without notice. What would she say if someone attempted to stop her from going aboard?
As the question ran through her mind, a man came toward the gangway. With a silent groan of frustration she ducked behind a barrel.
She had delayed too long in making sure Kendran’s horse was taken care of. Now what was she to do?
Marcel left Brackenmoore with a heavy heart. He rose long before dawn, saying good-bye only to his brothers, who were clearly saddened by his leaving. Marcel could not help seeing the way Tristan watched him the whole while that he was making ready to go. He was fairly certain that after they had sought their beds only short hours ago, Lily had revealed what she had seen in Genevieve’s chamber.
Thankfully, Marcel was spared from having to explain what had happened between him and Genevieve. Tristan, in spite of his steady regard, kept his opinion of the matter to himself.
As he left the keep alone, the Scot having refused to return by sea, Marcel told himself he was glad that he had not seen Genevieve. Another meeting would serve neither of them, for he had nothing to say that could possibly improve the situation.
He had gone a short way down the road when he found himself pausing to look back at the castle in the distance. He could not deny his sadness—not entirely due to his leaving his family.
That kiss. His body burned at the memory of it. It had been more powerful, more shattering than anything his wayward imagination had been able to conjure in his waking hours or in his restless dreams.
Squaring his shoulders, he went on, determined this time to leave his feelings for Genevieve behind for good. She would be much better off with Lord Roderick Beecham. A more honorable and suitable man could not be found.
Unfortunately, this thought did not bring the peace he sought. He felt only an aching emptiness.
With a growl of frustration, Marcel prodded his mount to a gallop. All he needed was an invigorating ride to clear his mind.
Marcel was still riding at a gallop when he entered West Port some hours later, having made the journey in far less time than he’d expected. He moved through the port without paying much attention to the bustling activity around him. He had to see to the outfitting of his ship, and in short order.
He was not sorry for the pressing haste of his mission. He only hoped it would help keep his mind from thoughts of Genevieve and the way she had felt in his arms as the hard ride from Brackenmoore had not.
Resolutely he went about the business of ordering supplies. Although the journey to Scotland was not a long one, he never set out without enough rations to see them through untoward circumstances. It cost him extra to have his goods delivered with such speed, but he was assured that all would arrive at the Briarwind within the hour.
Leaving the horse at the establishment where he had hired it, Marcel then made his way to his ship. As he approached, he experienced the same rush of pride that he felt each time he saw her.
She was a fine vessel, which his father had purchased from a Venetian shipbuilder. In her he’d sailed throughout Europe and the Holy Land. They’d carried English wool and Arabian spices, and Chinese silks in the hold. The captain’s cabin was visible from where he stood and forward of that on the starboard side was the galley, and the pen for the livestock that provided fresh meat for the crew. In the forepeak was a small chamber for the bow watch. In between was an ordered jumble of spare sailing parts, benches, spars, casks, chests and so on.
He was not at all surprised to see the amazement on the face of his first mate, Harlan, as he stepped up onto the gangplank. Harlan dropped the rope he was repairing and came toward him, that tall, deceptively slender frame seeming poised for action as always. He spoke with no small measure of surprise. “Captain, why are you returned so soon?”
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