Sutherland's Secret (11 page)

It took everything Brice had to sit still and let Eleanor tell her story. The pain in her eyes just about killed him.

“What did the bastard do to yer husband?” He forced the question out.

She drew in a shaking breath, and as she’d done throughout the telling of the tale, she looked at their hands held tightly together. “He accused Charles of treason. He had papers…” A sob escaped her and Brice tightened his hold. There were no tears, but the memories were tearing her apart. He wanted to tell her to stop, but he knew he needed to hear this, and she needed to tell it. She’d probably not told anyone, and it was slowly eating her up.

She breathed deeply and seemed to collect herself. “He had papers proving his lies. I don’t know where he got them, and I was never allowed to read them. They came…”

He waited silently for her to continue, giving her the time she needed. In the meantime he held on to his anger. He despised Blackwood and was glad that he had not known this story when the man was sleeping under his roof. He wasn’t certain what he would have done if he had known.

“They came for Charles in the middle of the night. They dragged him out of bed and tied his hands behind him. He looked so confused. I was yelling, trying to ask them what they were doing. These were men I had danced with at the ball, and suddenly they were in our home, arresting my husband.

“I found out the next day that he was accused of feeding information to a Jacobite who had family connections to the Hirst family. I tried to tell them that there were no family connections. Charles wasn’t related to anyone from Scotland. He was as English as one could get. But they didn’t listen to me.”

She swallowed and blinked. Brice knew she wasn’t in the room with him; she was reliving whatever had happened to Charles Hirst. The poor fool, putting his trust in the likes of the Butcher and Blackwood.

“The next time I saw him, he was being led to the hangman’s noose. A crowd had gathered. I’d heard of hangings. I knew they were a spectacle, but I’d never been to one. It was horrible. The people…they were like animals, yelling and screaming, throwing things. Poor Charles looked so confused. He didn’t understand what was going on, and neither did I. They hanged him. Right there with no proof other than some papers that Blackwood claimed he had. They killed him. He was a good man, an honest man. And they killed him.”

Brice could hold himself back no longer. He leaned forward and gathered her in his arms and let her weep upon his good shoulder. She cried like she probably hadn’t cried since the day her husband had died, and Brice let her.

He stroked her back and whispered in her ear. His shoulder became wet with her tears as her body shook against him. He let his hatred for the English grow. Apparently it mattered not to them whether one was English or Scottish. They were untrustworthy bastards. Every one of them.

She pulled back and wiped her tears from her cheeks. She took a shuddering breath.

“The next time I see Blackwood, I will kill him,” Brice said softly but with deadly intent.

“I appreciate the thought, but I won’t have another man’s death on my heart.”

“Ye would feel guilty for his death?” he asked, surprised.

“No. I would feel guilty for your death.”

“Ye wound me with yer lack of faith in my abilities.”

“I don’t doubt your abilities, Brice. But if you kill Blackwood, you’ll have all of the English soldiers looking for you, and that I won’t have.”

He grunted, not willing to admit that she was right. “I’ll wound him, then. Severely.”

She smiled, but it was a sad smile.

Brice touched her wet cheek and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry, lass. Yer Charles sounds like a good man who was wronged.”

“He was a good man.”

“Come here, lass.” He patted the other side of the bed. Eleanor was exhausted from telling her story, and he was damned if she was going to sleep alone tonight. He’d not touch her, but she definitely needed to sleep next to him. No wonder she suffered from nightmares. What woman wouldn’t after watching her husband hanged?

She crawled over him and curled up next to him. Brice pulled the blankets about her and curled his arm around her shoulder, pulling her tightly against him. She buried her head into his side, and before he knew it, she was asleep.

He lay there and watched her, protecting her. Graham had his
Tèarmannair,
and it seemed Brice had his as well. He bent to the side and kissed the top of her head, drawing in the floral scent of her hair, knowing that what she’d told him tonight was just the prelude. That the worst was to come.

The next afternoon Eleanor was in her chambers, preparing to go to the hall and help serve. No matter what Brice said, she liked helping. The younger Eleanor would have recoiled at the thought, but the older, wiser Eleanor knew that good, honest work was rewarding. It helped that she was in a house where the servants were treated well. She knew that wasn’t the case everywhere.

She’d had a solid night of sleep, waking only when dawn arrived. Her head pounded slightly from the emotions of the day before and the telling of the story that she’d never shared with anyone. It felt good that someone else knew her story, or at least part of it. If anything should happen to her, then Brice would know the truth. That was a relief, in a way.

Brice had fallen asleep propped up against the pillows, as if afraid to lie down and lower his guard. She’d taken the opportunity to study him. His mouth was downturned, and she’d wondered if he was in pain, but he refused anything that would relieve his pain because he claimed it muddled his mind. His beard was growing in thick because he hadn’t had the opportunity to shave in the past two days. The bristles were a shade lighter than his dark blond hair and flecked with red. His lips were well formed.

Eleanor couldn’t help but remember the wild afternoon they’d spent in this chamber. She’d never felt so out of control nor so sated in her life. Making love to Brice had been like riding in a storm-tossed ship and being able to do nothing but hold on for the ride. It had been exhilarating and frightening at the same time.

Frightening because her emotions had been tossed about as well. This man holding her against him so tightly was perfect. Kind and gentle, fiercely protective of those he cared for. And exasperating enough to shake things up a bit.

Funny that what she thought she wanted in a man was not at all what she really needed in a man. She had thought that Charles was her perfect companion. Soft-spoken, elegant, reserved. Everything that Brice was not. She felt a stab of real regret that she couldn’t make Scotland her home and be with him forever. She had to move on before Blackwood returned or someone in the household revealed her presence to the English. Not that Brice had asked her to stay. They’d never once mentioned the future. He might not even want her in his life permanently.

As she approached the connecting doors to their bedchambers, she heard a rumble of voices from the other side. Knowing that what she was doing was wrong but not able to help herself, she pressed her ear to the thick door but could hear no more than voices.

Guided by the feeling of dread that churned in her stomach, Eleanor opened the door a crack, careful not to make a noise. Suddenly it was very important to hear what they were saying.

“Ye canno’ go tonight. Ye’ll be a detriment to the men.”

That was Colin’s unmistakable voice.

A growling noise erupted, and Eleanor could only deduce that it was Brice’s frustration.

“We do no’ have enough men. Damnation, Colin, ’tis so frustrating. We canno’ let them sit there much longer before they’re discovered by the damn English.”

“I’ll go. Lachlan will go. Samuel can go as well. I have men—”

“Nay.” Brice’s voice was harsh and brokered no argument. “I’ll no’ be pulling more men into this. ’Tis enough that most of my people are involved.”

Colin laughed. “And ye think my men will balk? Hell, Brice, they’re smugglers. Every last one of ’em.”

Colin was a smuggler? How very interesting. Eleanor had heard of the smugglers in England and Scotland and had always been intrigued by the swarthy characters that the papers portrayed. Colin wasn’t swarthy at all. He wasn’t as handsome as Brice, but he could hold his own in a maiden’s mind.

“I’ll no’ put more men in danger,” Brice said.

“What? Better to be hanged a smuggler than a traitor?”

Eleanor pulled back, shocked. Had Colin just called Brice a traitor? That was…well, traitorous. She waited for the ring of steel, certain Brice would confront Colin with such a horrible accusation, but nothing came.

Instead Brice sighed. “ ’Tis all too much. The
Staran,
now Graham’s mission. We lost too many men, Colin, to keep the country going.”

They both fell silent, and Eleanor’s heart ached for them and the losses they’d encountered. Brice never spoke of his family. She had no idea what had happened to his parents. And were there brothers and sisters? He’d had a wife, and she had died. She felt horrible for not knowing more about him.

“Take most of the guards with ye. They’re not needed here as much. Damn, but I wish I could go,” he said with true regret.

“Ye can barely move without passing out. Ye’ll be no good to us out there.”

Where were they going, and what were they doing in the dark of the night?

“The ship is waiting just off the coast,” Brice was saying. “The people are scattered in various safe houses, but all are close enough that if you get them right after the sun goes down, they can be on that ship before the sun rises and the ship well away from Scotland when daylight comes.”

Eleanor’s eyebrows came together. They were collecting people from safe houses and putting them on a ship that was leaving Scotland. Good Lord, was Brice smuggling
people
? Her mind worked furiously, trying to put everything together. Colin had accused him of treason and Brice had not denied the claim. He had people hidden in houses and a ship ready to take them away. He was smuggling his own people out of Scotland, and the only people who needed smuggling were the Jacobites.

Eleanor slowly backed away from the door so as not to be heard. Her skin tingled with the information she’d just learned. She had to be right in her assumptions. That was the only answer. What else could be treasonous, and why else hide people along the coastline and then take them to a ship in the dead of night?

Brice had said something about a
staran
. Eleanor’s grasp of Gaelic was very rudimentary, but she knew that
staran
meant “trail.” So these people seeking help walked a trail, found the safe houses, and Brice put them on his ships, which took them somewhere.

She sat down on her bed with a thump, stunned.

No wonder he was always absent at night and spent days away. He was hiding people the English were looking for.

People the English were looking for.

She was a person the English were looking for.

If she were discovered here, it could very well reveal Brice’s
staran
. And he would be accused of treason. She’d seen what happened to people who were accused of treason, and she was damned if she would let that happen to Brice.

She left her chambers and headed toward the kitchen, her head stuffed full of ideas and plans. She didn’t want to react rashly. She needed a plan. A good plan. Running out into the woods was not a good plan. It had saved her once, but she’d had no other option.

She served, but her mind wasn’t really on her duties. It was while she was cleaning up that it came to her what she needed to do.

She needed to be on that ship that was leaving tonight. It was the only way to protect Brice and his people.

As soon as Eleanor entered his bedchamber, Brice knew something was wrong. Her face was pale, her lips pinched.

“What happened?” he asked.

She smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing happened. How are you feeling?”

He grunted because he was feeling like hell. His shoulder pained him like the devil, and he was incredibly frustrated that he could barely move it and that Colin had to lead the men tonight.

But seeing Eleanor lifted his spirits. He’d thought about tumbling her to the bed—one-armed, of course—and making love to her again. But one look at her and those thoughts reluctantly fled.

“Sit up,” she said. “Let me unwrap the bandage and see if that wound needs stitching again.”

“The wound is fine, lass, but something is wrong with ye. Tell me.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. “There’s nothing wrong, Brice, other than what happened last night can’t happen again.”

“Why?”

“Because I have to leave.”

His heart plummeted and an icy anger suffused him. She was leaving. “And where do ye plan on going?”

“I’m a danger to you and your people. You have to know that.”

“Ye don’t think I can protect ye?” Good God, were all women alike? Was he not good enough for any of them? This was Alisa all over again. He’d never been good enough for her, hadn’t given her what she’d needed, and she’d ended up leaving, too.

Eleanor covered his hand and squeezed his fingers. “It’s not that at all.”

He pulled his hand away, knowing he was being churlish, but his heart was breaking, and he’d sworn that he would never allow another woman to break his heart the way Alisa had. “Where do ye think ye’re going?”

She sat back and put her hand in her lap, looking at him with hurt and sadness. “A place where Blackwood can’t find me.”

He snorted. “Blackwood is a fool. We can hide ye under his eyes and he would no’ find ye.”

“Don’t underestimate him, Brice. He’s very dangerous.”

He sat forward, ignoring the shooting pain in his shoulder. “I understand what he did to yer Charles. But Charles was no’ strong enough against Blackwood, and Blackwood knew it.”

“I wish I could believe that,” she whispered.

“Trust me to take care of ye, Eleanor.”

She pressed her lips together and looked away. Brice sat back in defeat and despair. He’d lost her. Just like he’d lost Alisa.

“He’s not the devil,” he said bitterly.

“Sometimes I think he is.”

Eleanor slid through the great hall, keeping to the shadows, glad to see that Brice had not come down tonight.

She’d so desperately wanted to say goodbye, but she couldn’t tell him her plan. He would try to talk her out of it, and she was weak enough, in love enough with him, that she would let him.

Yes, she was in love with him. She held the emotion close to her, folding her pain around it. She’d loved Charles, but that love paled compared to what she felt for Brice.

No one seemed to notice her as she slid out the front door.

After convincing Cecilia to find her a pair of breeches and a shirt that would fit her, and swearing the maid to secrecy, Eleanor wrote a letter to Brice, telling him everything she’d wanted to tell him in person and thanking him for picking her up off the road and saving her life. She’d left the note in her bedchamber and told Cecilia not to come in until the morning. By then Eleanor would be on the ship, well away from Scotland, Blackwood, and Brice.

She’d stayed in her chambers and watched out the window for any indication that Colin and the men would be leaving. The entire time she was thinking of Brice in the connecting room and how she might be leaving Scotland, but she was leaving her heart with him.

The men didn’t gather until well after dark, when Eleanor was convinced she had either missed them or they had canceled tonight’s activities.

Now she stood on the top steps of the castle and watched them mill about. They were all dressed for battle, with broadswords hanging at their sides and pistols tucked into their kilts and breeches. She was glad to see others in breeches. Even though she was highly uncomfortable in the trousers, she never would have been able to leave her chambers in a kilt. How scandalous, even in the Highlands, for a woman to show her knees.

Grooms were bringing horses out of the stable. Eleanor pushed away from the door and headed toward the stables, keeping to the shadows. She grabbed a horse from a groom with a gruff thank-you, pulled her hat lower over her eyes, and made sure her hair was tucked under the cap. She really had no plan other than to ride with the men to the ship and board.

There were about a dozen of them, led by Colin, as they rode under the portcullis and out of the keep. In England, Eleanor was considered an accomplished rider, but she quickly learned that accomplished in England was far different than accomplished in Scotland. For one thing, she rode sidesaddle in England, wearing elegant riding apparel. In Scotland she rose astride and in breeches. She kept toward the back and attempted to adjust to riding astride, but she found she enjoyed the freedom of the breeches. She could move much better in them, though it did take some getting used to, having her legs so scandalously exposed.

As they entered the forest, Eleanor looked back at Castle Dornach. All she could see was the darker outline of the guard tower against the dark, cloud-strewn sky. But within those walls lay Brice in his bedchamber, oblivious to her disappearance.

They rode silently and in single file. It was apparent these men knew how to blend into the landscape and appear that they weren’t there at all. Eleanor tried to mimic them, but after an hour of riding, her backside was beginning to hurt. Though she desperately needed a break, she was determined to say nothing. Her plan hinged on Colin not discovering her until they were too far from the castle.

They rode and rode. Eleanor lost all track of time. No one spoke in all that time.

Finally Colin signaled for everyone to halt. Most of the men faded into the shadows of the forest. Eleanor looked around, unsure where she should go or what she should do. Colin caught her eye and motioned with a swipe of his hand for her to get off the road. Eleanor tried to lead her horse, but he balked and sidestepped. Desperately she kneed him, but he tossed his head and pranced forward.

“Oh, please,” she whispered to her mount. “Please go into the woods.”

The warrior who had been riding behind Colin was frowning at her. She tilted her head down and desperately sawed on the reins, trying to get her mount into the safety of the trees. The warrior rode up to her. Startled, her mount reared. Eleanor held on with all her strength, clenching her thighs into the horse’s sides. Her hat flew off, and her hair fell around her shoulders.

The man leaned over and grabbed the reins, bringing her horse under control with a muffled curse.

Eleanor looked up into the cold blue eyes of Brice.

“Eleanor,” he said flatly, his lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure.

Her traitorous mount, now calm, settled beneath her.

“Brice,” she breathed. “But I thought—”

“That I was tucked all safe in my bed while ye made a fool of me?”

She stared at him, dumbfounded, until his words penetrated her swirling brain. “No. That’s not what I thought at—”

“Save it, my lady. We have work to do, and ye are holding us up.” He tied the reins of her mount to his saddle and wheeled his mount around.

Eleanor’s horse followed meekly. Eleanor tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter, because she was still headed toward the ship, but as she stared at Brice’s rigid shoulders, she couldn’t help wincing. He was awfully angry. Furious, actually.

His arm was in a sling to keep it immobile. She had to wonder why he’d decided to go out tonight, of all nights. Of all the bad luck. Well, he would just have to understand that her plan was solid and the safest one she could think of.

He stopped in front of a small thatched hut that was barely discernible in the dark. The door opened and a hunched-over man stepped out. Brice slid off his mount one-handed and spoke to the man for a moment, then disappeared around the back of the hut.

The other men suddenly materialized from the darkness.

Colin stopped his mount beside Eleanor. “What were ye thinking, lass?”

She kept her lips pressed together.

Colin shook his head. “I only hope ye weren’t thinking of running away from him.”

“I have no choice, Colin.”

Beside her, Colin sighed. “ ’Twas a mistake running from him like this. There’s only one other time I’ve seen him this angry.”

When he didn’t say more, Eleanor knew he was waiting for her to ask. She held off as long as possible, but curiosity got the best of her. “When was the other time he was this angry?”

Colin’s horse shifted. “When his wife ran away from him.”

Eleanor’s heart did a little tumble. Oh, dear. She understood what this looked like to Brice now, but that wasn’t what it was like at all. “I’m not running.”

“Aren’t ye?” He moved away before she could respond.

Brice reappeared from behind the hut. Behind him were two shadows that coalesced into people. A man and a woman. By the weak light of the moon, she could see fear in the lines of their bodies. The woman stayed close to the man and grabbed his hand as they looked up at the men on the large horses.

Brice signaled to the men. They broke off into pairs and disappeared again, leaving Brice, Colin, and Eleanor alone with the couple.

Brice approached Eleanor’s mount and looked up at her. “Get off,” he said, his voice clipped and so cold it made her shiver.

She slid off the horse, landing with an oomph because Brice didn’t catch her. Instead he turned his back to her and spoke to the man. “Ye’ll ride this mount. The woman will ride behind ye.”

The man nodded, helped the woman up, and mounted in front of her while Eleanor stood to the side. Brice turned to her and looked her up and down, starting at her worn borrowed boots. His icy gaze raked her breeches and the overlarge shirt. He curled his lip. “If we weren’t running behind schedule, I’d make ye walk. But since we are, ye’ll have to ride behind me.”

It took a few tries, but she managed to get up on the horse by herself while Brice stood back and watched, his expression stony. Even one-handed he seemed to almost jump up on the mount. He clicked his tongue, and the three horses and five people moved on.

Eleanor had no choice but to wrap her arms around his waist. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the hard stomach muscles under her hands. She tried not to feel the undulations of his back muscles as he swayed with the motion of the horse.

He smelled of honey.

They rode for a long while, until finally Eleanor couldn’t help but press her cheek against his back and close her eyes. He was so warm, so strong. So Brice. And he hated her because he thought she was running away from him, like his wife had.

They stopped and Brice slid off the horse, almost unseating Eleanor as he did so. They were at the edge of the ocean, the waves gently slapping against the sand. The men who had left them earlier were there with other people.

These must all be the fugitives, Eleanor thought, the men and women fleeing the persecution of the English. They were quiet, huddled together, the looks on their faces different forms of desperation and grief. They were leaving their homeland and probably their families. It hit Eleanor then, just what she was doing.

Scotland wasn’t her homeland. With the exception of her time at Castle Dornach, her experience in the country had been horrific. But her grief at having to leave hit her squarely in the stomach, making her want to double over with the pain.

She wasn’t leaving only Scotland. She was also leaving the possibility of returning to England and her own family. She was so much like the people standing in a tight circle in their ragged clothes. She was homeless, driven out of her home by the English, just as they were. She looked behind her, at the trees that stopped a few yards from the shore, and tears welled in her eyes.

Then another, more frightening thought hit her. She had nothing but the clothes on her back—borrowed breeches, a shirt, and old boots. No money. Nothing. She began to shake on the inside, and her breathing became harsh.

Brice left her side and strode over to Colin. While they conversed, Brice kept glancing over as if checking that she was still there. Did he know?

No. He couldn’t possibly know.

Eleanor looked toward the water and found the ship awaiting them just off the shore. It was a big, hulking thing with three masts.

She slid off the horse and stood at the edge of the water, looking at the ship that would take her away from Scotland and England. Away from everything.

Then she thought of Blackwood. He was out there somewhere, looking for her. Searching. Determined to find her.

That ship was her only escape from death, and she would take it because she didn’t want to die.

As she watched, a smaller boat pulled away from the ship, with two men rowing it toward them. Behind her, she could hear Brice directing the fugitives—though it seemed wrong to call them fugitives. They weren’t on the run because they’d done something wrong. They were on the run because they’d fought for what was right, and now they were being hunted.

Just like she was being hunted.

She turned toward the group that had moved closer to the waves kissing the sand, and she moved closer to them. She shot a nervous glance at Brice, but he was deeply involved in gathering the lingering fugitives together.

Nervously she looked toward the tall ship and saw that the rowboat was pulling closer. Two of Brice’s men waded out into the water to pull the small boat in. Brice and Colin directed the people into the boat. Brice’s men moved fast and sure, as if they’d done this many times before.

There was a palpable feeling of relief and sadness among these people. Only Brice and Colin spoke, and then only when absolutely necessary.

Two men stood with their backs to them, searching the line of trees, their hands on the butts of their pistols.