Highlander Most Wanted Page 0,36

rolled down her back. Her entire focus was on her target. Her arm ached from the strain of holding the bow at full draw, but she’d wait forever if that was what it took.

Revenge was sweet on her tongue. She didn’t spare a moment’s regret for killing another person in cold blood. It was nothing less than she’d done in her dreams time and time again. It was all that had sustained her over the last months. Dreaming of vengeance.

Her arm was starting to shake when Patrick made his move. He’d evidently decided that he was in too vulnerable a position and shot upward, holding his shield to guard his upper body. He fled toward the back of the keep, where less fighting was taking place.

Calmly, she took aim at his leg, knowing it would slow him and it would also likely afford her a kill shot when he was forced to drop his shield.

She shot the arrow and was rewarded by the sight of him stumbling and dropping to his knees, his cry of agony rising above the din of battle. It struck him just above the ankle and rendered him incapable of walking. She notched another arrow, never removing her gaze from his fallen figure. She drew and waited, and, as she’d hoped, his shield dropped. Just enough …

She let the arrow fly.

It struck him in the side of the neck, going all the way through to the fletching. His eyes wide and glassy with death, he pitched to the side, sagging pitifully, wilting like a flower too long in the sun.

For a long moment, she stood, bow held high, staring as the life faded from his body. Then, slowly, she lowered her bow, calm pervading her mind.

It was done. She may not have been the one to deal Ian his death blow, but she’d exacted vengeance against his weakling of a father. If she was supposed to feel guilt over the taking of a life, it was too bad. She wouldn’t spend a single moment being remorseful that Patrick McHugh had met such a violent end.

The continued sounds of battle seeped into her consciousness, and she turned, anxiously seeking the fate of the Montgomery and Armstrong forces.

Brodie was leading a group of Armstrong warriors, and they were steadily slashing a bloody path through the McHugh and McGrieve combatants.

Her gaze swung rapidly around the courtyard to determine Bowen’s fate. Her heart lurched when she saw him in the distance, engaged in a fierce sword battle with a huge warrior who could only be from the McGrieve clan. It was not someone she recognized.

But what made her chest tight was the McHugh man behind Bowen. He was not one of the ones who’d left the clan with Patrick. He had stayed behind and had since sworn allegiance to Bowen and the Montgomerys.

He was a traitor.

Clutched tightly in his hand was a dagger, and he was advancing warily toward Bowen’s back. The loathsome coward was going to plunge the knife into Bowen’s back, attacking him in the most dishonorable fashion.

It was a distant shot, and one she couldn’t be assured of making with perfect accuracy. This was too important to miss or fall short.

Kicking up her skirts, she notched an arrow and bolted across the courtyard, praying she would make the shot in time to save Bowen.

CHAPTER 15

Bowen ignored the pain radiating from his side and his shoulder and fought with more savagery. This was his toughest opponent thus far, and the man showed no signs of tiring. Bowen would have to end it quickly or all his reserves would be used up, and he was already injured from his previous battles.

Their swords hissed and clanged, the sun bouncing off the blades in a rapid dance. Bowen drove him back, but then the bigger man charged, swinging like a crazed person, bellowing the entire way.

Bowen retreated but managed to slice his opponent’s upper arm, drawing blood and momentarily halting his progress. As the other man warily stepped back, pivoting to ensure Bowen didn’t gain position, movement caught Bowen’s eye and he glanced beyond his opponent to see Genevieve a short distance away, holding, of all things, a bow with an arrow notched. And she was pointing it directly at him!

Before he could react or think to avoid the coming arrow, she let fly. His snarl of fury over the betrayal roared from his throat just as the arrow sailed past him. A cry of pain sounded behind him.

Thrusting his sword