Marcel shrugged, explaining the situation hastily. When he was finished, Harlan asked, “So we will set sail immediately?”
“As soon as the supplies I ordered arrive.”
The first mate frowned. “Some of the men are not aboard. They have gone into town as you said they could.”
Marcel rubbed his forehead. “See that they are found and told to come back now.”
Harlan nodded his sun-streaked blond head. “Very well. Jack and Harry are aboard and none too worse for wear. I’ll send them out to look for the others.”
Marcel nodded with approval. He knew the men would not be pleased, many of them very likely nursing sore heads this day. It could not be helped. He would make an effort to see they were compensated next time they put into port.
Without wasting another minute, he turned and addressed all within earshot. “We leave as soon as the ship is seaworthy. I’ll be in my cabin mapping our course.”
Genevieve watched Marcel arrive, approaching the ship with a confident stride, and felt the uncontrollable pounding of her heart. After he was aboard ship, she heard the deep and achingly familiar timbre of his voice as he spoke to another man.
It felt so good just to be near him. She told herself that she was glad she had come, even if she had spent the past hours huddled behind a barrel. The fact that she still had no idea about how to proceed did not completely quell her anticipation at being with Marcel soon.
She was weak limbed at the possibility that he might soon hold her—kiss her again.
Abruptly she tore her mind from that distracting and all too stirring prospect. There was much that must fall into order before such an event could ever take place.
Her desperate gaze scanned the dock for some answer to her difficulty, and she saw a man approaching, pulling a cart laden with crates much like the ones that were piled near her. He stopped and ran an assessing eye over the Briarwind He lifted his cap, scratching his head as his gaze then went to the heavily loaded cart.
Before he had moved from this position an even larger cart loaded with barrels moved up behind him. The driver bellowed, “Delivery for the Briarwind Move out of my way.”
The first man spun around scowling. “And what do you think I’d be doing here?”
The second man frowned in return and said, “Get yourself unloaded and out of my way then. I’ve other work this afternoon.”
The first man looked back toward the ship. “I’d be happy to, if someone would only come to help me.”
Genevieve watched a tall and undeniably handsome blond man come to the side of the Briarwind and look out at them, and an idea came into her mind. The blond man left the ship and, along with the carters, began to discuss the unloading of the goods. When he turned and called out, “Come, the wagons must be unloaded,” two other men left the ship and moved toward the carts.
Hastily, before she could lose her courage, Genevieve slipped out into the open, moving quickly to take one of the crates from the cart. It was so heavy that she gasped in surprise. Yet she forced herself to hold it, breathing carefully.
She had to appear to be a laborer. Hopefully, the carters would think her part of the ship’s crew. The crew would imagine her to have come with one of the carts. Thus would she get onto the Briarwind After that, it would simply be a matter of finding a hiding place.
The two roughly dressed sailors went to the first cart and took a crate each. Genevieve fell in line behind them. To her utter amazement neither the carters nor the blond seaman paid her any attention at all. She was able to follow the seamen, right to a hatch in the middle of the deck.
Genevieve knew that she would not be able to carry the heavy crate down the ladder that rose up from inside, though the men seemed to have no trouble as they went down ahead of her. Holding her breath with terror, she dropped the crate on the deck and ducked behind the mast, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.
One of the men came up, saw the crate and scowled, looking about as if perplexed. Then with a shrug, he shouldered it and disappeared down the ladder once more.
Soon both of the sailors emerged from the hole and went back across the deck. When they reached the gangway, Genevieve cast a careful look about. The carters and the other man were still talking, but they were turned the other way, obviously discussing the goods that had been brought.
It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, Genevieve raced toward the hatch. Holding that breath and knowing she dared not pause to look behind her, she took a tight hold of the sides of the ladder and scrambled down it.
Spinning around, Genevieve could see that she was in the hold. The inside walls of the ship were lined with all manner of goods that would be needed to make long voyages—extra ropes, canvas, even extra lanterns hung from the posts. There were also all sizes of containers besides the three wooden crates that had been brought from the carts.
Hearing the sound of voices approaching above, Genevieve raced down the center aisle and lodged herself behind a pile of goods at the front of the ship. This was accomplished none too quickly for the men brought more supplies down into the hold.
Several others had now joined the two, who had begun the unloading. They formed a sort of line as they transferred the cargo into the hold.
The next hours passed in an agony of frustration and anxiety. Her frustration stemmed from being inactive for so very long, and anxiety from her fear that one of the sailors would come too close and discover her hiding place. In spite of her agitation, she was somewhat awed at their efficiency as they packed the space so tightly there was no more than a narrow walkway down the center when they were through.
When finally they had finished and closed the hatch above her, Genevieve heaved a great sigh of relief. Yet when the boat began to move some time later, she knew a renewed sense of trepidation as well as relief, her stomach clenching at the realization that she had succeeded.
She was aboard the Briarwind, and it was moving. Just what might happen now she was afraid to even contemplate.
Genevieve grew cold as the day wore on. It was very damp down in the hold. She was afraid, though, to leave her hiding place for fear of being discovered should someone open the hatch unexpectedly. She did not believe they had gone far enough to make Marcel believe that he must go on to Scotland rather than take her home.
Surely all they needed were a few days together to work out whatever was making him hold back. Surely when he learned that she loved him…
The pure happiness she felt at the possibility of his returning her affection in even a small measure, at the notion of his letting go his reservations and completing the lovemaking they had begun at Brackenmoore was incentive enough to stay where she was. She could not reveal herself yet.
But after another interminable stretch of time, the cramping in her legs and lower back grew unbearable. She bit her lip with indecision. The hold was empty of all save her. Surely it would hurt nothing to walk about a bit.
Slowly, listening for any sound from above, Genevieve stood. The tingling in her lower limbs told her just how badly she had needed to move. Gingerly she exercised each muscle until the sensations eased.
Cautiously she stumbled about in the darkness until she found a lantern, and the implements to light it, hanging at the bottom of the stair. With a sigh of relief, she looked about. As she had seen earlier, a narrow pathway ran down the center to the stair, which led to the upper deck.
Genevieve began to pace this trail. Then as time passed and her body felt more itself, she began to be aware of another form of discomfort. That of hunger.
It had been many hours since she had thought of eating anything. Her stomach growled, as if now demanding its due. Putting a hand over her belly, Genevieve looked about the hold.
She knew that many of these containers would hold food. Why should she go hungry when surrounded by such plenty?
Sometime later, she leaned back against where she had sat down to eat and sighed. She had pried open a barrel with a
bar she found hanging nearby. It had offered only salted fish, but her hunger had improved the taste.
Though she had no idea how much time had passed since she had come aboard the Briarwind, Genevieve was fairly certain that it must be well into the night. The tiredness she felt told her that she had been down there for many hours.
Again she sighed. What a day it had been, and after no sleep the previous night. Surely there would be no harm in closing her eyes for just a few moments. If none of the crew had come down to the hold in the evening hours, it was quite unlikely that they would do so at night.
She extinguished the light. Then using her arm to cushion her head, Genevieve lay down at the far end of the path…
The next thing she knew she was looking up at a heavily lined masculine face that contained a bulbous nose and a pair of watery gray eyes. He spoke roughly as he scratched his wiry gray head. “Now, what have we here?”
With a gasp of shock, Genevieve sat straight up, her own voice husky with sleep and horror as she cried, “Who are you?”
The man laughed gruffly. “It’s me who’ll be asking the questions, lad. What are you doing here?”
“I…” She hesitated, realizing that she was still wearing her masculine garments and this fellow thought her a boy. For reasons she could not name, she did not disabuse him of his mistaken notion.
“Well?” he prodded.
Now that she was found out, Genevieve could only think of getting to Marcel. “Take me to your captain.”
The man took her by the arm and hauled her roughly to her feet. “That I will, young man, but I’m not thinking he’ll be glad to see a stowaway. Especially one who refuses to answer the questions put to him.”
Genevieve did not care for this mauling in the least but decided to let it pass, for the man did not know who she was. When he nudged her ahead of him up the stairs, she pushed his hand away and went up with her head held high.
It was not yet full light on deck and a dark bank of cloud on the distant horizon seemed to make the light even dimmer. As she peered about she did not see any other signs of movement on deck. Her captor jerked his head toward the cabin at the stern of the boat and said, “Go on, no dawdling. You wanted to see the captain. Get to it then.”
Genevieve did not acknowledge him but moved in the direction he had indicated. As soon as she had spoken with Marcel, this lout would mind his manners.
When the sailor pounded loudly upon the closed door, Genevieve felt a momentary anxiety. There was no question in her mind that Marcel would be surprised to see her. The possibility of his being angry was very great, as well.
Hopefully he would not remain so for long.
The heavy oak door opened abruptly. Her heart turned over with a sudden and unexpectedly deep yearning as her gaze came to rest on the man she had come so far to be with. Marcel’s midnight-dark hair was tousled from sleep and the long white shirt, which was all he wore, lay open to expose his muscular bronze chest. Her heart thumped and her fingers itched to touch the smooth flesh.
Having never seen so much of him before, it was a moment before Genevieve was able to raise her gaze to his shocked and disbelieving blue eyes.
Before he could say a word, the sailor spoke. “Sorry for disturbin’ you, Captain, but I found this lad stowed away in the hold when I went down to get some supplies for breakfast.”
For a long moment Marcel did nothing, then without warning, he grabbed her arm and jerked her inside the cabin, telling the other man, “I will see to this, Charley. Go on and get the meal ready for the crew.”
Although she had not expected his reaction to be welcoming, Genevieve did not care for this manhandling, especially as she had taken far too much of the same from the sailor. As Marcel slammed the door, Genevieve said, “Although I understand your surprise, please refrain from grabbing me that way, Marcel. And you will have to tell that man he must mind his manners in the future. He was somewhat rough with me, though I must allow him some measure of leeway as he does not know who I—”
Marcel interrupted as he swung around to face her, putting his hand on his lean hips. “What are you doing here?” His shirt parted even further, exposing the smooth bronze flesh of his chest.
She could not deny that it was very difficult to phrase a reply when her eyes seemed to be riveted to that golden flesh. With a great force of will she raised her gaze to his angry one. “I…I can explain. But give me a moment.” She found she had great need to collect herself. She had not expected him to be quite so enraged. After the kisses they had shared, she had thought…He seemed a stranger again.
His voice was raised to an angry pitch. “I am waiting!”
Marcel had never spoken to her in such a tone and her surprise began to give way to irritation. She frowned. “I will thank you to have a civil tongue in your head, my lord.”
Marcel moved toward her, his brow creasing in a fierce scowl. “A civil tongue in my head? You are not in the position of giving orders here, Genevieve. You will answer me now. Why are you aboard this ship?”
Genevieve stared up at him, knowing that though Marcel was certainly overreacting, he had some justification for wanting to know what she was about. Deliberately she took a deep breath. “Please, let us calm ourselves. You have every reason to expect a reply. Only let me think of how best to explain.”
She was glad when he seemed to ease back somewhat, though the determination was not gone from his countenance. She took another breath, for it was not easy to speak of what had passed between them, especially in the face of his anger. “I…after the way you ki—”
A feminine voice interrupted her from the fore end of the cabin. “I think it best if I do not overhear this conversation, Marcel.”
Genevieve swung around to see a dark-haired woman peeking out from the edge of a wide folding screen. The bed, which lay directly behind her, was not completely hidden.
Spinning about again, Genevieve faced Marcel with what she knew were shocked and disillusioned eyes. In spite of her wish that he would not know how very hurt she was over finding him with another woman, she could make no effort to hide it.
His brow creased as his gaze met hers and he reached toward her. “Genevieve, I…”
She forestalled him with a raised hand. “Nay, do not touch me.” Hastily she turned to the other woman. “Please, come out. I am very sorry for disturbing you. I did not know you were here.”
The other woman moved cautiously out from behind the screen, and Genevieve could not be blind to the fact that she was exotically beautiful. And that she was dressed in no more than a white nightgown, which though admittedly not revealing, was nonetheless a nightgown. Her long dark hair fell in a tangled mass to her hips and her liquid dark brown eyes were filled with unhappiness, her gaze going from Genevieve to Marcel and back again.
Genevieve was unable to meet the other’s eyes. The white nightrail did not completely disguise the pleasing shape beneath it.
A piercingly painful emotion made her chest tighten and she could not look at Marcel. Had she actually convinced herself that she loved him? Obviously that was nothing more than an excuse to come here, an excuse to ease the ache of longing he had awakened in her body. For even now, knowing that she was disgusted by him, she could not help realizing that he was so very tall, so very undeniably and compellingly masculine. The cabin seemed far too small to contain his powerful presence as he stood with his shoulders back, his feet planted wide to accommodate the rolling of the ship. She was also aware of her body’s reaction to his all too fascinating masculinity.
And she hated herself for it. All this time she had waited for him—longed for him.
He had found another. Even when he had kissed her, this woman was here waiting for him. Genevieve felt a wave of sympathy for the other woman. It was not her fault Marcel was a blackguard of the worst order, for she was most likely completely unaware of his perfidy.
Marcel could not quite believe his eyes. Genevieve. It only made matters worse th
at, for a brief moment, as his gaze had first alighted on her that his heart had raced with joy. Immediately it was replaced by irritation.
He forced himself to concentrate on the fact that she had, as yet, not explained what in the world she was doing here aboard the Briarwind.
He was just getting ready to reiterate this fact when there came another pounding at the door. With a grunt of irritation, Marcel strode across the chamber and jerked the door open a crack. “Yes.”
Harlan stood in the opening, his hazel eyes filled with apprehension. “A storm is brewing, Marcel. It’s coming up behind us quickly. You can see it on the horizon.”
Vexation and concern filled him. The summer storms along the coast could be horrendous and were not to be underestimated. Now that he paid attention, Marcel was aware of the rising sound of the wind.
This was the last thing he needed now. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I trust preparations are under way.”
“Aye.”
Regretfully Marcel changed the subject abruptly. “I am in the midst of a little problem. I will attend you shortly.”
Harlan’s gaze searched the chamber behind him, though Marcel knew he would see little through the narrow opening. The first mate said, “Charley said there was a stowaway.”
There was, indeed.
Marcel answered as evenly as he could. “Aye, a lad. I have decided to make him my cabin boy. Now as I said, make the ship secure.”
If the man who had become his friend in the past two years thought there were anything unusual in Marcel’s tone or actions he gave no indication of it as he nodded, then turned and made his way across the deck.
Grateful for this small favor from the heavens, Marcel closed the door firmly. He did not wish to try to explain anything in detail at the moment. The first mate was far too perceptive and Marcel first had to think of precisely what he was going to say.
Summer's Bride Page 5
