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than she’d had in the past. Ian was dead. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t control her, any longer. Now she just had to trust that not all men were as evil as Ian. And pray to God they didn’t prove her wrong.

C HAPTER 6
    Bowen stood in the doorway of Genevieve’s room, staring through the three-inch opening to where she sat on a shabby sleeping mat.
    Her legs were drawn protectively to her chest, and he wondered if she had any idea how vulnerable such a position made her look.
    Then she let out a low wail that was so filled with despair that it clutched at his throat, squeezing until it was difficult to draw breath.
    He hesitated, his earlier determination to speak to her waning. She was suffering. Privately. Away from prying eyes and the disparagement of others. He should walk away and not let on that he’d been here at all.
    But he couldn’t. It made no sense to him that he was fascinated by this particular lass. She intrigued him. She was a mystery he was determined to solve.
    And he owed her a debt for the aid she’d given his brother in finding Eveline. Aye, he did, and he left no debt unpaid.
    He pushed her door open wider and took a step forward. When she didn’t stir, he cleared his throat, alerting her to his presence.
    Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing in alarm. Her stance was immediately defensive, and so automatic thatit seemed she’d had much practice in defending herself. That thought made him frown.
    “Why do you take it from them?” he asked bluntly, because there was no subtle way for him to ask what he wanted to know.
    Her eyes widened, as though she couldn’t believe that he’d been so forthright.
    “Why do you suffer their abuse and allow their words to go unchecked. You don’t strike me as an overly meek lass.”
    She lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug that shrouded her in a look of utter defeat. Exhaustion swam in her eyes and there was such resignation that it made him flinch.
    Never had he witnessed such expressive eyes, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Every emotion was there to see in the aqua-green pools. Her early stoicism was gone, and now he realized how hard she’d had to work at keeping her face expressionless. The façade had crumbled. One had only to look closely to know exactly what she was feeling. She’d never make a warrior. She gave away entirely too much.
    “They only speak the truth,” she said in a brittle voice. “Should I rail at them for daring to say what is true?”
    Bowen frowned, his stomach revolting at the thought. And yet he still couldn’t quite accept it.
    “You were Ian McHugh’s whore?”
    She flinched at the baldness of the question, but Bowen had never been one to mince words. Graeme was far superior with honeyed words. Bowen had the disconcerting habit of speaking his mind.
    Then she raised her gaze to meet his, and he blinked at the dullness that had replaced the wash of emotion. It was as though someone had doused a lit candle, plunging a room into darkness.
    “Aye, I was Ian McHugh’s whore,” she said bitterly.“ ’Tis common enough knowledge. Ask anyone in the keep. They’ll tell you the way of it.”
    He couldn’t help his expression or the distaste that crept into his mouth. He shook his head, unable to comprehend why.
    She pushed herself from the mat and paced a few feet away before turning, her arms securely folded over her chest. Again, he noted the protectiveness of her stance. It was as if every movement were for the sole purpose of self-preservation.
    “I would speak to you on a personal matter,” she said in a careful tone.
    Perplexed by the abrupt change of topic, he merely nodded, curious as to what the lass would say to him.
    “I do not wish to remain here any longer,” she said. “I have nowhere to go. No family to aid me. The McHughs are not my kin and they will not care what happens to me. I cannot depend on their generosity to provide for me.”
    Bowen started to interrupt her, to say that the