Quickly, before McGuire could change his mind, or perhaps before she could lose her courage, Genevieve moved toward the big red-haired man. He grinned at her and swung around to speak to his party. “We’re away then.”
Genevieve pulled her velvet cap down tight, mindful of the fact that she must continue to play the lad.
As a group, McGuire and his followers moved out of the ruins. Those who had come on horseback mounted up. “Ye’ll ride with me,” McGuire told her, and Genevieve made no demure as he grabbed her from behind and tossed her on the back of his highland pony. He then pulled himself up before her.
They started off at a good clip. Genevieve had no choice but to hold on to the big man’s shirt, for he made no concessions for her presence. His men followed close behind. They had ridden for only a short time when he halted and spoke to one of them. “Cover his eyes.”
A tall, spare-looking young man drew his mount close, taking a strip of cloth off his plaid. The next thing she knew he had securely wrapped the heavy piece of fabric around her head.
Genevieve said nothing, nor did she make any effort to loosen the blindfold as they rode on. She did not wish to jeopardize her purpose in coming with them—which was to see the boy so she could reassure herself, Marcel and Aunt Finella of his safety. And also to remind the child that he would be soon released.
She could only pray that this would be so.
The remainder of the journey was made without incident. There were no particular sounds to mark their passage other than a brief moment when she was aware of the thundering sound of water rushing. The sound was so quickly gone that Genevieve knew she could not gain any insight there, being unable to tell anything about that body of water in such a brief time.
When the horses clattered to a halt a relatively short time later, Genevieve was dumped to the ground without ceremony.
She stumbled and felt a rough but not unkind hand upon her arm. McGuire’s voice identified him as the one who had reached out in aid. “This way.”
He led her forward, telling her to step up over the stoop. The next thing she knew, the cloth was untied then taken from her face. She blinked, realizing that she was standing inside a dwelling that had been built in the style of the longhouse. Only a few people were present in the high-beamed chamber. This should not surprise her, for it was a very fine day and most of the occupants of the dwelling were likely making good use of the dry weather.
The sound of a child’s laugh drew her attention to the far end of the room. She saw that two young boys were playing with several large dogs near the unlit hearth. The two boys looked up as they became aware of their entrance.
When McGuire called out, “Come hither, young Cameron,” one of the boys frowned and moved toward them with obvious reluctance.
He was a slim but sturdy little fellow with a shock of red hair. He was dressed in a dark blue patterned plaid.
As he came closer, Genevieve knew this lad could be none other than Aunt Finella’s grandson. His gray eyes were so like hers that he could not be mistaken. That he was not fond of his captor was obvious in his dark scowl as his eyes found McGuire, but there was no fear in his expression.
Looking at the boy as he moved toward them with a measurable degree of arrogance, Genevieve could well believe that he had taken it upon himself to confront a grown man. It suddenly occurred to her that the Ainsworth brothers had not gotten all of their self-confidence from their father’s line.
His arrogance told her another, more important fact. Even if he was the bearer of a more than healthy share of self-confidence, the child would be more subdued if he were being abused. Relief washed through her, but it was tempered by a sense of disbelief as he strode up to his captor, put his hands to his hips and demanded, “Well, are you to let me go home today?”
To Genevieve’s amazement McGuire laughed out loud, which only seemed to offend the boy rather than scare him, for he said, “Do not laugh at me.”
McGuire shook his head though he continued to grin. “I will not release ye yet, lad, and ye know well why I willna. I have brought someone to have a look at ye for your granny and yer English cousin.”
“My English cousin?” His direct gaze went to Genevieve with curiosity.
Genevieve nodded quickly. “I am a friend of your cousin Marcel who has arrived at Glen Rowan to aid your grandmother in gaining your release. I am come see that you are being treated well.”
“My cousin Marcel who lives at Brackenmoore?”
She nodded. “The very same.”
“My grandmother has spoken of him and his brothers, of course. She has told me that I might go there to see them one day when I am grown.”
She smiled reassuringly, though the effort was forced due to the circumstances. “Your cousins would be quite pleased to have you. All are worried as to your safety.”
Cameron flicked an unhappy glance at McGuire but shrugged. “I am allowed to play with Ewan.”
His shrug was decidedly dejected. This prompted Genevieve to turn to McGuire and say, “May I speak with him privately for a moment?” She did not want to be mistaken in what she reported to Marcel. If the child was being mistreated but afraid to say so in front of his captor, she must know.
The large man shrugged. “Do as you wish. You canna escape from here, lad.” He cast a glance over Cameron. “Neither of ye.”
Quickly, not wanting to give him time to reconsider, Genevieve said, “Come, Cameron.”
As soon as she halted on the other side of the chamber, Cameron said, “You say you are friend to my cousin. Who are you?”
She bit her lip, thinking quickly as she realized that this was the first time anyone had asked her for a name. She said the first one that popped into her head. “Will, my name is Will.”
He shook his head as his gaze moved over her in disbelief. “Why would a lass be called Will?”
Genevieve gasped and closed her eyes. Dear heaven. Trust this child to see the truth as grown men did not. She looked at him, keeping her voice as calm and even as she possibly could under the circumstances. “Please, Cameron, have a care and do not give me away. These men believe I am a harmless boy. Their thinking so was the only reason I have been allowed to come here and speak with you. If they learned otherwise I do not doubt that they might decide to keep me here with you in retribution for being misled. I can be of no use to you or your aunt if they do not allow me to go back to Glen Rowan so that I might tell her how they are treating you. We do wish to avoid bloodshed here, and I am afraid Marcel would not greet the news of my being taken hostage with good grace.”
The child nodded knowingly, and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “I see. I will not give you away—Will!” He cast a look about them. “I am sore tired of being here though they have let Ewan stay with me and I am allowed to play with him whenever I like. McGuire is his grandfather.” His voice became wistful and she saw that his bravado masked the normal fears of a young boy. “But I would like to go home. I miss my gran certain enough.”
Genevieve put a comforting hand on his shoulder though she did so with deliberate awkwardness, aware of the watchful eyes upon them. “And she misses you. I came to tell you that we will get you released as soon as possible. You are to remember that and not lose heart though I know it cannot be easy. The only thing that prevents your grandmother and your cousin Marcel from open retribution is the fear that you would be harmed.”
He shrugged again. “I do not think—”
“Enough.” The voice of McGuire was impossible to ignore. The steel in it bore evidence of the fact that the man was not to be underestimated in spite of his seeming unconcern about bringing her here to see Cameron.
She cast Cameron one last reassuring glance. “Remember this, Marcel will not rest until you are safe home and—”
“Come,” McGuire bellowed. Hearing that hardness in his voice again, Genevieve knew she could not defy him for even another moment. She moved toward the door where McGuire stood waiting, his
large hands planted on sturdy hips.
Genevieve reached up to pull the cover from her eyes and saw that they had left her outside the gates at Glen Rowan. Her heart thumped with a surprising degree of relief at having come through the experience unscathed. Even as she realized this, she told herself that she was overreacting. Poor Cameron had been held in a place he did not know, far from his family, for weeks. He was but seven. If he could survive such an ordeal with as little complaint as he had exhibited, she had no justification to lament her paltry inconvenience in this.
It seemed that the guard at the gate had been watching for her, for she heard him call out the instant she removed her blindfold.
Genevieve lost no time in entering. She had a sudden understanding of how trying her experience had been when she realized that her legs were quivering with each step.
Marcel’s face was the first one she saw as she entered the courtyard. His concern was evident from where he stood on the steps of the keep.
Thinking to put his mind at ease, Genevieve lifted her arm to wave and called out, “Cameron is well.”
Marcel moved toward her with surprising speed, enveloping her in a tight hug that near crushed her bones. Far from being uncomfortable, the bone-crushing gesture was more welcome, more thrilling than she cared to admit. It had the effect of setting her heart to racing more quickly than ever.
She clung to him for a moment, savoring the fact that she had come through the past hours unscathed. Had come through unscathed and been met with such eagerness.
She felt a melting warmth inside her as she breathed in the scent of him, all fresh air and musky male. That pool of femininity, which reacted to no other touch besides his, liquefied and flowed through her. Genevieve closed her eyes, reveling in the rush of sensation and warmth.
She was not such a fool as to think her reaction was the result of either relief or fear. She wanted Marcel, needed the strength of his arms about her, only came completely alive in response to his touch.
She made no effort to deny the proof of her desire, which was evident in the way her breast swelled against the hardness of his chest.
He spoke in a voice that she could not describe as anything but husky with emotion. “You are all right?”
She nodded, trying her best to get hold of her own scattered emotions, which was no easy task with his blue eyes focusing on her with such open regard. Resolutely Genevieve told herself that his concern did not mean he had changed his mind about the two of them. She made an attempt to inject some humor into her voice as she said, “I am well, but McGuire proved somewhat less that helpful in the matter of gaining information. He forced me to wear a covering on my face, both going and coming.”
Marcel was flooded by a wave of tenderness at her effort to make light of the ordeal she had faced. Just the waiting had been near more than he could bear.
He had been pacing the great hall since he and his aunt returned to Glen Rowan from that disastrous meeting with McGuire and Duggan. From the moment he had agreed to allow Genevieve to accompany McGuire, he had been beset by frustration that he had let her convince him to do so.
He could not even begin to explain the relief and joy that rose up inside him as he heard the cry that riders were approaching Glen Rowan. Something, some inner sense, had told him that it was McGuire with Genevieve.
He pulled her close against him once more. As he did, he felt her body meld into his. She felt so right against him, so soft and warm and alive.
Marcel could do naught but continue to hold her there for a long moment. As he did so he felt a familiar tugging inside himself, a pull of emotion that could not be denied. Urgently he tried to tell himself that gratitude was what he felt, only gratitude, nothing more. Yet he did not seem to be able to let go of her, to stop his body from reacting to the softness of hers.
Finally, with a great act of will, he stepped back to look into those dark and seemingly depthless green eyes.
Her gaze seemed to be fixed on his mouth. His breath caught and his throat constricted as his mind supplied him with a sudden and all too vivid recollection of how good, how supple and erotic her lips had felt against his, would feel on his…
Knowing that he must do something, say something to drag his wayward thoughts from such images, he tried to concentrate on his sense of guilt. He said hoarsely, “I should never have let you go with them. I have near driven myself mad with thinking what could go wrong. I wanted to come after you, but had no idea where to even begin looking. I was fool to allow you to convince me.”
She blinked. “I…how could you do anything else, Marcel, when McGuire insisted that I be the one to accompany them to where they were keeping Cameron? How could you ever have foreseen that McGuire would mistake me for a lad because I had worn Will’s garments again this day?”
The gentle expression in her green eyes was near too much for his slight grip on restraint. She clearly wished to absolve him of any guilty feelings. He wanted to pull her back into his arms, but some inner sense of self-preservation prevented him. He had nearly completely lost control a moment ago.
If Genevieve noted his agitation she said nothing of it, speaking instead of the matter they should be most concerned about. “I spoke with Cameron, Marcel. McGuire spoke true. He is being treated well and has a playmate to keep him company.”
Marcel shook his head in confusion. “I find it strange that a man could kidnap a child to gain his own ends but supply him with a companion to ease his days. Are you sure that Cameron was not forced to tell you this?”
Genevieve nodded. “He was not forced in any way that I could detect, though I agree with your sentiment as to the strangeness of the situation. Yet odd as this may be, it seems true. I saw the lad and that he and his playmate have free run of the dwelling where he is being held. The two boys were running about when I arrived and would have had no way of knowing of my coming. Aside from that, I was allowed to speak with Cameron with some degree of privacy for a moment. He assured me that he is being treated well. No one attempted to prevent him when he talked of his grandmother and his desire to return to her.”
Marcel grimaced at the words, realizing just how out of place his reactions to Genevieve had been just a moment ago. ’Twas his small cousin he should be concerned about.
“My poor little lad.”
Marcel swung around to see that his aunt had joined them. He watched as Genevieve went to her, putting her arms around the older woman. “Do not worry, Aunt, he is doing very well. They are treating him with far more care than I would have expected.”
The older woman pushed back, looking into her eyes. “I have tried so hard not to worry, knowing there was nothing I could do that might not make matters worse. But when you went with them today I thought, dear heaven, now he has two of my own…I could no longer put my fears at bay.”
Marcel saw that Genevieve did not waver under that close regard. “I can tell you with all assurance that he misses you and does desire to come home, but is in no way being mistreated other than his being held there.” She smiled gently. “The lad is, in fact, quite defiant of McGuire and seems to have no fear of him whatsoever.”
The older woman nodded with an expression of fondness and yearning. “That sounds so like my little lad.”
Genevieve hugged her again and Marcel was moved at her ability to give such care to his aunt when she must have been shaken by the ordeal she had just been through. Yet the danger was now past and he must allow it to be in the past. He must not dwell too much on the subject lest he reveal more than he wished to.
Yet surely there was nothing to reveal. He was simply grateful for her safe return—nothing more.
Determined to stop worrying about Genevieve and his reaction to her, he spoke more coolly than he intended, “Let us not dawdle here but go into the keep, where Genevieve may tell us every detail of what occurred. It is my hope that she will be able to reveal something, which might help us to gain my young cousin’s release.”
Ge
nevieve stiffened at his tone, but he made no effort to explain himself. He must gain hold of himself.
He watched as Aunt Finella pushed back from Genevieve, her gaze filled with contrition. “Forgive me, my dear.” She looked to Marcel. “She must certainly come inside. But surely she should rest and take some refreshment before we ply her with questions.”
Before he could answer, Genevieve shook her head. She glanced toward Marcel and quickly away, her own voice now distant, though there was sympathy in her eyes for the other woman. “Nay, have no concern. I am most well. I would be glad of a drink of something cool but have no great need of rest. I will be happy to relate every detail of my adventure, does Marcel wish for me to.” She looked only at his aunt as she finished. “I am sure that it will help your mind to be eased in this. I would save you any bit of heart-ache that I might.”
Marcel nodded, without meeting her gaze, and led the way into the keep.
The next hour passed with no lessening of the tension between them. As Genevieve answered his every question about her experience, he managed to keep from looking at her directly.
For her part his aunt seemed oblivious to the strain between them. He knew that the tight hold she had over her fear for Cameron had slipped and she cared about nothing so much as she did every detail of her grandson’s appearance and situation.
At last he realized that, though they had learned nothing that might help him in locating Cameron’s whereabouts, Genevieve had no more information to impart. Seeing the strain around her mouth and eyes brought a new feeling of tenderness. He continued to cover it with a cool demeanor as he stood and said, “I am sorry to have kept you so long at this, Genevieve.”
His aunt added her own regrets. “Forgive us, child. We had simply hoped for too—”
Genevieve halted her. “You have done me no harm, my lady.” Marcel was not blind to the implication in the words as she went on. “I only wish that I had more to offer. For I know nothing more than that the boy is physically sound.” She reached out to the other woman with a comforting hand. “Perhaps you should go and lie down, Aunt. I will see that the preparations for the evening meal go on apace.”
Summer's Bride Page 15
