in the hall and you can summon me back inside when you’re finished.”
“You can stay,” she murmured.
Keeping her cloak tightly against her breasts, she maneuvered out of bed and walked toward the fire. As promised, Bowen went to the door and crossed his arms over his chest as he faced away.
He could hear the light sounds of her dressing and he closed his eyes, imagining the sight behind him. Her nude figure outlined by the glow from the hearth. His breath caught in his throat and his body instantly hardened.
He chastened himself, berating himself for being no better than the bastard who’d tried to rape her. He should not be thinking on such things when the lass was recovering from the horror of being attacked.
But he wasn’t thinking of what he could take from her. He thought only of what he could give her. Of how he could woo her with sweet kisses. Tell her how beautiful she was. Stroke and caress her body until she sighed with contentment.
He wanted to show her how it could be between a man and a woman. Take away all the pain and humiliation and shame and, in their place, give her something beautiful.
Ah, he ached to be the one to show her how good loving could be. But ’twas more than that, for he wanted her more fiercely than he’d ever wanted a lass and he couldn’t even explain why. He cared not that she was scarred, that a man had marked her face so that no man would ever want her. If that had been Ian’s goal, he’d failed miserably, because Bowen wanted her with a need that bordered on obsession.
“You can look now.”
Her soft call tore him from his thoughts. He blinked and willed his body to calm, for he didn’t want to face her with the evidence of his arousal in plain sight.
Slowly he turned, positioning his body so that it wasn’t so readily obvious.
She looked even more beautiful. Clad in a nightdress, she stood by the fire, her bare feet peeking from underneath the hem. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves and her scarred cheek was turned away.
There was still the dried blood at her mouth, and he hadn’t queried her about other injuries.
He strode forward, taking one of the cloths he used for cleaning and he dipped it into the basin of water by the window. When he neared her, he cupped her chin with one hand and then gently dabbed at the corner of her mouth with the cloth.
She flinched but remained where she was while he cleaned the blood from her swollen lip.
He frowned when he noticed that a bruise was already forming on her chin and lower jaw, where she’d been struck.
“Where else are you hurt, Genevieve?” he asked.
“Nowhere. He hit me twice, but ’tis all he had time to do. You arrived in time to prevent more.”
His scowl deepened. “I should have been there to prevent him hitting you at all.”
She slipped her hand over his arm, holding it in place as he cupped her chin in his firm grasp.
“You came. ’Tis all that is important. You kept it from happening again. For that you have my thanks.”
His heart softened, and he rubbed his thumb over her cheek in a tender caress.
“I would that you never have to experience such again.”
She closed her eyes and turned further into his caress, rubbing her scarred cheek over his palm. Then, as if realizing she drew attention to her defect, she froze and tried to shrink away.
“Nay,” he protested. “Do not hide from me, Genevieve. Never hide from me. You have to know that the scar on your face matters not to me.”
She swallowed, and he could feel that she trembled beneath his touch. She looked at him with such hope that it was painful for him to see. This was a woman who was afraid to hope anymore. Time and time again, her hopes had been crushed, and now she gazed at him as though she battled with herself over whether to allow that hope to take flight.
“Come,” he whispered. “ ’Tis time to seek our bed. I would have you warm and comfortable this night.”
Her eyes widened, and she clutched at the hand covering her cheek.
“What will be said if I spend the night in your chamber, Laird?”
His lips curled, and his words were fierce. “I don’t give one damn what is said. These people have neither my respect nor my loyalty. They’ll