in finding Eveline. Aye, he did, and he left no debt unpaid.

He pushed her door open wider and took a step forward. When she didn’t stir, he cleared his throat, alerting her to his presence.

Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing in alarm. Her stance was immediately defensive, and so automatic that it seemed she’d had much practice in defending herself. That thought made him frown.

“Why do you take it from them?” he asked bluntly, because there was no subtle way for him to ask what he wanted to know.

Her eyes widened, as though she couldn’t believe that he’d been so forthright.

“Why do you suffer their abuse and allow their words to go unchecked. You don’t strike me as an overly meek lass.”

She lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug that shrouded her in a look of utter defeat. Exhaustion swam in her eyes and there was such resignation that it made him flinch.

Never had he witnessed such expressive eyes, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Every emotion was there to see in the aqua-green pools. Her early stoicism was gone, and now he realized how hard she’d had to work at keeping her face expressionless. The façade had crumbled.