Summer's Bride

by Catherine Archer

  Clearly oblivious to his thoughts, she closed her eyes, and said, “How could I do anything but make heroes of you? Do you not see that the naturalness of your kindness to me is why I have always remembered it? Your house was one of love and peace. You simply behaved kindly because you knew no other way. Can you not see that this is why being one of you has held such an attraction for me?”

  He spoke carefully. “I am honored and proud that I was a part of that for you. But what you have revealed has made me understand just how strong you are, Genevieve. You do not need the name of Ainsworth to give you honor. Your parents’ acts do not define what is to be a Redgreave. Define it for yourself.”

  She looked at him again, her gaze dark with a forlornness that tugged at his heart. “But I do not know what that is. The lands, the monies, they are not my heritage. They are just things.”

  “How you care for them and your folk is.”

  She sighed. “Benedict cares for them far better than I ever could.”

  This brought on a sudden and unexpectedly painful thought. Through all of this he had forgotten her coming marriage. Forcing himself to speak with more calm than he felt, Marcel said, “That will all change with your marriage.”

  She gave a start, her gaze widening. “Oh yes, of course. That is true…though he and I will most likely live upon his lands.”

  He grimaced at the very thought of her “living” with the other man. This made him speak more sharply than he intended as he added, “You see, you would do well to forget your obsession with the Ainsworths.”

  She drew herself up to her full height. Though her head reached only the height of his shoulder, there was steel in her voice as she replied, “Aye, you are likely correct. I must face my insecurities if I am to know happiness. You, Marcel, would do well to do the same. ’Tis as wrong for you to decry your place in the house of Ainsworth as it is for me to yearn for something that is not mine.”

  He could feel the flaring of his nostrils as he said, “As I told you, there is no similarity. I am making my own life, by my own hands. You would run from yours.”

  She said not another word, but turned and stalked back to her stump. He knew she would say no more.

  Truth to tell, he had nothing more to say either. What she had told him had helped him to better understand her, but he was more determined than ever to keep his distance. She had inadvertently revealed that her desire to be an Ainsworth was not dead despite her engagement. He was now even more sure that any attraction she felt toward him was brought on by her need for, not him, but his entire family.

  Genevieve must become resigned to her coming marriage in spite of the fact that she had come on what she had deemed “an adventure.” She had to for both their sakes.

  By the time they reached their destination, he was of little mind to acknowledge the fact that the countryside they had ridden through was ruggedly beautiful.

  The castle of Glen Rowan itself was surrounded by a stone wall and situated at the top of a rocky outcrop. The hard appearance of the rock was softened by lush green ground cover. To one side the land fell away to a meadow that ended in a forested area.

  Marcel led the way up the narrow and uneven road. The castle gate stood open and the man posted there showed no surprise when he saw them. He called down, “You would be one of the lady’s English nephews.”

  Marcel answered with like directness. “I am.”

  When they drew their mounts to a halt in the sparsely inhabited courtyard, a small, richly garbed woman came to the open door of the keep and looked out. The moment she saw them, a smile lit her delicate features and she rushed down the stairs. “My dear lad, how good you are to come.”

  Marcel leaped from his horse and met her. “I am your nephew Marcel.”

  She held out her arms. “Of course you are and I am your Aunt Finella.”

  He had had no need of her explanation. Aunt Finella was exactly as he had recalled though he had been young when last he saw her—warm and vibrant and still quite beautiful, only smaller. He could not help wondering, as she enfolded him in a surprisingly strong embrace, if his own mother would be as youthful if she was still living. Marcel could not help feeling that she would indeed be so.

  Unexpectedly he felt his heart tighten as he stepped back to look at her and took her fragile hand in his. He suddenly realized this woman was a link to his past, to his mother, whom he barely remembered. All these years he had felt robbed of her and now here, so very far from Brackenmoore and the life he had put behind him, he might very well have found a way to almost know her again.

  For a moment this knowledge kept him silent beneath its awesome weight.

  He saw that she too seemed to be somewhat struck by him and her eyes glistened as they traced his every feature. She said huskily, “Louisa’s own lad.” The next thing he knew he had again been enveloped in those surprisingly strong arms. He was assailed by feelings of yearning and vulnerability.

  He was almost glad when he was released and his aunt turned to Genevieve, who now stood just behind them. “And why would you be dressed as a boy, lass?”

  He felt his jaw drop even as he saw Genevieve’s sea-green eyes grow round with shock. “How did you know?”

  The lady laughed. “Anyone with two eyes in their head could see that you are no lad.” She gave a rueful laugh as her gaze moved over Genevieve assessingly.

  It was very nearly the same thing that Constanza had told him. Oddly, none of the men had seemed to realize that Genevieve was a woman, while the women had no difficulty seeing through the disguise.

  He had no more time to think on that before Genevieve replied, “I am Genevieve Redgreave, Lord Benedict’s ward.” She cast an uncertain glance toward Marcel, who had an intense feeling of protectiveness at her unease though he wished otherwise.

  “I see,” the older woman said, looking back and forth between them. Marcel was forced to expend a great effort in not fidgeting under that scrutiny.

  After taking a deep breath, Genevieve said, “It is very good to meet you. I have heard of you from your nephews, and hope that my presence here is not a bother to you.” She looked down as she fell silent, blushing.

  In spite of the awkwardness that remained between them, Marcel found himself reacting to her shyness with compassion. He knew Genevieve still longed to be accepted as a member of the family, no matter what he had said to her this very day. Quite to his surprise he found himself saying, “You need have no fear of not being wanted.”

  Instantly Genevieve raised uncertain eyes to his, eyes that were filled with a yearning that shocked him. His heart turned over, as he told himself that this would gain them nothing. She was to be married.

  He could not allow this senseless need to make them both lose their heads. For despite his assertions to the contrary, Marcel was indeed attracted to her and with an intensity that amazed him, considering the events of this day.

  Feeling Aunt Finella’s gaze upon them, he looked away. His aunt continued to watch both of them as she replied, “Have no worry on that score, my dear. Marcel speaks true. You are most welcome here.”

  To cover his own disquiet, Marcel said, “Forgive me if I am too abrupt in changing the subject, Aunt Finella, but there are extremely important matters to attend. Namely the well-being of your grandson. Is there any news since your letter to Brackenmoore?”

  Instantly sorrow darkened her fragile features. “Nay, not a word, though since writing to Benedict I have sent message upon message to his captors in the hope of resolving this nightmare.”

  Marcel watched as Genevieve reached out and put a comforting hand on his aunt’s slight shoulder. “Have no worry, Marcel will make all well.”

  He was moved by her kindness and also somewhat surprised at the complete conviction in her voice as she spoke of his assured success, especially in light of their recent alienation. Trying to ignore his own mixed feelings concerning this, Marcel told himself that he was not as certain. He remained silent on the subject t
hough, for his aunt turned to him with a smile of gratitude. “I am so glad you are come, lad. You lads being Louisa’s sons, you are my only living family and my only avenue of hope.”

  He bowed. “I will do aught in my power to see the boy returned safe home.”

  “That is all I would ask of you,” his aunt replied with a tearful smile.

  “I am ready to begin as soon as possible to see it done.”

  She shook her head at this and turned to Genevieve. “I will see you to your chambers and serve a hot meal before we discuss the details of how to proceed. It will serve none of us for you to neglect your own well-being. We must all be at our best to see my Cameron safe home once more.”

  Marcel balked. “There is no need for…”

  She hushed him with a raised hand. “I will be the judge of that, young man. I have grown accustomed to the knowledge that all things happen in their own time. It is a lesson that first became known to me when my beloved Cameron died and then even more fully when our only son and his wife were killed a year ago. My grandson has been gone these many days. A few hours more will make little difference to him but could make a great difference to those who try to help him by way of their beginning with clear, cool heads, as opposed to tired ones.”

  He settled back, unwilling to argue further in the face of her certainty. He replied with deliberate patience, “As you wish.” If she felt more assured of his success by seeing that he rested first, he would yield.

  He realized that whatever gave the kind little soul hope was warranted. He would do as she asked in spite of the fact that he was growing more eager by the moment to face the blackguards who had sought to see their ends met by kidnapping a seven-year-old boy.

  His aunt nodded. “Come then, I will see you settled in.” She raised a delicate hand to one of the hovering servants. “Logan, please take my nephew up to the chamber that has been prepared.” She turned to Genevieve. “Please come with me, dear.”

  Genevieve looked about the large airy chamber curiously. “You did not know of my coming and yet you have the room prepared.” She was infinitely aware of the fact that the gentle lady had asked no questions about her presence here and her gratitude was great.

  After the horrible conversation with Marcel she would find it near impossible to even try to explain. She was still distressed at the way he had spoken to her, directed her to heed his advice about accepting what she was, when he was not willing to do so.

  His reminder of how happy he was at shaping his own fate had made her realize that she must continue to keep the secret of Constanza’s perfidy hidden. It was very important to Marcel that he had made his own life, set his own course, and his relationship with the Spaniard was a part of all that.

  His speaking of her coming “marriage” had helped her get hold of herself and her emotions. She must put aside the feelings that stirred in her each time he showed her the least kindness, as they had in the hall only moments ago when she had been nervous at meeting his aunt.

  He meant nothing beyond what he would display to anyone in need. Their kindness was one of the things she loved most about the Ainsworths. He had made himself clear on his desire to keep distance between them and she would accept that.

  She would begin doing that now, by attending to her surroundings. As Aunt Finella had said, the chamber was indeed ready for an occupant. The dark furnishings had been dusted, the hearth laid ready for the cool of evening, the heavy green damask curtains pulled back on the huge bed, the window opened wide to let in the fresh scents of the warm summer afternoon.

  Aunt Finella waved a fragile hand. “’Tis Cameron’s own chamber. I have kept it prepared for his return.”

  Immediately Genevieve took a step toward the door. “Then I wouldst have another.”

  The lady halted her. “Do not speak so. He will have no objection to your occupying it, though we will make other arrangements the very moment he is released.”

  Genevieve nodded slowly. “If you insist, my lady. But be assured, I will be happy to give it over to him.”

  Aunt Finella nodded. “I thought as much. And now if you like, while you wash, I will go and see what garments I may find for you.”

  Genevieve knew that she did not quite hide the yearning in her gaze as she answered, “I would not put you to such trouble, my lady.”

  “Aunt Finella will serve me very well. And you are not a trouble to me.”

  Genevieve answered her smile with a tentative one of her own. She was still moved by the woman’s ready acceptance of her. As ever, she felt just slightly on the outside of the family who had welcomed her into their midst. What she had revealed to Marcel this day only added to her uncertainty. She was not sure why she had disclosed so much. Yet she did know that it had only served to fuel his belief that she was attracted to him for the sake of joining his family.

  Realizing that Aunt Finella was watching her, Genevieve said softly, “You have my thanks.”

  The older woman gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Do not worry. All will be well.” She then turned and exited the chamber, leaving Genevieve to wonder exactly what she might mean by that. Surely she was referring to the fact that she believed her grandson would soon be returned. She could have no way of knowing that anything else was amiss. She would certainly have no notion of the problems between Genevieve and Marcel.

  As from the moment when she first met the small and seemingly fragile woman she realized the warmth as well as the core of strength inside her. Clearly this inner strength had sustained her through her grandson’s abduction and continued absence. She could not help contrasting Aunt Finella with her own mother, who had been weak and utterly consumed by her own desires.

  With a sigh, Genevieve shrugged and went to sit on the edge of the bed. Her life with her mother had been gone for some time. She had long since learned to put the past behind her—to live for the future.

  Unfortunately, at the moment her future did not loom so bright. It was of no aid to her in the least that this was through her own fault. If only she did not desire Marcel, had not come after him. If only she had not allowed him to believe she was engaged.

  She took off her cap and ran trembling hands through her hair. It felt stiff and soiled. Saints above, but she grew tired of playing the lad. As they had left the Briarwind she was no longer under such an obligation.

  Determinedly Genevieve rose and poured water into the basin. It was cool but she was determined to wash her hair, for she had not been able to do so aboard ship. Aunt Finella would be back with the promised garments soon and she would not be caught pining away. She would go forward with aplomb, no matter what Marcel did.

  Chapter Eight

  Marcel paused at the entrance of the hall at Glen Rowan, viewing it with some interest. It was longer and narrower than the wide, open chamber he had run and played in as a child at Brackenmoore. The time-darkened beams hung lower over the tables. The tall stone hearth burned low and the room glowed with the light of many candles. Due to the late hour, the tapers along the walls cast more light than the tiny windows that ran along the very top edge of the outer wall. He suspected that this portion of the keep was far older than the one where the bedchambers lay, the windows there being larger and paned with glass.

  He was immediately approached by one of his aunt’s servants, a matronly lady of ample girth, who curtsied and said, “I am Eveline, Lord Marcel.”

  His brows arched in surprise. “You know me?”

  “I came to this keep with my lady as her maid when she married the laird those many years ago. She has since promoted me to chatelaine. It is so grand to see one of her family after all this time. Should you have need of anything you have only to ask. I knew your mother before she wed Lord Benedict and went off to Brackenmoore. What a fine one, was the lady Louisa. Never a cross word to say to even the least of the servants, which I numbered amongst at the time. You have a bit of the look of her about your mouth, though Ainsworth has left his stamp clear enough.”
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br />   Somewhat shocked at this unexpected revelation, Marcel nodded, having to prevent himself from reaching up to touch his own mouth. So he looked like his mother about the mouth. No one had ever said this to him before. Of course, it was not so very surprising that no one would think to say such a thing to him. All at Brackenmoore had grieved the loss of his parents.

  It might have helped to ease the aching grief he had known if someone had spoken to him of his parents. Someone who could have told him that his mouth was like his mother’s, that she and all things like her had not been completely taken from this world. It would have helped him believe that a part of her had lived on.

  He realized how odd it was to have found contact with his past in this place that was so far from anything he had known. It seemed odder still that this connection with the past had occurred on the very day that Genevieve had questioned his feelings about his family. He gave a mental shrug. He had come full circle to face his past, and it was troubling to be sure. But that did not mean his leaving Brackenmoore was an attempt to run from anything.

  He had been moving toward something. An inner voice told him that a part of what he had been seeking might be found here.

  He cast a thoughtful gaze over the head woman and spoke carefully to cover his feelings of disquiet. “I thank you for your kindness and welcome. What would please me greatly just now is a cool mug of wine.”

  She nodded quickly. “At once, my lord. First there is one more thing I wish to say. Were you not the son of Louisa I would still be happy to fetch anything you desire. You have earned the gratitude of all here for the sake of your mission in coming to Glen Rowan.” She raised the hem of her apron to wipe the tears from her blue-gray eyes, and she said, “We have been so very worried for young Cameron. He was long in coming to his poor departed parents and is all my lady has.”