Shadowy Highland Romance: Blood of Duncliffe Series (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Ferguson, Emilia

  “Visit France.”

  “Well, it's a country of much interest,” he said, coloring. He knew that she knew precisely why he was interested, it seemed, for he was clearly very shy.

  “Interest?” Genevieve asked. Where there would have been suspicion there was only a slight prickle of it, soon forgotten. “You mean, personal interest?”

  “Very personal,” he said. He had gone as red as a berry, and Genevieve found herself trying not to smile, though happiness was shining through her and out of her.

  “If you should decide to visit,” she said, picking up the lightness of their earlier words, “then I think provision could be made for you. A coach, say, to fetch you from Calais to Malpons, and I am sure accommodation could be provided...” She trailed off, cheeks glowing pink with amazement.

  This was one possibility she hadn't considered! If he visited her, then her father would meet him. He couldn't disapprove her choice! Not if he met Adair. And he was, after all, the son of a baron. She was the daughter of a count, it was true, but the match was not too unequal, not by any means.

  I think Father could almost be prevailed upon to give my hand in marriage to a landed squire, if he thought I was truly in love.

  She felt her heart soar in bliss. Who she married was not that crucial, after all: her children would be heirs only second to Uncle Thibault, and his sons. There was no reason for her to make an especially grand match.

  This could actually, truly, come to pass.

  She beamed at Adair, whose eyes held hers, and she saw her joy reflected there. She swallowed hard. They rode along the track, side by side.

  “Adair..?” she said after the silence had stretched a long time between them.

  “Yes?” he asked. His eyes held hers and it could have been just the two of them in the green woodlands, and the entire world empty besides it.

  “I will go back to France in February. As soon as the shipping opens for the spring.”

  “Oh.” His face fell and Genevieve winced, not wanting to cause any sort of pain.

  “I mention that because it gives you time to plan a passage,” she said. “March would be a fine time to go.”

  “Yes,” he said, and hope rekindled in his eyes. She felt it wash over her, deliciously.

  “I think I could prevail on my father to have quarters made up for a guest in March,” she said slowly. “It is rare we have many houseguests at the chateau, and those we have will certainly leave in February. I think you would be welcome.”

  She saw his face break into a delighted smile, too big to conceal. She felt her heart warm with it.

  They rode on in silence, under the trees. At length, they followed a path they hadn't taken before, coming to a stream. They stopped there.

  “Shall we dismount?” Adair asked, voice tight. She nodded.

  She had been increasingly aware of his physical presence all morning, the warmth of his knee, or his calf, almost touching her. She rode close to him, side-saddle, her legs beside his. She slipped to the ground neatly, and he followed. Instantly, she found herself in his arms.

  “Genevieve,” he murmured, as he leaned back and then pressed kisses to her brow, her nose, her cheek. “My dearest Genevieve.”

  Her heart was catching fire under his touch, soaring on the bright wings of her love. She wrapped her arms around him and held him to her, and felt him enfold her in his embrace, drawing her closer still. They stood like that, bodies touching, the whole world narrowed down to the feeling of their sweet weight, pressing each other close.

  At length he bent down and gently touched his lips to her scalp, breathing in the scent of her hair. She sighed and snuggled closer, arms around his muscled waist.

  His hands flowed down her hair, stroking it where it had tumbled loose from its pins, hanging down her back. She sighed and pressed her body close to his, looking up to face him.

  They kissed with a scalding urgency. Here in the woodlands, with no risk of anyone coming upon them, it was another sort of beauty. Her body tingled with delicious excitement as she pressed against him, and he kissed her with slow exploration, taking their time.

  A bird sang in the branches overhead. A twig cracked. One of their horses stamped a hoof. The noises wound their way drowsily through Genevieve's mind, seeming to come from another world in which she had no part.

  After a long while, their lips parted. She stroked his cheek, and they kissed again.

  It was a morning for kisses, and she had no idea how long they spent there in the shaded alcove of the trees. At length, letting out a long, slow sigh, Adair looked down at her.

  “I think it's getting late, my sweetling.”

  She smiled at the term of endearment, letting it settle on her soul. She stroked his hair again. “You are right, cherie,” she said fondly. He smiled down at her in fond bemusement.

  “It means my dear,” she whispered, stroking his hair. He smiled and leaned in and they kissed again.

  Later, they mounted up and rode a little way along the stream, then changed their route to take them up toward the cliffs. It felt as if something weighty had been settled between them – a decision reached, plans fresh-made.

  “You think Arabella will plan some entertainment for this evening?” he asked, voice carefree in a way she'd never heard it. Her heart rejoiced to hear it so, even as she marveled at its happening.

  “I think that it's unlikely,” she countered. “I understand she had plans to go into town today.”

  “Oh,” he nodded. “Well, we can always go for a walk.”

  “Yes,” she said, color flooding her face. “We may.”

  His eyes held hers and she knew he planned to meet in the garden, and kiss, as they had before. She smiled and looked down, her whole body on fire with sweet wonderment.

  They rode back to the house.

  It still had not rained by the time they reached the place, though the ground on the paths was still wet, so they avoided going faster than a trot. As they reached the gate and rode in, Genevieve looked around, pleased.

  “We made it back without a showering,” she said, inclining her head at the gray sky, low on the horizon, still promising rain.

  “We did, which is a blessing,” he nodded.

  “Another blessing,” Genevieve added. He nodded, grinning.

  “Another one.”

  It is true, she thought, sliding down out of the saddle and handing her reins to the groom, I have been blessed.

  She waited for Adair to dismount and, together, they walked back to the house. They made it just as the church tower in the distance chimed midday.

  “Well, that's lucky,” Adair grinned. “Just in time to wash and get ready for luncheon.”

  “Yes,” Genevieve agreed, reaching up playfully to where there was a streak of dirt on his forehead, from an encounter with a low branch. “You need to wash up,” she teased. “Look at the sight of you.”

  He roared with laughter and reached out, gently stroking her hair. “And you don't,” he demurred. “You look so lovely, thus, your hair all loose about your shoulders.”

  Genevieve's heart soared, even though she made herself grimace at him in response. “Am I so disheveled-looking?”

  “You look beautiful,” he demurred. “Now, shall we go in?”

  He bowed, standing aside for her, and Genevieve shot him a teasing look, but nonetheless walked ahead up stairs.

  In her own bedchamber, she hurried to call Camma to help her dress. She came in, looking unusually distraught. Genevieve didn't ask what the matter was, though she was tempted to. She found her thoughts were drifting, difficult to muster.

  “Thank you,” she said absently, when her maid had helped her out of her riding things and back into the pale-pink day dress. “I'll just spend a few moments here, and then go down to luncheon.”

  “Very good, milady.”

  When Camma had retired, Genevieve went briskly to her desk. She would just add one more line to the letter, something about her jo
y to see him in February, and then seal it and have it sent off. It would still make it to the coast on time, if she just handed it over today.

  “Where is the letter?” she asked, frowning. As she moved the parchment, her heart started to thump in distress.

  She was sure that was where she'd concealed it. Just there, under the pile! Folded in half, to make sure nobody came across it accidentally. She set the papers down on the bedside table, frowning. It was there! She knew it was.

  “Maybe I left it in the blotter?” she asked herself, moving it, though she knew it wouldn't be in there – she'd wanted to dry it more thoroughly, so she'd used sand. She remembered doing it. She closed the blotter. Opened the desk.

  Inside, the spare quills and parchment looked up at her, just as she had left them. No letter was inside.

  Heart starting to thump with alarm, Genevieve looked around the room, fighting mounting anguish. It had been in here, she knew it! And now it was gone.

  “Camma?” she called nervously. She had to speak to Camma. Had someone been in here, without her knowledge? Who would do that?

  “Camma?”

  There was no answer. Genevieve looked around the room, a hand of tension gripping at her throat. She sat down on the bed, dazed.

  Someone had been in her room. She was almost sure of it. Someone had gone through her things, found the letter, and taken it.

  That meant they knew who she was, and why she was here. This meant she was in grave danger.

  I need to tell someone – and fast.

  TAKING ACTION

  Genevieve went downstairs to the parlor, heart fluttering in her chest. There was nobody about, and she hesitated in the doorway, feeling unsure. Who would she tell?

  Arabella was her first choice, but she knew her cousin had gone out that morning. She had no idea when she would be back. Failing her cousin, she could try and find Richard. She couldn't confide in him the particulars of her mission, but she could let him know about the danger she faced.

  He won't ask too many questions. I'm sure his first priority is to keep his family safe.

  Genevieve hurried past the empty parlor and up the stairs again, heading for the drawing room. If Richard wasn't there, she'd check the library, then the gallery, and then his office. He had to be in one of them, if he wasn't off with a party of riders.

  “Richard?” she called as she neared the drawing room. No answer. She stuck her head around the door. That room, too, was empty. Fighting the rising fear inside her, she headed along the hallway toward the library.

  As she passed the room, someone stepped out into the hallway. She paled as she found herself looking at MacCleary. He bowed.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “I'm looking for my cousin, Richard,” Genevieve said automatically. “Have you seen him?”

  “He's gone riding, I believe,” MacCleary said lightly. His pale eyes bored into hers. “You're in some haste to find him? What happened?”

  “It's a personal matter,” Genevieve said tightly, resenting his intrusion into her business. “I need to speak with him urgently.”

  “What can be so urgent, eh?” MacCleary asked. She bit her lip and stepped backwards, trying to get away. She felt crowded, his body too close to hers. He let her brush past him, back into the hallway.

  “I have business to discuss with Richard alone,” she said in a firm voice. She tried to keep it steady, not wanting him to hear the slight tremor in it. She was frightened.

  Someone has been into my room, gone through my personal belongings. I am in danger of being identified as a foreign Jacobite spy. I do not need your dalliance to worry about too.

  She glared at him. He bowed.

  “Well, then, milady,” he said lightly. “Since Richard is not here, and is unlikely to return before four of the clock, may I ask – is their aught that someone else could do to assist? Myself, perhaps?” He raised a brow.

  She looked away, annoyed. “Since no one else is in charge of this particular household, no, there isn't,” she said, more tersely than perhaps was polite. She didn't care. At this moment, all she wished was for this odious man to get out of her way and let her get past him, up the stairs to the gallery. Perhaps Ascott was there, or even Adair. They might not be in charge of the household, but they would give her time to think.

  He grinned at her, though his eyes were cold, and she could see he was affronted.

  “Well, then. Since nobody save the head of the household will do, I suggest you go back to the drawing room to wait. He will be many hours yet.”

  “I do not intend to wait on this matter,” Genevieve said tightly. “Sir, kindly move yourself from my path. I wish to go upstairs.”

  His brow shot up and this time he did nothing to conceal the anger on his face. “Fine,” he said, and stepped out of her way.

  She still felt her arm brush against him as she pushed past. She didn't care. She walked quickly up the hallway and up to the gallery.

  “Adair?” she called in softly through the door. “Are you here?”

  No answer. As she might have expected at twenty minutes past twelve in the morning, the gallery was deserted. Pale sunlight filtered by the clouds spilled through the big windows, lighting the place with pale gold. Today, she barely glanced at the portraits, though she could feel the watchful gaze of the one who bore such a striking resemblance to her mama.

  “Keep your eye on me,” Genevieve asked firmly as she walked past it. She needed it today.

  She walked down the stairs again and back to the landing. Richard's study was across the way, but she could see from here that it was empty, the chair neatly pushed in. MacCleary was right, Richard was out riding.

  “I wonder who he took with him?” she queried aloud. Henry, Francine's husband, probably: the two seemed firm friends and were brothers-by-marriage, after all. Ascott, perhaps. He often joined their rides.

  She tiptoed down the hallway, intending to knock at the door of Adair's chamber.

  A thought struck her – an unpleasant, horrible one.

  He knew I was planning to write today. He took me riding.

  What if it had all been a ruse? What if, as she had thought originally, he was working against her all along? What if he'd deliberately taken her out, while someone else – his accomplice – searched her rooms?

  It was too obvious.

  Genevieve shook her head, her lip bitten down between her teeth, pained. How could she have been so careless?

  “So stupid,” she amended aloud. She had been stupid.

  Trust is stupid. Trust lets you get hurt. If you trust, people will take your heart and spit on it and leave you with nobody to turn to.

  She wanted to shout. How could she have allowed herself to be so blind?

  “Damn you, Francine,” she hissed. If not for those sweet words, she would have stayed as she always had been, not trusting anyone.

  And then you would have never known happiness, however brief. Was that truly worthless?

  She frowned. Her own question surprised her.

  “I might get myself killed, because of this,” she muttered bitterly.

  Would you not rather have lived, before you die?

  The question was another one that had no answer, and Genevieve thrust it savagely from her mind, stalking down the hallway. She had an idea.

  If Adair took the letter, it will be in his chamber. I can sneak in, have a look round. If I find it, I will know.

  She tiptoed up to the door she knew was his. She knocked. No answer. He must be downstairs at luncheon, she realized.

  “Hello?” she called out. She couldn't risk walking in – if he was in there, she might be in mortal danger.

  “Hello?”

  She was about to put her hand on the door-handle when it opened. His face appeared. She almost screamed. She looked up at it, distress souring her joy in seeing him.

  “Genevieve.” He stared at her, blinking in amazement.

  Was that tension because he gues
sed she knew? She frowned.

  “Adair,” she said stonily, thinking fast. “I was looking for you to ask if you were going down for luncheon.”

  “Yes,” he said, frowning, clearly bewildered. “I am – as we discussed, a few minutes ago.”

  “Yes,” Genevieve said levelly. “Well, I thought you might have changed your mind. I'm going down now,” she added, turning away.

  “I'll join you in a moment,” he said quickly. “I just want to set some things in order.”

  Oh. Some things. Like copying my letter? She tried to school her face to neutral.

  “Fine,” she said.

  She walked off, heading briskly down the stairs.

  In the dining room, the maidservant was just finishing laying the table. Genevieve nodded to her and she beamed. “Och, milady! There's someone in this house as is punctual for meals. Bless you.”

  “I think the rest will be down shortly,” she said.

  “Och, what rest?” the older woman continued blithely, surprising her as ever. No servant in her household at home would take such license. “I reckon it's just you and the young laird, Adair, here today. The rest is all out, or so I heard.”

  “Oh?” Genevieve raised a brow. That was interesting. “All of them?”

  “Aye,” she nodded. “Or at least, so I was told. I could be mistaken. I've had enough prepared for four of ye, just tae be sure. You never know, with guests.” She grinned, albeit quirkily.

  “No,” Genevieve nodded absently. “You never know.”

  She went to the window and looked out over the garden, heart thudding in her chest. She tried to make a plan. She couldn't stay here.

  I will take a horse from the stables, head out south. If I start after luncheon, I can reach the inn. I need to leave this place. Someone will find me.

  She shivered. Someone walked up the hallway and she heard footsteps enter through the door, behind her. She turned around. “Adair,” she said flatly.

  His face fell. “Genevieve,” he said, bowing low.

  He had changed from his brown riding-suit she knew so well by now, into a black suit with gold bands at the cuffs – a trifle overdone for luncheon, she thought automatically, but suiting him.