Summer's Bride. Catherine Archer

the deck. When they reached the gangway, Genevieve cast a careful look about. The carters and the other man were still talking, but they were turned the other way, obviously discussing the goods that had been brought.

      It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, Genevieve raced toward the hatch. Holding that breath and knowing she dared not pause to look behind her, she took a tight hold of the sides of the ladder and scrambled down it.

      Spinning around, Genevieve could see that she was in the hold. The inside walls of the ship were lined with all manner of goods that would be needed to make long voyages—extra ropes, canvas, even extra lanterns hung from the posts. There were also all sizes of containers besides the three wooden crates that had been brought from the carts.

      Hearing the sound of voices approaching above, Genevieve raced down the center aisle and lodged herself behind a pile of goods at the front of the ship. This was accomplished none too quickly for the men brought more supplies down into the hold.

      Several others had now joined the two, who had begun the unloading. They formed a sort of line as they transferred the cargo into the hold.

      The next hours passed in an agony of frustration and anxiety. Her frustration stemmed from being inactive for so very long, and anxiety from her fear that one of the sailors would come too close and discover her hiding place. In spite of her agitation, she was somewhat awed at their efficiency as they packed the space so tightly there was no more than a narrow walkway down the center when they were through.

      When finally they had finished and closed the hatch above her, Genevieve heaved a great sigh of relief. Yet when the boat began to move some time later, she knew a renewed sense of trepidation as well as relief, her stomach clenching at the realization that she had succeeded.

      She was aboard the Briarwind, and it was moving. Just what might happen now she was afraid to even contemplate.

      Genevieve grew cold as the day wore on. It was very damp down in the hold. She was afraid, though, to leave her hiding place for fear of being discovered should someone open the hatch unexpectedly. She did not believe they had gone far enough to make Marcel believe that he must go on to Scotland rather than take her home.

      Surely all they needed were a few days together to work out whatever was making him hold back. Surely when he learned that she loved him…

      The pure happiness she felt at the possibility of his returning her affection in even a small measure, at the notion of his letting go his reservations and completing the lovemaking they had begun at Brackenmoore was incentive enough to stay where she was. She could not reveal herself yet.

      But after another interminable stretch of time, the cramping in her legs and lower back grew unbearable. She bit her lip with indecision. The hold was empty of all save her. Surely it would hurt nothing to walk about a bit.

      Slowly, listening for any sound from above, Genevieve stood. The tingling in her lower limbs told her just how badly she had needed to move. Gingerly she exercised each muscle until the sensations eased.

      Cautiously she stumbled about in the darkness until she found a lantern, and the implements to light it, hanging at the bottom of the stair. With a sigh of relief, she looked about. As she had seen earlier, a narrow pathway ran down the center to the stair, which led to the upper deck.

      Genevieve began to pace this trail. Then as time passed and her body felt more itself, she began to be aware of another form of discomfort. That of hunger.

      It had been many hours since she had thought of eating anything. Her stomach growled, as if now demanding its due. Putting a hand over her belly, Genevieve looked about the hold.

      She knew that many of these containers would hold food. Why should she go hungry when surrounded by such plenty?

      Sometime later, she leaned back against where she had sat down to eat and sighed. She had pried open a barrel with a bar she found hanging nearby. It had offered only salted fish, but her hunger had improved the taste.

      Though she had no idea how much time had passed since she had come aboard the Briarwind, Genevieve was fairly certain that it must be well into the night. The tiredness she felt told her that she had been down there for many hours.

      Again she sighed. What a day it had been, and after no sleep the previous night. Surely there would be no harm in closing her eyes for just a few moments. If none of the crew had come down to the hold in the evening hours, it was quite unlikely that they would do so at night.

      She extinguished the light. Then using her arm to cushion her head, Genevieve lay down at the far end of the path…

      The next thing she knew she was looking up at a heavily lined masculine face that contained a bulbous nose and a pair of watery gray eyes. He spoke roughly as he scratched his wiry gray head. “Now, what have we here?”

      With a gasp of shock, Genevieve sat straight up, her own voice husky with sleep and horror as she cried, “Who are you?”

      The man laughed gruffly. “It’s me who’ll be asking the questions, lad. What are you doing here?”

      “I…” She hesitated, realizing that she was still wearing her masculine garments and this fellow thought her a boy. For reasons she could not name, she did not disabuse him of his mistaken notion.

      “Well?” he prodded.

      Now that she was found out, Genevieve could only think of getting to Marcel. “Take me to your captain.”

      The man took her by the arm and hauled her roughly to her feet. “That I will, young man, but I’m not thinking he’ll be glad to see a stowaway. Especially one who refuses to answer the questions put to him.”

      Genevieve did not care for this mauling in the least but decided to let it pass, for the man did not know who she was. When he nudged her ahead of him up the stairs, she pushed his hand away and went up with her head held high.

      It was not yet full light on deck and a dark bank of cloud on the distant horizon seemed to make the light even dimmer. As she peered about she did not see any other signs of movement on deck. Her captor jerked his head toward the cabin at the stern of the boat and said, “Go on, no dawdling. You wanted to see the captain. Get to it then.”

      Genevieve did not acknowledge him but moved in the direction he had indicated. As soon as she had spoken with Marcel, this lout would mind his manners.

      When the sailor pounded loudly upon the closed door, Genevieve felt a momentary anxiety. There was no question in her mind that Marcel would be surprised to see her. The possibility of his being angry was very great, as well.

      Hopefully he would not remain so for long.

      The heavy oak door opened abruptly. Her heart turned over with a sudden and unexpectedly deep yearning as her gaze came to rest on the man she had come so far to be with. Marcel’s midnight-dark hair was tousled from sleep and the long white shirt, which was all he wore, lay open to expose his muscular bronze chest. Her heart thumped and her fingers itched to touch the smooth flesh.

      Having never seen so much of him before, it was a moment before Genevieve was able to raise her gaze to his shocked and disbelieving blue eyes.

      Before he could say a word, the sailor spoke. “Sorry for disturbin’ you, Captain, but I found this lad stowed away in the hold when I went down to get some supplies for breakfast.”

      For a long moment Marcel did nothing, then without warning, he grabbed her arm and jerked her inside the cabin, telling the other man, “I will see to this, Charley. Go on and get the meal ready for the crew.”

      Although she had not expected his reaction to be welcoming, Genevieve did not care for this manhandling, especially as she had taken far too much of the same from the sailor. As Marcel slammed the door, Genevieve said, “Although I understand your surprise, please refrain from grabbing me that way, Marcel. And you will have to tell that man he must mind his manners in the future. He was somewhat rough with me, though I must allow him some measure of leeway as he does not know who I—”

      Marcel