“I would send word to my own father,” Brodie spoke up. “I would apprise him of the events so that he too may render aid to us. I will need to inform him of the man we lost, and he’ll likely send reinforcements along with food and goods.”
It was on the tip of Bowen’s tongue to refute that he needed anything from the Armstrongs, but he must remember now that the two clans were now allies, bonded by marriage.
Teague didn’t look any happier about it, but he too remained silent. He’d already humbled himself enough by asking that Brodie remain behind to help Bowen.
“I will stay on until support from Graeme arrives and we receive his directive. He’d not want me to leave you when you’re injured and in danger of another attack.”
Bowen nodded at his brother. Then he turned back to Brodie. “Your father, as well as Graeme, will likely send immediate word to the king. Such an upheaval will surely reach his ears, and he’ll not like the clans warring when he went to such lengths to end the fighting between the Montgomerys and Armstrongs. He’s determined to bring peace to the Highlands now that his truce with England has been reached.”
Brodie scowled. “As long as our king doesn’t interfere. His meddling has become a nuisance.”
It was obvious that Brodie still had not forgiven their king for ordering the marriage between Graeme and Eveline, even if the end result had achieved precisely what the king had wanted and the marriage had resulted in a happy union for both Graeme and Eveline.
Bowen couldn’t say he blamed him. He’d not liked the edict any more than the Armstrong clan had when it had first been rendered.
Brodie rose from his chair, swinging his leg over before pushing the chair back against the wall.
“ ’Tis time I seek my bed. Rest easy and heal, Bowen. There is still much to accomplish.”
Bowen nodded at Brodie. Teague offered his good night, and then the two brothers were left alone.
As soon as the door closed, Teague turned to Bowen, his brow wrinkled in consternation.
“What of Genevieve? Did you not confront her? What was her part in Eveline’s abduction?”
“I have not had the opportunity to discuss the matter with her,” Bowen said in a low voice.
It was a lie, and he had no love of deceiving his brother. But he knew if he told Teague the truth, the lass would be condemned in Teague’s eyes, and Bowen wasn’t ready to have judgment rendered on Genevieve. Not yet. Not when he had yet to discover why she would do such a thing.
He was still mulling over all that Brodie had related. If Brodie was to be believed, Genevieve had saved Bowen’s life. And she’d killed Patrick McHugh—a feat neither he nor his warriors had managed in the mayhem.
She was a perplexing puzzle, and one he had every intention of deciphering. He wanted time to do so before he made a rash and hasty decision on her fate. If he confided what he knew to Teague, Graeme would most assuredly find out, as would Brodie and the rest of the Armstrongs. They’d want to seek vengeance, and the idea of more pain being heaped on Genevieve turned his stomach.
“I thought you were going to seek her out,” Teague said, still not satisfied with Bowen’s words.
“Aye, and I did. I found her bathing in the river. I was set to discuss the matter, but the call to arms was sounded. I took Genevieve to the keep and ordered her to seek refuge within.”
“An order she clearly obeyed,” Teague said dryly.
“ ’Tis glad I am she didn’t. Mayhap I would not be alive if she had.”
Teague fell silent. Then he shifted in his chair, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Aye, if Brodie is to be believed, you indeed owe your life to the lass. If she killed Patrick McHugh, the Montgomerys and Armstrongs alike owe her a debt.”
Bowen could tell that Teague had no love for that admission. He was set against the lass, and Bowen couldn’t entirely blame him. She had betrayed Eveline. She’d endangered both Montgomerys and Armstrongs with her treachery.
Still, Bowen couldn’t help but think that he didn’t have the whole of the story, and, until he did, he refused to condemn her to the rest of his clan. Or Brodie’s.
Teague’s sharp gaze found Bowen. There was something akin to fear in his brother’s eyes, and Bowen’s brow furrowed as he stared back.
“How bad is it, really, Bowen?” Teague asked softly.
Perplexed, he answered, “What do you speak of?”
“Your wound. ’Tis the truth that my heart nearly stopped when we were chased down by the riders and told that the keep had been attacked and that you’d been injured. They knew nothing of your condition, and I feared to find you dead when I arrived.”
“ ’Tis naught but a scratch,” Bowen said.
Teague uttered a hmmmph. “A scratch that required extensive stitching, from what I can see. You scared me, Bowen. I’d not lose you. Especially not in a cause such as this. I’d rather lay waste to the entire clan and those who oppose us than have you struck down by a cowardly act.”
Bowen smiled. “Rest easy, brother. I’m harder to kill than that. It would seem the lass was determined that I not go down that day. Though, even if I had suffered a dagger in my back, ’tis just as likely I would have survived.”
“I’d rather not chance it if ’tis all the same to you.”
Bowen nodded wearily. “Aye, neither would I. ’Tis the truth this paltry cut pains me greatly, but I’ll not say anything lest I have another potion poured down my throat. I’ve been insensible for two days from that poison they keep feeding me.”
“I’ll leave you to rest,” Teague said, rising to his feet. “On the morrow, I’ll meet with Brodie to determine if more needs be done to ensure the safety of the keep. If it’s not too much trouble, perhaps you could remain abed and out of trouble.”
Bowen grinned and raised his arm to clasp his brother’s. “I’m glad you returned, even if I have no liking for the circumstance that prompted it.”
Teague grasped Bowen’s arm in his firm grip. “Well, don’t be surprised if Graeme himself makes an appearance after he’s heard all there is to hear.”
Bowen groaned. “God help us.”
Chapter 22
The next morning, Bowen slowly attempted to rise from his bed. Movement stretched the flesh sewn together, and he winced as he righted himself.
He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the wound and testing to see how tender it was.
While he certainly wouldn’t be back on the battlefield this day, he could at least take himself from the bed before he became a permanent part of it.