“They grieved for you so,” Sybil said in a quiet voice when the door had closed. “Your father was desolate for months, and not a day went by that your mother didn’t weep for her loss. I thought never to see them smile again. When they received the missive stating you were alive, it was as if they were given new life. They were so afraid that it was false news and someone was playing a cruel jest. Your father packed up and they left in the dead of night to make haste to fetch you.”

“I grieved for them too,” Genevieve murmured. “I thought never to see them again.”

Sybil patted Genevieve on the cheek. “You are their only child, beloved beyond measure. The entire clan rejoiced when they heard the news, for it was painful for all to see how broken they were over your disappearance.”

Genevieve swung her legs over the side of the bed and went to her wardrobe to fetch the leggings and tunic her father had given her for their hunting excursions. No lass could properly hunt in a dress, according to him, so he’d outfitted her in men’s garb.

She ran her hands lovingly over the worn clothing. Not a single thing had been changed in her chamber the entire time she’d been gone. Everything was as it had been when she’d left. Though she’d taken most of her clothing with her, she’d left the hunting apparel, since she couldn’t be sure that her new husband would approve.

In the time since her return, her mother had worked feverishly to replenish Genevieve’s wardrobe. She had a contingent of women working around the clock, sewing new dresses and undergarments.

Genevieve slipped out of her dress and pulled on the leggings and tunic, noting that they were larger on her than they had been before. She was thinner and didn’t have as much flesh on her bones as she had a year ago.

It wasn’t a surprise. She’d been treated little better than a dog, tossed a few scraps and the occasional meal during her imprisonment. But somehow seeing the clothing on her now brought home the realization of just how much she’d changed.

Her hand went to her face, and her fingers slid down the puckered flesh that marked the vivid scar. Her mother had been horrified and tearful when she learned how and why Genevieve had been disfigured so. Though Bowen had told her father of the event, his face had purpled with rage in the retelling of the story.

It was then that Genevieve had decided not to impart any further details of her captivity. She hated to see them so aggrieved.

She retrieved her bow and quiver of arrows and then motioned for Sybil to accompany her down the stairs. She met her father in the courtyard, where he stood beside two horses, holding their reins.

He smiled when he saw her, and then assisted her into the saddle. After mounting his horse, he took out in the direction of a section of dense forest on their lands.

Genevieve breathed deeply of the air, soaking in the feeling of home. She’d spent her entire childhood running wild over these hills. From a very early age, she’d tagged along on her father’s hunts. He’d taught her skill with a bow and arrow, and she was adept with a knife as well.

They traveled a path well trod, a familiar trail into the wooded area where they’d hunted for years.

The first rabbit took her unaware and skittered across her path before she could react and draw her bow. Shaking off her sluggishness, she drew her bow and nocked an arrow. Her sharp gaze studied the bush for movement.

A moment later, one of the horses spooked a rabbit and it ran down the path. Genevieve took aim and pierced the rabbit with an arrow, pinning it to the ground.

Her father jumped down from his horse to retrieve the animal, grinning at her.

“Well done, lass. I see you’ve not lost your skill at all.”

She smiled back, and then nocked another arrow.

By the time the sun began to sink in the sky, they had a dozen rabbits tied to her father’s saddle and he turned them back toward the keep.

They rode into the courtyard, where their horses were taken by one of the McInnis men, and she followed her father around to where they skinned their bounty from hunts.

It wasn’t an unusual thing for Genevieve to take part in the cleaning and preparation of the animals, but at the very first cut into the hide her stomach revolted and sweat broke out on her forehead.

Nausea coiled in her belly and she swallowed, desperately trying to control her reaction.

When her father peeled back the skin of a rabbit, Genevieve lost the battle and bent over, retching violently onto the ground. The smell offended her. The sight of blood made her stomach recoil. Her eyes watered from the force with which she heaved.

Her father’s arm came around her, and he shouted an order to one of his men to take over the care of the rabbits. Then he led her inside the keep and to her mother.

“Elizabeth, do something,” her father said in desperation. “The lass is sick.”

“Hush now, Lachlan. I’ll tend to her. You go on and finish with the rabbits. ’Tis woman’s work to be done here.”

“She’s my daughter,” he growled. “ ’Tis nothing womanly about my concern.”

Still, Lady McInnis waved her husband off and helped Genevieve up the stairs to her chamber.

“There now, lass, lie down a bit and catch your breath,” her mother said as soon as she’d tucked Genevieve into bed.

“Tired,” Genevieve said faintly.

The bout of sickness had left her exhausted, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

Her mother ran a cool hand over her forehead. “I know, lass. Rest, now. I’ll check in on you later.”

“Love you, Mama,” Genevieve said in a drowsy voice.

Her mother smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “And I love you, my darling. Sleep now.”

Chapter 46

“How is the lass?” Lachlan asked when Elizabeth entered his chamber.

His expression was anxious and worried, and Elizabeth wished she could say something to ease him. But there was naught to do but tell the truth.

“She is with child. I’m sure of it,” Elizabeth said bluntly.

Lachlan blanched, his face going white as he stared agape at his wife. His huge hands curled into fists, and he looked as though he wanted to strike the wall.

“The bastard!” Lachlan seethed. “Never have I wished for a man to be alive so that I could do the killing. May Ian McHugh rot in hell for what he has done to our lass.”

“What are we to do, Lachlan?” Elizabeth asked in a worried voice.

Lachlan sent her a puzzled look. “Do? There’s nothing to do, Elizabeth. Except what we’ve always done. Love her and offer her our support, no matter what may fall. ’Tis not the lass’s doing that she is with child, and even if it were, I could never turn away from her.”

“Oh nay!” Elizabeth cried. “I did not mean that! I only mean that my heart bleeds for her. Just when we think she can start anew and put the past behind her, ’tis evident she is carrying a bairn, and now she’ll live with a constant reminder of all Ian McHugh made her suffer for the rest of her life.”

“Talk to the lass,” Lachlan said gruffly. “ ’Tis a matter for a mother to discuss with her daughter. A father has no place in such a conversation. But let her know that I love her and that she will always have a place here with us. As will her bairn. Do not let her think we are shamed by her. Indeed, I’m prouder of her than I could ever be of a son.”

Elizabeth laid her hand on Lachlan’s arm. “ ’Tis a wonderful thing you say. I am the most fortunate of women in her choice of husbands. I could never ask for a better protector for my only child, and yet you’ve never once held it against me that I could not bear you a son.”

Lachlan pulled her close, his eyes tender as they gazed down at her.

“ ’Tis hard to complain when you provided me a daughter to rival any in all of Scotland. What other lass could survive all she did and then seek vengeance on the man who wronged her? ’Tis the truth I could not be prouder of my lass. I only wish I could have been present to see her fell Patrick McHugh in battle. Surely it was a sight to behold.”

Elizabeth smiled and rubbed her cheek against his broad chest.

“Besides,” he said gruffly. “ ’Tis I who am fortunate, for you could have chosen any husband. Many vied for your hand, and yet you chose me. A savage with no manners, and you helped me build one of the strongest clans in the whole of Scotland. Men still gawk at your beauty after all these years, and many would give their life for one chance to share your bed.”

She grinned mischievously up at him. “Now, that would be awkward. ’Tis a hard enough fit with you in the bed, much less another braw lad.”

“Cheeky wench,” he said with no heat. “I love you, and you well know it, and I’d kill the man who ever dared touch the hem of your dress.”

She gifted him with a kiss and then pulled back with a sigh. “I must tell Genevieve. She does not know.”

Lachlan’s expression sobered. “Do not let her think this changes how we feel. I have no words to describe the joy in my heart at having my daughter back where she belongs. There is nothing she could do that would ever make me regret that.”

“You’re a good man, Lachlan McInnis,” Elizabeth whispered as she kissed him again. “I’ll break the news to Genevieve in the morning. Right now, I wish you to take me to bed.”

Lachlan’s eyes gleamed and his hold became possessive.

“Bossy lass. You know I can deny you nothing.”

When Genevieve woke the next morning, the first thing she did was make a run for the chamber pot and heaved the remaining contents of her stomach. For several long minutes, she leaned over, her body convulsing as she sought to gain control.

Cool hands rubbed up and down her back and then pulled her hair away from her face, holding it at her nape as she shuddered with the last of her illness.

“I was afraid you’d be sick this morning,” her mother said when Genevieve finally lifted her head and staggered back toward the bed.

Her mother tucked her into bed and pulled the covers up around her, all the while rubbing her back in a soothing motion.

“It must have been something I ate,” Genevieve croaked.

Her mother’s smile was gentle, and her hand slid to her forehead as she smoothed the hair from her face.

“Nay, lass, ’tis not something you ate.”

Genevieve frowned. “Then what’s wrong with me?”

“You’re carrying a bairn,” her mother said gently.

Genevieve’s jaw went slack. Her hand covered the flatness of her belly as she stared at her mother in denial. But her mother nodded in confirmation.

Joy exploded in Genevieve’s soul until she nearly burst with it. She wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh and shout her happiness to the world, but her mother would think she’d gone mad. And so she lay there, savoring the knowledge that she carried Bowen’s child. A tiny part of him that she’d always have.

Her mother grasped her hand and held tightly to it.

“Your father and I both want you to know that we fully support you and your bairn. You’ll always have a place to live. We love you with all our hearts. We know this is difficult for you. To bear the child of a man who so abused you is unthinkable, but we’ll help you in any way we can, and we’ll never forsake you, Genevieve.”

Genevieve stared dumbfounded at her mother, as it dawned on her what she was saying.

She leaned forward and put a hand out to staunch the flow of words from her mother.

“Mama, ’tis not Ian’s child I carry,” she said softly.

Confusion crowded her mother’s gaze. “You don’t mean … Genevieve, tell me it wasn’t someone he …”

She broke off, too upset to continue, and Genevieve couldn’t allow her to think the worst.

“I’m carrying Bowen’s bairn, Mama. ’Tis his child, not Ian’s.”

Lady McInnis’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened and closed. Then her lips thinned and she gazed sharply at Genevieve.

“I knew there was something between the two of you. I sensed it when we were at Montgomery Keep. The man looked positively distraught when you left.”

“He loves me,” Genevieve said softly. “He saved me. He let me go because he thought it would make me happy.”

Her mother stared at her a long moment and then drew her legs onto the bed so she sat more comfortably next to Genevieve.

“I’m hearing a lot about what he feels and what he’s done. But tell me, Genevieve, do you love him?”

“With all my heart,” she said achingly.

Her mother sighed. “You’ve not been happy here, have you?”

Genevieve shook her head. “Nay. ’Tis not so! I wouldn’t have traded this time with you and Papa for anything. Bowen was right. He risked my ire by contacting you. He did it for me, even though it meant letting me go. And he was right. I needed you—both of you—in order to be whole again.”

Her mother’s face crinkled in confusion. “He risked your ire? I do not understand.”