Acting quickly, Brodie caught her before she went down. She came up, her face scarlet with embarrassment, but she didn’t allow it to deter her from her goal.
After murmuring a quick thank-you and a curtsy to Brodie, she continued on her way, at a more sedate but no less determined pace toward Genevieve.
“I would speak to you before I depart on the morrow,” Teague whispered so only Bowen could hear.
Bowen nodded his agreement. “After the evening meal.”
Teague stepped away and motioned for one of the Montgomery men to tend to Bowen’s horse.
Taliesan finally made her way to Genevieve and grasped both of Genevieve’s hands, her face reflecting her obvious relief.
“Thank God you’ve returned,” Taliesan said.
Then, as if realizing the absurdity of what she’d said, she flushed and clutched Genevieve’s hands harder.
“I sent Bowen after you. Please don’t be angry with me. ’Tis no place for a woman alone, out on her own with no protection. I know you are unhappy here, but ’tis my hope that this will change under the Montgomerys’ direction.”
Bowen watched Genevieve closely, hoping she wouldn’t hurt the lass’s feelings, particularly when Taliesan had been so worried for her. Her heart had been in the right place, and she’d been genuinely concerned over Genevieve’s fate.
He needn’t have worried. Genevieve managed a half smile and she returned Taliesan’s squeeze. “I thank you for your concern, Talie. ’Tis true enough that Bowen fetched me back, and for now ’tis glad I am to be here.”
But Bowen saw the uncertainty and fear in her gaze as she surveyed the McHughs who dotted the courtyard and beyond, watching from the steps to the keep. There was scorn and derision in their stares that Genevieve would have to be a simpleton to miss.
She notched her chin upward, her face becoming bland and indecipherable. It was her mask, one he had quickly identified as her way of blocking out the shame and humiliation she experienced at the hands of others.
The lass may have said she no longer had pride, but she was dead wrong. She possessed more determination than most warriors of his acquaintance. She’d so perfected the “you can’t hurt me” shield that she resembled an ice princess whose features were implacable.
After hearing of all that Ian McHugh had done to her—and he was sure he hadn’t heard the whole of it—he wouldn’t blame the lass if she had no spirit or will left. But she did, and he couldn’t fathom how.
He would keep his promise to her to see her protected by his clan or well placed in the abbey of her choosing. But first he would attempt to change her mind about her family, because a lass needed her family above all else. He couldn’t imagine Eveline without the support of her family, as well as that of the clan she’d married into.
And, he realized, he wanted Genevieve to be happy, because when he looked at her he saw a sadness and resignation so deep that it weighed heavy in his chest. ’Twas not a comfortable sensation.
Her fate could have been Eveline’s. He’d grown to like his sister by marriage very much. She’d gained his respect and affection. Were it not for her resourcefulness, she would even now be wed to Ian McHugh.
The thought struck him that if Eveline had been married to Ian some years ago, as she was poised to do, it was likely Ian would never have met Genevieve. Never have become obsessed with her. Never have abducted and abused her for an entire year.
It was a sobering realization, and he felt guilt over his relief that Eveline had escaped unscathed.
“ ’Tis past time to be eating,” Bowen announced loudly.
Genevieve regarded him hesitantly and hung back, watching as he started toward the entrance to the keep. But he stopped beside her and extended his arm, waiting patiently as she surveyed him nervously.
Finally, she slipped her hand over the top of his arm, resting it delicately, as was proper, and then he started forward, escorting her into the hall.
When he glanced back, he was satisfied to see that Brodie had waited patiently for Taliesan to make her way and shadowed her every step, watching carefully that she didn’t fall.
Taliesan was a good lass, earnest and perhaps too trusting and good-hearted. Time had made Bowen cynical, and he knew it wasn’t a falsehood that Taliesan would eventually be hardened by her experiences with others.
He sighed, because it would be a sad day indeed for a lass such as Taliesan to learn such a hard lesson. It was one that Eveline had learned firsthand from his own clan. It shamed him to admit, but his clan had been horrid to her when she’d first come to them.
Bowen seated himself at the high table and placed Genevieve on his right, while Teague took the seat on his left. Aiden and Brodie sat across from each other, and Brodie positioned Taliesan next to Genevieve. Bowen nodded approvingly at Brodie for placing a friendly ally beside Genevieve.
The serving women began to bring out food, and Bowen frowned as he sampled the fare. It was cold. Not at all appetizing, and it tasted old. A glance around the room signaled that no one else seemed to have issue, but one look at his own table told a different story.
Teague nearly choked on the first bite of his food. Aiden didn’t even bother disguising his reaction, and promptly spat a mouthful onto the floor. Brodie swallowed with much difficulty, while Taliesan shoved the food around with her spoon.
Genevieve simply stared down at her plate, her face pale, her mouth set into firm lines. She reached for her goblet and took several swallows of the water she’d requested instead of ale.
She instantly choked and sputtered, water nearly spewing from her mouth. She bent her head and coughed harshly into her skirts. Her eyes watered and she couldn’t seem to gain her breath.
“Genevieve, is aught amiss?” Bowen demanded. “Is the water bad?”
“Just went down wrong,” she said, eyes still streaming. “ ’Tis nothing to concern yourself over.”
Suspicious, Bowen snatched the goblet before she could move it and took a cautious sip. He immediately grimaced, and he’d taken only the barest amount into his mouth. It was brine, so heavily salted that no one could possibly drink it.
His blood boiled at the insult leveled against Genevieve, and his fist pounded down on the table, causing several of the nearby serving women to jump and glance nervously his way.
“Bring me fresh water,” he roared.
A woman scurried to do his bidding, and he was careful to taste the water himself before handing it to Genevieve. She looked shocked, and slowly took it from his hand, raising it to her lips.
She gulped down several swallows and then eased the goblet down onto the table.