Her words reminded him that there were more important matters afoot than his past. They weighed heavily upon him as he nodded then moved to seat himself at the high table, which was made of a dark and highly polished wood. He could only pray that he was able to live up to the faith not only his aunt but her folk had placed in him.
He was drinking from the cup of cool wine she had brought to him when Genevieve entered the hall. As she halted just inside the doorway, hesitating, he was hit by a wave of shockingly intense longing. In spite of all that had occurred and all his resolutions to control his reactions, he was not only awed but confounded by her beauty. For she was beautiful with her gold-streaked hair falling loose beneath a sheer ivory veil. Those glossy golden curls seemed relieved to be freed from the confining cap, curling about her smooth cheeks and forehead.
Allowing his gaze to dip lower, he saw that she wore what must be one of his aunt’s own gowns. The fact that they were of a very similar size meant that the rich burgundy velvet was a very good fit. Yet as he took in the way her bosom spilled over the top of the square-cut bodice, he thought that Genevieve might very well be rounder in one area of her form.
As the thought came to him, he felt his body heat at the memory of the full weight of those breasts against his palms. At that moment, Genevieve’s cool green gaze collided with his and he saw a flush travel from her face to the tops of those luscious curves. It was if she was reacting to his very thoughts.
That was not possible.
Immediately he looked down at his cup. Feeling the dampness in his palms, he rubbed them against his thighs, but that action did nothing to ease the erotic pictures in his mind—the heat in his body.
Groaning inwardly, Marcel realized that this reaction seemed to come each time he was least expecting it. Whenever he had managed to convince himself that he had his reactions to her under control they raised up to call him liar. Roughly he told himself that he must get hold of himself.
In spite of his resolve, he remained infinitely aware of Genevieve as she crossed the room and came to a halt beside the table. He felt her hesitation but made no sign.
Then his aunt said, “My dears,” and he did at last look up.
Grateful to have anything to occupy his mind besides Genevieve, he turned and saw Aunt Finella coming across the room. She too had garbed herself more finely for the meal in a gown of soft blue-gray silk. The sheer veil and wimple she wore fluttered about her delicate and still smooth cheeks.
As before, he had an amorphous sense of familiarity as he looked at her. She moved forward and placed a slender hand on Genevieve’s shoulder, where she stood beside the table. “I hope I have not kept the two of you waiting.”
Genevieve answered quickly, drawing Marcel’s gaze. “Not me, lady…Aunt Finella. I have just arrived here.”
Marcel added, “And I had only just come before her.”
The older woman waved a hand. “Good then. Genevieve, please sit. We will begin the meal.” As the younger woman moved to do her bidding, she took the place beside Marcel. Genevieve was left to take the place on his other side.
The servants brought trays of food and drink, and Marcel turned to his aunt. “I would speak with you now about my cousin. I wish to see him returned safe home as soon as possible.”
She put a soft hand over his. “Thank you, lad, you have no notion of how good it is to know that you are eager to see him home and that I am no longer alone in this dilemma. I have been so worried about Cameron…” She stopped, obviously gathering control of her emotions.
His aunt clearly needed someone to lean upon in spite of her inspiring strength. She put his own hand over hers and smiled reassuringly.
At that moment, a tingling along the back of his neck made him turn, and he saw that Genevieve was looking at him. The expression on her face was one of concern for his aunt, and something else that he could only describe as admiration and, unbelievably, unshakable faith.
Their eyes met and she smiled, an encouraging and strangely vulnerable sort of smile that made his heart turn over. He shifted in his seat, realizing that her belief in him moved him more than the desire he had felt earlier as she entered the hall. The knowledge was far from comforting.
He forced himself to attend the matter at hand. “What I require now is for you to tell me the details of how this came about and as much as you can about the folk who have taken my cousin.”
She nodded. “There has been an ongoing dispute over a section of meadow not far from the village. My husband had been seeing to this just before his passing, but I know not what final decision he made concerning it. The McGuires insist that he verbally gave them the right to use the land after a ten-year span, which ended some months ago. The family Duggan claims this is not possible for they feel they have a continuing claim to the land as it had been let to them all along.” Aunt Finella shook her head. “I do not know who is in the right. It is quite unlike my husband to settle on a limited holding without making written record of such, and there is no documentation to be found. He was very careful to keep records on all the tenants. Because of the lack of evidence on McGuire’s part, the Duggans have felt justified in continuing to keep their cattle upon the lands. This has only served to make the McGuires more determined to graze their own stock there. Things became quite drastic when the Duggans confiscated several of the McGuires’ cows.”
Marcel took a deep breath. “Why do you not simply redetermine the matter in your own mind?”
She gave a rueful grimace. “That I tried to do. Neither the McGuires nor the Duggans would hear of it and actually told me that they would not abide by such an action as they feel the laird had already chosen.” She looked at him, her gray eyes regretful. “Though I have been accepted by these folk in the years since I arrived, ’twas too much to think that they would so easily embrace me as their overlord when my son and his wife died over a year ago. Had my boy been alive he would have been heeded well. I am a woman, and still English in their minds, I think. And Cameron is naught but a lad. These Scots are a strong, independent people. They do not bow and scrape to their leaders as in England.” Her voice took on a note of warning. “Thus as we move forward in this you must have a care to treat them with the respect they take as their due.”
Marcel began to see that this situation might just prove more difficult than he had anticipated. It galled him to think of being so very careful of the folk who had kidnapped a small boy. Yet he would take his aunt’s lead in his attitude toward her folk. Anything else would be foolish, and only indulging his own anger, for he had seen enough in his travels of the world to know that not all cultures were as the one he had been born into.
Thus he said, “I will have a care for the local customs.”
She looked him straight in the eyes, her seriousness evident. “You have my thanks. I would not have this escalate until McGuire feels there is nothing to lose in harming my grandson. At this point I feel that Cameron is in no real danger and would have it remain so.”
Genevieve spoke up, drawing his attention to her deeply troubled face. “How did Cameron come into their hands?”
His aunt sighed and leaned back, her hands now rubbing the carved arms of her chair. “Cameron is so like my own beloved husband, for whom he was named. He felt that it was his responsibility to talk with them.”
Genevieve shook her head. “But he is only a child.”
Aunt Finella smiled, a rueful, fond smile. “Aye, only seven years. Neither my Cameron nor our son would have allowed a little thing such as that to stop them, either. Aside from that, the clan did accept him as my son’s heir soon after his death. They loved and respected both my Cameron and our son after him. ’Twas not until this dispute that there has been any question of where their loyalty lay. The Scots have grown accustomed to child monarchs in recent years. King James III was only eight when he took the throne.”
As she talked, Marcel took all she said under careful consideration, being fully aware of the wisdom
of her words. He also could not help seeing how truly and deeply she had loved her husband. Though he had been dead these several years the thought of him still brought a light to her eyes. Ah, to love so truly. How would it feel?
Without being aware of it he found himself again turning toward Genevieve, who was watching his aunt with sympathy and concern. Surprised that this thought would lead him to her, he told himself that it was because he genuinely hoped that she would find much happiness with her intended, the gentle Roderick, in spite of the tightness in his chest.
His aunt’s voice drew his wayward attention back to her. “From what I have been told, my little lad rode his highland pony right up to the door and demanded an end to the feuding, that they come together and allow him to sort it all out.” The pride in her face was unmistakable. “Obviously McGuire did not accept his solution. I received a note with his demands within the hour. He has vowed to hold Cameron until I grant his family their rights. This I cannot afford them. I would only create the same degree of animosity on the part of the Duggans did I do so. Some other solution must be found and one that will suit all parties.”
Marcel nodded as he attempted to put all thoughts of Genevieve from his mind. “You may rest assured that I will do all in my power to see that this is done. Without delay.”
He was determined that it would be so.
He looked at his aunt for a long moment. “We must meet with these people and find out exactly what it is they expect from you. We must find some purchase for negotiation.”
She nodded. “As you will, my lad. I will take your lead in this, but I offer one suggestion. They are not apt to agree to come here to Glen Rowan. The Scottish customs of hospitality would demand they leave their weapons outside the hall. Neither party is likely to put themselves in such a position, fearing treachery from the other.”
He grimaced inwardly but made no outward sign of his uncertainty. “Then we must suggest a location that is more palatable for the blackguards.”
A frown of worry creased the older woman’s smooth brow as she placed a fragile hand over his larger one. “I know how angry you are, my boy. I myself can barely contain the outrage that fills my every waking hour. Yet, as I told you, we must go carefully.”
He could see the truth of her words in the depths of her haunted gray eyes. Was it not reasonable that he should control his own anger if she, who had faced the kidnapping of her own grandson with such courage and forbearance, could do so? He took a deep breath and turned his hand to hold her own in his. “As I said, I will do as you have asked of me.”
He glanced away from the depth of gratitude in her gaze and straight into Genevieve’s green eyes. They watched him with an expression of yearning and trust. His stomach tightened. He grimaced. God help him, why could he not armor himself against her?
He was aware of the stiffening of her body, but he was careful not to look at her again, telling himself that her anger was much preferable to any softer emotion. Deliberately he turned back to his aunt, doing his utmost to hide his agitation. There were more important matters afoot than Genevieve’s reactions to him, or his to her. He was pleased with the evenness of his voice as he said, “I will have need of writing materials.”
Aunt Finella called for a servant.
Stung at Marcel’s strange change from tender regard to displeasure as his gaze met hers, Genevieve moved to get up from the table, and said, “I shall leave you two alone to conduct this matter in privacy.”
She was halted by Aunt Finella. “There is no need for you to leave, my dear. We have no secrets from you.”
Marcel glanced up, his expression unreadable as he met her gaze. She spoke hurriedly. “I am quite tired.” She could see no hint of regret in his blue eyes.
As she left the hall, Genevieve cast one last glance over her shoulder at Marcel. She could not help thinking that he would make a very capable and considerate overlord.
That Marcel did not wish to ever fill such a role, she also knew. Though Benedict had never voiced the slightest complaint as to the overseeing her own lands, Marcel’s admonition that it was her own place weighed heavily in her mind. Perhaps it did behoove her to marry and relieve Benedict of these burdens.
Would that the man be as capable and levelheaded as Marcel. For despite her indignation she could not help seeing that he bore those qualities and more. By heeding his aunt’s request for care in the matter of seeing Cameron returned, in spite of his own obvious anger, he had shown this day that his aptitude for careful leadership extended beyond his abilities to run his ship. There his word was law.
She knew she would want those same qualities in the man she wed.
Would that the man she married also prove to be as capable at opening her body and emotions as Marcel had. As soon as this thought entered her mind, Genevieve gasped aloud in shock.
She did not wish to think on her reactions to Marcel or the fact that she had never responded to any other man thusly. She was not sure if she was capable of doing so.
She had an instant image of Roderick Beecham. That he was handsome could not be denied. That his undeniably good looks moved her in no way was also impossible to deny.
Marcel did move her, without so much as a touch. What was she to say to that?
Once in her chamber, she flopped down on the end of the bed. She wanted Marcel and he wanted Constanza, who had proved faithless.
Perhaps when Genevieve had been returned to Brackenmoore, Constanza would realize what a terrible mistake she had made. Surely out of his love for her, Marcel would forgive her. Genevieve told herself that this was exactly what she did hope for, but the hollow feeling around her heart did not go away.
Though Genevieve slept fitfully, the morning dawned bright and clear. She went to the window to gaze out on the blue sky, saw the birds chirped loudly, dipping and diving joyfully in the depthless expanse. The scent of green things and the sounds of livestock calling out to be fed rose to invade her senses. It was almost as if nature were flaunting its unrelenting forward motion as well as its beauty in the face of her own tumultuous feelings.
A soft knock sounded upon her door and she swung about and called, “Enter.”
To her utter surprise it was the very man who plagued her so. Putting a hand over her suddenly racing heart, she told herself that he had not come here for any personal intention.
This warning proved true as he said, “Messengers have already arrived in answer to our invitations.” His eyes bore a hint of anticipation.
She said, “So quickly?”
He nodded. “Aye. We shall see the matter settled anon and you safely home at Brackenmoore.”
She felt her stomach tighten at his words. Of course he wished to be rid of her. Determinedly she forced herself to concentrate on the matter of getting Cameron home, though she answered through tight lips, “Pray it be so.”
He did not seem to heed her reaction. His next words startled her. “If it not be too difficult for you, I beg you accompany me and my aunt to this meeting. I believe she will be glad of your support of her.”
Genevieve felt an unexpected tug of pleasure. She curtsied quickly, bowing her head to mask it. “If I may be of any help, I shall be happy to do so.”
His glance slid away as she tried to meet it, and Genevieve flushed. She must remember that Marcel wished to keep their relationship on no more than civil terms. She asked, “When do we leave?”
He spoke without inflection. “Within the hour.”
She said, “I shall not keep you then.”
Marcel bowed and left with as little ceremony as he had entered.
Genevieve could not rid herself of the happiness she felt at being asked to accompany them. Quickly she told herself there was no time for such thoughts. He wanted her there for his aunt’s sake, not his. But the joy of being needed by him, for whatever reason, did not quite dissipate.
Knowing she must make haste, Genevieve looked at the gown the older woman had given her the previous night. It l
ay where she had carefully placed it across the chest along the wall. Being of such fine and delicate fabric it would not serve for such an outing. Thus it was with some regret that she garbed herself, once again, in William’s clothing and made her way to the great hall.
She was aware of Marcel, who cast an unreadable glance over her as she entered the hall dressed as a lad. He made no remark on the subject, being very obviously occupied with the coming meeting.
Neither did his aunt say anything, though she looked at Genevieve more closely.
Genevieve followed their lead as they moved toward the courtyard and the waiting horses. Because of her preoccupation, she was not sorry that her own steed seemed less than spirited.
Once outside the castle wall, Aunt Finella indicated the direction they should take. Other than this, there was very little conversation.
The lack of conversation gave Genevieve’s mind too much free reign. As she looked at Marcel’s strong, wide shoulders, where he rode just ahead of her beside his aunt, her heart beat a quick tattoo. He too was mounted on one of the highland ponies, though from the look of the animal his was a bit more lively.
The small, wide-shouldered stallion danced restlessly from time to time. Marcel seemed to have no difficulty in controlling him. He handled the reins with the same sure touch that he did the helm of the Briar-wind.
His lack of interest in her told her quite clearly that though he had requested her presence, there was naught of an intimate nature in his doing so. Not that she had needed any proof of this.
She knew how things stood between them, yet her disappointment could not be completely denied. She fell back a distance, wanting to put some space between herself and those seemingly fascinating shoulders.
After a time, Aunt Finella turned to Genevieve and called out with gentle warning, “Please stay nearby, Genevieve. We have not far to go.”
Genevieve nodded and pressed her mount forward, feeling Marcel’s gaze cross her briefly. Even though she was undeniably agitated at what might happen, she could not ignore her own chaotic emotions when those blue eyes touched her.
Summer's Bride Page 13
