Highlander Most Wanted Page 0,51

replaced by anger and thoughts of revenge.

She turned away from the window, agitation taking hold once more. For the first time, she didn’t want to be alone. The isolation of her chamber—something she once longed for more than anything—was stifling and overwhelming. But she had no desire to return to Bowen’s chamber, where even now her fate could be in discussion.

On impulse, she cracked open her chamber door, peeking out to see if Geoffrey and Deaglan were outside Bowen’s chamber. But nay, they must still be inside.

Quickly, she darted to Taliesan’s door and knocked. The entire time she waited, she jittered from head to toe, not wanting to be discovered lurking in the halls when she was supposed to be in her own chamber, resting.

Finally Taliesan opened the door, and when she saw Genevieve she instantly swung it wide for her to enter.

“Is aught amiss, Genevieve?”

Concern radiated from Taliesan and Genevieve hastened to assure her.

“Nay. I could not sleep and was … lonely. And restless. I saw below my window that the Montgomery forces have arrived, and knew I wouldn’t rest for the remainder of the night.”

Taliesan shut the door and turned, her eyes wide. Relief shone in their depths.

“Oh, ’tis good news you bring. We need no longer worry about having to fend off an attack when we are sorely undermanned.”

Genevieve wished she could be so relieved over the news. Worry was about to eat a hole in her stomach.

“Sit, Genevieve. Do you have need of anything?”

Genevieve settled on the edge of Taliesan’s bed and shook her head. “Nay, just your company.”

Taliesan, clad in only her nightdress, sat on the bed, dragging her lame leg up so that it didn’t dangle over the side.

“ ’Tis glad I am for your company. Things are so tense within the clan. I finally sought refuge in my chamber, because everywhere I turned there was naught but worry, anger, fear, and stress. The clan has no idea what to think or how they should feel. Many are resentful of the Montgomerys’ and Armstrongs’ intrusion, even as they realize the sins committed by Ian and Patrick and weigh this against the loyalty they feel they should have toward their own kin, regardless of their transgressions.”

“I suppose we’ll wait it out in your chamber together,” Genevieve offered faintly.

“Why don’t you try to sleep, Genevieve. You look exhausted. You can share the bed with me. No one will bother you here.”

Genevieve glanced at the pillow and then stifled a yawn.

“Come. I have a nightdress you can change into. No need to go back to your chamber. I’ll help you out of your dress, and then we’ll both have a long sleep.”

CHAPTER 21

Bowen let out a groan and then pushed himself up in the bed, surprised when pain set fire to his chest. He sagged back, all his breath leaving him in an excruciating rush. What the bloody hell?

His head hit the pillow and he reopened his eyes to see Brodie Armstrong looming over his bed.

“What are you doing here?” Bowen grumbled.

“Seeing how you fare. How do you feel?”

It was an odd question, but it gave him pause, because the fuzz was starting to clear from his mind, and the more it cleared the more the ache in his skull increased.

He felt as though he’d been thrown from his horse, dragged through the mud, and then stepped on repeatedly.

“I’ve felt worse.” And it was true enough.

He struggled to make sense of why he was lying abed with Brodie in his chamber. Beyond Brodie he saw Geoffrey and one of Brodie’s men, Deaglan, standing at the end of the bed.

It was a regular gathering in his chamber, apparently.

When he tried to maneuver onto his side, at least, his chest protested and it felt as though someone had driven a thousand tiny needles into his flesh. He glanced down to see a fresh wound, jaggedly cut across his chest.

It was stitched tightly and looked clean. The stitches were close together and had sealed the flesh completely closed. Whoever had performed the task had done an excellent job.

“What happened?” Bowen asked, still rubbing bleary eyes.

His head was a vast void of nothingness, and trying to think only made it ache more vilely. His mouth was overdry, and his tongue felt large and thick. Almost as if he’d consumed far too much ale and suffered in the aftermath. Only, he knew he had done no such thing.

Brodie frowned. “We were attacked. Do you not remember?”

Rapid images flashed in Bowen’s mind. It