“Careful how you malign your champion,” Bowen said, his voice cracking like a whip over the hall.
The crowd went utterly silent.
Aiden and Brodie stepped forward, their gazes sweeping over the gathered McHughs. They looked unimpressed. Bowen couldn’t fault their assessment. A more sorry lot of misfits he had never seen.
“Champion?” one woman asked, finally breaking the silence.
She looked terrified, but she stepped forward, her gaze going inquisitively to Genevieve.
“Is it true you championed us, Genevieve?”
Genevieve didn’t respond. Her gaze met the other woman’s unflinchingly, but she didn’t say aye or nay one way or another.
“No one could fault you if you had only saved yourself,” the woman added softly.
Then her eyes found Bowen’s and though she trembled, her hands quickly diving into her skirts to disguise how badly they shook, she met his gaze with courage.
“I know not what your plans are, sir, but I would ask two things of you.”
Bowen studied the young lass with interest. She was a brave slip of a thing, barely meeting his shoulder. He couldn’t discern her age, though she looked only on the cusp of womanhood. No doubt, given time, she would be a stunning lass, made only more so by her courage and fire.
Her hair was the color of wheat washed in moonlight. And her eyes were an arresting shade of blue-green that reminded him of the sea on a bright, sunlit day.
She took another step forward, and it was then he noticed that she walked with a limp. A grimace twisted her lips before she quickly forced it away. Her hand went to one of her clansmen, and he was quick to steady her so that she didn’t fall.
“What is your name, lass?” Bowen asked kindly, not wanting to reward her bravery by frightening the wits out of her.
“Taliesan,” she murmured, dipping into a curtsy that made Bowen afraid that she’d take a tumble.
He would have stepped forward in case she indeed teetered, but her clansman once more steadied her with his firm grip. Bowen nodded his approval to the older man, mentally making note of the man’s appearance. Bowen never forgot a good deed, and later he’d ensure that he and the man spoke privately.
A lot could be known of a man by observing his treatment of others. It was something Bowen’s father had taught him from a very early age. Robert Montgomery had always said that the words of a man were meaningless. But actions spoke volumes, and it was always through deeds that the true measure of a man could be ascertained.
“And what two things would you ask of me, Taliesan?” Bowen asked.
Taliesan’s cheeks colored, and Bowen could tell that she fought not to duck her head. Her hand gripped her clansman’s arm, but she firmed her lips and then stated her request.
“I would ask that you have mercy on my clansmen. ’Tis true that Ian and his father, our laird, acted without honor. And ’tis also true that an innocent woman suffered greatly at their hands. Ian is dead, by Graeme Montgomery’s own hand, and now Patrick has fled, leaving his clan to the fate that should be his.”
Taliesan turned her head, sweeping her gaze over the men, women, and children stuffed into the great hall.
“We have no place to go. We have no other home than here. We would serve you and your laird well.”
Teague, Aiden, and Brodie were no less affected by her eloquent plea than Bowen himself. But it angered him that, so far, the only people who’d had courage enough to confront him had been a mere lad and two fragile lasses. What manner of clan was this to allow their women and children to fight their battles for them? The women and children should be cherished above all else and protected fiercely. It appalled him that so little value was placed on their position in the clan.
“And what other thing would you ask, lass?” Bowen asked, hoping to give himself some time for the flames of anger to die down. He wanted to haul every last man into the courtyard and beat them all soundly.
Taliesan licked her lips and, after a nervous glance at her clansmen, directed her gaze at Genevieve.
“I would ask that Genevieve bear no ill treatment at your hands. She has suffered enough.”
Genevieve’s features tightened in horror, the first sign of emotion she’d displayed since they’d entered the hall.
“Talie, no!” Genevieve whispered harshly. “Please, do not! I beg you!”
Bowen’s brows lifted, surprised that this proud lass would beg anything after the courage and haughtiness she’d demonstrated. What could she possibly not want Taliesan to relate?
Taliesan glanced unhappily at Genevieve, but she did as Genevieve asked and fell silent.
There were disapproving looks cast Taliesan’s way. Lips curled. Nostrils flared. Hostile glares were directed at Genevieve.
Bowen wasn’t even sure how to respond to such a slight, though he was sure that Taliesan had intended no offense. Not only had his honor been called into question, but he was extremely curious as to what Taliesan had meant by her cryptic statement. Genevieve looked so mortified, however, that he couldn’t bring himself to demand an explanation, even if it was what he felt compelled to do. There would be plenty of time to sort out this mystery later. First, he had to make it clear that he wasn’t some monster lusting after the blood of the innocent.
“I assure you, I have no intention of mistreating Genevieve or anyone else under my care,” Bowen said, the reprimand clear in his voice.
Taliesan flushed and dropped her gaze, but she offered no apology, and, oddly, Bowen respected her all the more for it.
“Then what do you mean to do with us?”
Bowen’s eyebrow arched in surprise, as, finally, one of the McHugh men found his cods and spoke up.
“And here I thought the McHugh clan depended on their women and children to go to battle for them,” Bowen said, disgust evident in his words.
The men in the room bristled and stiffened. Some of their faces went red with anger, but others darkened with shame, and they averted their eyes. They well knew what Bowen meant.
“ ’Tis a disgrace to send a lad waving a flag of surrender,” Teague growled, speaking up for the first time. He was positively seething with anger and disgust, and now that Bowen had addressed the issue, Teague was only too eager to voice his dissatisfaction as well.
Aiden and Brodie both nodded, their arms crossed menacingly over their chests. Brodie, especially, looked furious. For a moment, Bowen truly worried that he and Teague would have to intervene, because Brodie looked as though he wanted to take on every McHugh man gathered in the hall and bathe in their blood.
“And your women do all the talking on your behalf,” Brodie added. “Why are they not better protected? Why are they left to confront your enemy? ’Tis disgraceful. What measure of man not only allows such a thing but encourages it?”
The man who’d posed the question as to their fate took a step forward, his expression grim and ashamed. But he met the gazes of Bowen, Teague, Aiden, and Brodie unflinchingly, his chin lifted as if to convey that he’d take their censure and whatever retaliation they wished to mete out.
“We worried that if a warrior met you at the gates it would be seen as a challenge, and we had no wish to wage war against you. We know we’re outnumbered and outmanned. Patrick McHugh was not a man well versed in training. And Ian—”
He broke off, clearing his throat in obvious discomfort.
“I would speak freely if I may, good sir. ’Tis not respectful, what I have to say, but ’tis the truth all the same.”
Bowen nodded. “By all means. I would have your honesty. By what name are you called?”
“Tearlach McHugh.”
“Carry on, then, Tearlach.”
“Ian was a dishonorable man. Not only for his treatment of those weaker than himself, but for his tactics in warfare. He’d stab a man in his back rather than ever face him in a fair fight. We aren’t trained, Montgomery. ’Tis readily apparent enough. We wouldn’t have stood a chance against you, and so those of us who remained behind decided to place our fate in your hands and that of your laird’s. ’Twas our only choice. We have wives and children, and we have no wish to die and leave them uncared for and unprotected, even though you think we do neither.”
It was a sincere speech, one that impressed Bowen for its honesty. It was apparent that he had no liking for speaking ill of his laird’s dead son, but he stated the truth matter-of-factly.
“I appreciate your candor, and I’ll return the favor by being just as straightforward,” Bowen said, sweeping over the assembled crowd with his gaze.
Genevieve hadn’t moved. She stood stock-still, her hands folded rigidly in front of her. And her eyes looked so far away that Bowen doubted she had any idea of what went on around her. It was as if, just for a time, she’d taken herself to another place.
Her scarred cheek was turned away from him, and he marveled at how beautiful she was with her profile presented. Never had he seen a woman to rival her, and yet when both sides of her face were visible it was startling how that beauty was transformed into something pitiable.
There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but none were appropriate to the occasion. He couldn’t afford to become distracted from his goal. His brother had tasked him with this duty, and Bowen would fulfill it at all cost.
“My brother, Laird Montgomery, is with his wife, Eveline, whom Ian captured and sorely abused. He will remain at her side until he’s satisfied that she has fully recovered and is safe from any and all threats. Patrick McHugh is a threat to Eveline and to both the Montgomery and the Armstrong clans. And we do not tolerate any threat.”
The people tightly grouped together in the hall began to grow nervous. Their agitation was evident as they began to fidget and exchange fearful glances.
“I claim this holding and all that belongs to Patrick McHugh for my laird until such time as he decides what is to be done with the land, the keep … and the people.”
Bowen held up a hand when everyone began talking at once.
“My brother is a fair and just man. Give me, and him, no reason to call you enemy and you will fare well. For the interim, I will act as laird and my brother will assist me in compiling a full report as to the workings of this keep and land so that I may pass it to Laird Montgomery and he may determine what is to be done. If you work hard and give me no cause to doubt your loyalty, there will be no issues. If you betray my trust, you will be dealt with swiftly and severely. There will be no second chances. Are we understood?”
There were murmurs of “Aye” and grim expressions all around. Some were fearful. Some were resentful. Some were angry. But not a single McHugh voiced their disagreement.
Bowen glanced at Taliesan, as well as Genevieve, to gauge their reaction to his strong words, but neither lass was so much as looking in his direction.
Taliesan had retreated behind the older man who’d supported her when she would have fallen, and Genevieve stood rigidly a short distance away. She resembled a statue. Cold and imposing, as if she felt nothing at all. But Bowen knew that to be untrue. He’d seen the flash of emotion in her eyes in that one unguarded moment. He had the feeling that beneath the icy façade she presented to the world was a fiery, passionate woman who seethed with tightly held emotion.
Shaking off his thoughts and the distraction posed by Genevieve, he turned to Teague, Aiden, and Brodie. “We must assess the situation with all haste. I do not like leaving my brother and his wife nor your family,” he said to Brodie and Aiden, “without adequate protection, and we have the might of our combined armies here. We have no need of so many.”
Teague nodded his agreement. Then he glanced back at the McHughs, who were still watching the four men fearfully.
“Let us go back to our men and discuss what it is we will do,” Teague said. “I do not want every McHugh privy to our conversation.”
Chapter 4
As soon as the Montgomery warrior quit the room, Genevieve’s shoulders sagged, and for the first time she allowed her gaze to sweep over the gathered McHughs.
If she expected there to be any remorse in their eyes for their misjudgment of her, she was sorely mistaken. There was the usual mixture of disgust, disapproval, outright sneers, pity—yes, pity from a few—and confusion, because many of the McHughs had yet to determine why she hadn’t tried to murder them all in their sleep.
There was only one McHugh she’d dreamed of making suffer a long, drawn-out death. She’d actually been disappointed when Graeme Montgomery had ended Ian McHugh’s life so quickly. It hadn’t been bloody enough. Or painful enough. Ian deserved to suffer because he was a horrifying human being who deserved no mercy and no leniency.
Pity that Graeme had been concerned only with hying his wife to safety and so had dispatched Ian with ruthless precision so that he would no longer be a bane to anyone’s existence.
One day Genevieve would like to thank the laird in person, but there would be too many questions she had no intention of answering were she to do something so unladylike and unbecoming a gently bred lass as to offer her grave thanks for the killing of another man.