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with a satisfied sigh. “ ’Tis done. Now it is up to him to heal. Perhaps ’tis best to prepare more of the dram so that he can rest comfortably in the coming hours.”

“Aye, I’ll see it done,” Deaglan said.

“Now, ’tis time for you to rest, Genevieve,” Brodie said. “I’ll escort you to your chamber and post a man outside if it makes you feel more secure.”

She hesitated, glancing back at Bowen. She had no right to ask what she was about to, but that did not deter her.

“I would prefer to remain here if ’tis permissible. I would see him through the night and ensure that he does naught to tear his stitching. If he takes a fever, he’ll need constant care.”

Brodie frowned a moment, as he and the other warriors exchanged glances. Then, as if reaching a decision, he nodded.

“Aye, if that is your wish, then you may remain in Bowen’s chamber. Deaglan and Geoffrey will remain close in case you have need of anything. You only have to call out. I’ll oft check in on his progress, but now I have matters of the clan to attend to. There are dead to bury and traitors to ferret out.”

She glanced up in alarm. “There are more?”

“I know not,” Brodie said grimly. “You spoke of one who tried to plunge his dirk into Bowen’s back. If there was one, there may well be others.”

She nodded her understanding even as dread gripped her heart. McHugh Keep was already hostile enough for her. She’d named Bowen’s betrayer, and if more were uncovered, she’d likely receive the blame for the consequences.

CHAPTER 17

It was late into the night and Genevieve sat awkwardly by Bowen’s bed. She had rearranged herself countless times in the wooden chair where she’d taken position for the past hours, and still her muscles ached and stiffness had worked its way into her back and neck until they were screaming in protest.

And yet she hadn’t moved. She kept watch as Bowen slept, silently transfixed by the image he posed on the bed. She drank in the sight of him, allowing her gaze to boldly roam over his torso and up to his perfect, unmarred features.

Here was a man, though scarred in body, whose face was utterly unblemished by so much as a mark. No crooked nose. No bump to signify a break during battle. The rest of his body was weathered, yet still beautiful in its imperfection, but his face was simply perfect.

Never before had she come into contact with a man to rival Bowen Montgomery in looks, and she’d seen many a fair face at court. She’d seen men who’d never seen the light of battle and had never sullied their hands in such a fashion.

Bowen’s hands and fingers were rough and callused. He was well used to hard work and fighting. He was a man unafraid to do labor, and yet, at a glance, he looked superior to those men who’d never stepped onto a battlefield.

But it wasn’t his looks that compelled her. It wasn’t his face that fascinated her. Perhaps it was his gentleness from the onset. Before he’d learned of her sinful deed. She didn’t expect him to ever understand her motivation. How could he? She’d been responsible for much wrong done to his kin and clan. He was ever loyal to his brother. That much was evident in his every word and action, and just as evident was the fact that the same loyalty extended to his sister by marriage.

He stirred for the first time since he’d received the first draft. He turned his face, a low moan escaping his dry lips. Instinctively, she lay her hand on his face in a soothing manner, and as she stroked, she murmured in a low voice that all was well and for him to rest.

She had no idea if he was cognizant of her words or if they had any impact, but he stilled nonetheless and settled back into sleep, his breathing slowing as his body relaxed.

Leaning forward in her chair, she grew bolder, sliding her fingers toward the thick long hair that hung past his shoulders. He was so beautiful it was hard not to touch him, and what harm would it do? No one was there to look on. Bowen would never remember that she’d offered him comfort while he rested.

It brought her solace she couldn’t explain. Simply being able to touch someone without being forced. To offer something of herself that wasn’t demanded of