Sutherland's Secret (12 page)

Within minutes the people were all on the boat, and the oarsmen took up his oars. The two men who’d pulled the boat on shore got in position to push it back out.

It was time.

“Uh, Brice,” Colin said as he looked over Brice’s shoulder.

Brice spun around and found Eleanor with one leg over the edge of the rowboat, preparing to pull the other one in.

Anger propelled him forward. Before she could get her other leg in, he wrapped his good arm around her waist and plucked her out. “What in the hell do ye think ye’re doing?”

She gasped and looked up at him. “I have to go.”

Her words were like a punch to the stomach. He had to struggle to pull in another breath. She was running away from him, sneaking out right under his nose. He raised a brow. “And where do ye think ye’re going?”

She blinked, then looked at the ship sitting offshore. “I—”

“My lord,” the oarsman said.

He nodded to the man and dragged Eleanor away from the boat. She struggled in his grasp, tugging at the arm that was wrapped around her waist. “Let go of me,” she said. “I have to go with them.”

“No, ye don’t,” he said between clenched teeth. He was damned if he was going to let her board that boat. Hell, she had no idea where the boat was even going.

“I do. Please, Brice, please let me go,” she begged, her voice desperate. Christ, was she that determined to get away from him?

He ignored her pleas and dragged her away from the water and toward the horses. The other men had already melted into the trees. He practically tossed her on the horse and quickly mounted behind her. He couldn’t hold her, because he had to hold the reins with his good hand. Luckily she slumped against him, her body shaking.

Once they were in the safety of the trees, he turned Galad around and watched the rowboat reach the ship. With a nod to the other men, he rode away. Another successful mission, except this time he didn’t feel the satisfaction that he normally felt when a ship disembarked. He was so furious that he was seeing red.

“You should have let me go,” she whispered.

“What is so horrible that ye have to run from me?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question and cursed himself for revealing his hurt to her.

“Oh, Brice.” She sighed. “It’s not you at all.”

He grunted as he expertly guided Galad through the forest. They had done this so many times that his mount could find the way home on his own. They were riding single file again, with Colin leading the way. Brice hadn’t planned to come with them tonight. His shoulder was on fire with pain, but he ignored it for the moment. Something in his gut had told him he needed to be on this run, and he’d followed that gut instinct despite Colin’s protests that he could do it without Brice.

Now he was glad he had come. He’d known something was wrong with Eleanor when she came to him after the dinner hour, but he had never guessed that she would be on this run.

“How did ye find out about tonight?” He had to know if there was a leak in the system, if one of his people had talked to her about it.

“I overheard you and Colin talking about it this afternoon.”

“And so ye decided to go along? Did ye even know where the ship was headed?”

She paused. “No.”

“Good God, lass. Were ye that desperate to get away that ye would go anywhere the ship sailed? Ye have no money, nothing but the clothes on yer back.” And what clothes they were. Breeches and a shirt that displayed all of her womanly attributes. He’d about fallen over when he saw her. He’d wanted to throw a blanket over her to keep her hidden from the eyes of his men.

“I’m not running from you, Brice.”

He didn’t answer, because it sure as hell felt like she was running away from him. But then he wanted to know: “Ye don’t trust me to protect ye?”

She sighed. “Of course I do.”

He whistled, causing Eleanor to jump. The man in front of him stopped so that Brice could catch up. “Tell Colin to keep going. We’ll be along shortly.” The man nodded. Brice turned the horse to the right, and Galad picked his way through the underbrush.

Eleanor stiffened. “What are we doing?”

“Going a different route.”

“I don’t think it’s wise to separate—”

“I do.”

She clutched his arm but thankfully didn’t say anything else. Brice led the horse to a small hut nestled in between the tall trees. It was partly hidden by underbrush that hadn’t been cut back in years. Brice deliberately kept it that way. It was the perfect spot.

He slid off the horse and helped Eleanor down, then tethered Galad to a nearby tree. “Come.” He didn’t wait to see if she followed as he walked toward the front door and opened it.

The outside of the hut didn’t match the inside. From the outside, it looked like it was falling down, abandoned long ago. The inside was dry, the floor solid. Wood was stacked beside a small fireplace. Blankets were folded on a small straw bed. There was no other furniture in the room but a small cupboard that housed oats. A stream gurgled nearby with fresh water for making oatcakes. They could be quite comfortable for days.

Eleanor stood at the threshold, peering in.

“Come inside,” he said as he set about building the fire. There were enough clouds in the sky to hide the smoke from the fire, and they were far enough off the main road that they wouldn’t be discovered by the English soldiers, who tended to stay on the well-traveled roads.

Eleanor took a few steps in and shut the door behind her. “Is this one of your safe houses?”

“Ye overheard way too much, lass.”

“I was eavesdropping.”

He shot her a glance over his shoulder. She caught it and shrugged.

When the fire was sufficiently blazing, he sat back on his heels. “Canada.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He looked over at her. “The ship was going to Canada. There are two of them. One arrives approximately every two weeks to pick up the fugitives and take them to Canada, where they will start a new life.”

She sat down on the straw mattress as if her legs couldn’t hold her up any longer. “Canada,” she whispered. “I’m not even certain I know where that is.”

“And yet ye were willing to go with them.”

Her gaze met his, her blue eyes reflecting the flames from the fire. “I have no choice.”

“Ye keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true,” she cried. She stood up and paced to the other side of the small hut. It took only a few steps. “I wish you had let me go.”

Brice hissed in a breath at the pain her words caused. Even now she didn’t want to be with him. “And what would ye do in Canada?”

“I would find a house I could serve in.”

Stunned, he could only stare at her for a bit. “Serve? How many fine houses do ye think are in Canada?”

She threw her hands up in the air. “I don’t know. I would have found something. I’m actually very good at serving.”

He rolled his eyes and looked into the fire, not wanting her to see how hurt he was. He was such a damn fool when it came to women. He could never find one who wanted to stay. They all thought there was something better out there.

She sat down beside him, and he looked at the length of her legs, tightly encased in the worn breeches. The sight stirred him in inappropriate ways. He’d not seen a woman in a man’s clothes before. “Where’d ye get the clothing?” he asked gruffly, poking at the fire with a long stick.

“Cecilia. Now, don’t be getting angry at her for it. If you’re angry at anyone, be angry at me.”

“Oh, I am.”

She sighed. “Why are you angry? Certainly you can agree that I’m nothing but a hindrance to you and your
Staran
. I’m a danger to all of you. Blackwood is out there looking for me, and if he finds me at Castle Dornach, under your protection, all of you will pay the price.”

He stabbed the fire again. Everything she said was true. Maybe he should have left her to board the boat. In Canada she would be safe from Blackwood. He’d sent countless people to Canada, watched them board that ship and say a tearful farewell to their Scotland, knowing they were headed for a better life.

However, seeing Eleanor trying to board that ship had done something to him. He was damned if another woman was going to run away from him. Yet was it fair that Eleanor was paying the price of Alisa’s desertion?

“Alisa left me,” he said into the fire, surprised he’d said the words out loud. He’d had no intention of telling her this when he’d brought her here.

“Pardon me?”

“My wife. Alisa. She left me.”

The flames crackled. Outside the wind blew harder, and in the back of his mind, Brice thought it would probably rain before the night was out. A storm would ensure that they would stay here the whole night, and he wasn’t averse to that. His heart told him that while he’d stopped Eleanor from leaving now, he wouldn’t be able to stop her a second time. Her leaving was inevitable, and that stabbed his soul.

“Alisa left you,” Eleanor repeated.

“There’d been talk of our marriage between our families since we were young. She was a McKinney, and a match with the Sutherlands was good for both families.”

“That sounds very romantic,” she said sarcastically.

Brice grinned. “It was all very unromantic. We’d met before, once or twice.”

“And was it love at first sight?”

He looked over at her and smiled. “Ye are the romantic one, aren’t you?”

“I never thought I was.”

“Alisa…she was different. She’d been raised in the Highlands, but she had no love of the Highlands.”

“How could anyone not love this beautiful country,” she murmured.

Brice looked at her in surprise. He thought the same, of course, but it was a surprise to hear it from Eleanor, someone who had grown up in London, a place of elegance and sophistication. “She desperately wanted to travel to London and attend a ball. It was her greatest desire.”

Eleanor snorted. She actually snorted. Brice wasn’t sure he’d ever heard a woman snort, especially a lady.

“She wasn’t missing much. They are stuffy and hot and not all that fun. It’s the same people at every ball, and their greatest pastime is to talk about each other behind their backs.”

Brice had figured as much. He could never understand Alisa’s need to travel to England, and yet it was all she had talked about.

“Somehow she managed to have old periodicals from London sent up here, and she studied them, then talked ceaselessly about the fashions and society and balls and gossip. I tried my best to provide her with the clothes she wanted, even though I could no’ take her to London.”

He still felt shame that he couldn’t make his wife happy. No matter what he did, it was never enough. The only thing that would have made her happy was for them to go to London, and that he could not do. It would have taken weeks, at least, and he couldn’t leave his people for that long and for something as foolish as traveling to London just so she could see it. Now he wondered if he should have. Would she have been content with a visit? Somehow he doubted it.

“So she left you to go to London?” Eleanor asked.

“Aye.” Her words stabbed him. He’d been humiliated and furious when he’d discovered her deception. Her family had apologized profusely, but it hadn’t eased his pain or embarrassment. To the outside world, it looked as if he couldn’t keep his wife under control; nor could he make her happy enough to stay, and that had made him bitter.

“She met an English soldier who promised her everything that I could no’,” he said. “They ran away to Edinburgh and boarded a ship to England. The ship ran into a fierce storm and everyone on board perished.”

Outside, the wind picked up, howling through the cracks in the walls and making the fire jump and crackle loudly.

“I’m sorry for her death,” Eleanor said quietly. “But she was a fool. London is nothing special. A bunch of people who think too highly of themselves and not enough of others. I can say that, you know, because I was one of them.”

“She would have liked ye, Alisa would have. She would have picked yer brain until ye screamed ‘Enough.’ She would have been dazzled by yer presence. A real English lady at Castle Dornach. The like has no’ happened before.”

“And I would have told her that London was nothing to dream of. That people there are the same as people here, without the compassion that your people have shown me.”

“She would no’ have believed ye. She had it in her head that London was her…I don’t know the word I’m looking for.”

“Utopia?”

“Yes. Utopia.”

“She would have been disappointed. The English soldier probably gave her a line of malarkey to get her to go with him. More than likely he’d never stepped into a ballroom.”

Brice had wondered that himself. Would Alisa have come back to him once she got the fever of London out of her veins? He’d never know.

He stood and stretched. “ ’Tis a fine storm that’s blowing up out there. I’ll fetch some water before it hits.”

Eleanor watched Brice grab a pail that was sitting beside the back door and head outside. She shivered as the wind rushed in and whirled around her on a swirl of dead leaves and dust.

The flames of the fire danced madly about as she stared into them. Alisa had been a fool; she’d had no idea what was in front of her. Didn’t she realize that every woman wished for a good husband who cared for her and took care of her? A beautiful country with honest, hardworking people? Alisa had been blind to all of that in her desire to see more and do more.

Eleanor was lucky in that her family had enough money to dress and eat well. They lived in a fine house in a very good part of the city. They attended the balls that Alisa longed to attend. The girl would have been terribly disappointed if she did get an invitation to a ball. The women and girls were vipers, and Alisa would have been just different enough that she would have been ostracized.

Eleanor probably would have been one of those who turned her back on Alisa. It was how society functioned, but now Eleanor had a clearer picture of things, and she didn’t like what she was seeing. She was forever changed by her time in Scotland. While the journey had been harsh—brutal, even—she was at peace with who she had become. She felt as if she was a better person for her tribulations. She wished Charles hadn’t had to die or that she hadn’t had to suffer in Cumberland’s dungeon for the greed of Blackwood. She wished she could have made herself a better person without all of that, but it was nothing she could change now.

And she had met Brice Sutherland and his clan. If not for them, she would not be alive. If not for them, she would not have the changed view of Scotland that she did now. She felt for these people who were running and hiding for their lives and the lives of their families. Who made the difficult choice to leave the country where their people had lived for centuries.

Brice came back in a swirl of moist air and shook the droplets of rain from his hair. He was such a handsome man, in a rough way. Completely different from the men in London, who had soft hands and padded shoulders in their coats. There was nothing padded about Brice. He was all hard muscles and angles. And Eleanor loved that about him.

“I hope the men make it back to the castle before the storm hits,” he said as he put the pail of water down.

Eleanor hugged her knees to her chest and watched him search through the small cupboard. He came away with a bag of something and a flat stone, then picked up the pail and brought it all to the fire. “Tonight’s fine fare is bannocks,” he said as he placed everything before them.

“It sounds heavenly,” she said.

“Ye’ll no’ be thinking that when ye’re eating it, but it’s the best I can do.”

She watched as, one-handed, he mixed oatmeal and water into a thick dough. He formed it into a ball, helping with the hand that was in a sling, and placed it on the stone, then flattened it to a thick oval shape. He set the stone in the middle of the fire, sliding it in with the stick before he sat back.

He scooted next to her, and they sat side by side on the wooden floor as the storm picked up outside and the bannock cooked. It was all very homey and intimate. If her friends in London could see her now, they would be appalled. If Charles could see her now, he would be outraged that she’d been forced into such barbaric circumstances. But Eleanor didn’t mind in the least. She was sitting by a warm fire, a wonderful man at her side. She was wearing breeches in the wilds of Scotland. Her life had certainly taken a drastic turn.

“So I know you had a wife, but what about other family? Brothers and sisters?” she asked, wanting to know more about this man.

“Aye.”

Eleanor waited for more, but when none was forthcoming, she bumped his shoulder with her own. “I’m trying to make small talk,” she said.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “I liked it better when ye did no’ talk so much.”

She grinned. “No, you didn’t. You begged me to talk to you.”

He grinned back, and Eleanor drew in a ragged breath. He reminded her of warriors of old. She could imagine a whole line of Sutherland ancestors sitting in front of fires like this, making bannocks and passing the time between battles.

“I had a younger brother. Beathan. He was a captain of one of my ships that took the refugees to Canada. The ship sank about a month ago. No one survived.”

“Oh, Brice.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “So many deaths,” she whispered.

He shrugged, nearly dislodging her head. “No’ any more than any other clan has suffered.”

“But it’s devastating.”

“Aye.” His voice was rough and he cleared his throat. “I have a sister, Brae. She lives in Canada with her husband and their child.”

“Why are they in Canada?” But she knew. Why else would they be in Canada? For the same reason every other Scot was fleeing there.

“Niall, Brae’s husband, was a Jacobite. He was very outspoken and was wanted by the English even before Culloden. He saw the future and knew it was no’ good, so he took Brae, heavy with child at the time, and they went to Canada. He now helps the refugees find work and a home when they land. He’s my contact there, and Brae writes often. There’s always a letter when a ship arrives.”

There was warmth to his tone when he spoke of his sister. He was proud of her and he missed her, Eleanor could tell. Just like she missed her family. It was an ache deep inside that she tried not to think about but that was always with her.

“And your parents?” She almost didn’t want to ask but wanted to know nonetheless.

“Dead. They were brought down by the influenza that swept through our clan about ten years ago.”

“They would have been proud of you and your brother and sister. You’re fighting for something bigger than all of us. You’re saving people’s lives.”

He grunted. He’d pulled his knees up and rested his elbows on them, letting his hands dangle. He’d sat like that in front of a fire before. When she’d first awakened after he found her in the middle of the road. She remembered being frightened of his strength and his size. She remembered waiting for those hands to form into fists and fly at her. It had never happened, and now she knew that he would never hurt her no matter how angry he was with her.

She’d come far in the weeks since being in his care, but that didn’t erase the fact that she was still being hunted. Just like the remaining Jacobites hiding in the woods from the English soldiers.

Using the stick, he pushed and pulled the stone cooking the bannocks out of the fire. They appeared more like bread now.

“We’ll let them cool for a bit,” he said. “Are ye cold?”

“I’m actually quite comfortable.” And she was. She felt warm and protected in the small hut. “Will your men miss you?”

“Doubtful. They’ll be at the castle in the arms of warm women, no doubt with food better than this in their bellies and strong drink on their lips.”

“I’m sorry that you’re saddled with me.”

He looked at her sharply. “I’m not.”

Startled, she looked at him, and he returned her stare, blue eyes clashing with blue eyes.

“Yesterday, in my chamber, ye said we could no’ couple again. Did ye mean that?”

She drew in a long breath, searching for the right answer. “At the time I did.”

“And now?” His shoulders had tensed, but his eyes smoldered with suppressed desire.

“I still think it’s not a good idea, but I’m not strong when it comes to you, Brice Sutherland.”

His nostrils flared. “Ye make me weak, too, Eleanor Hirst.”

Something in her stomach fluttered at the heated look he gave her. It was inevitable, their coupling. She could no more deny him his needs than she could deny her own.

He leaned over and cupped her face with his good hand to press his lips against hers. His lips were warm from facing the fire. Warm and soft and oh, so lovely and familiar. She didn’t realize until now how much she had ached for his lips on hers. And his body on hers, and in her.

“Ach, Ella.”

“You only call me that when we make love,” she said between kisses.

“Do I? That’s how I think of ye when we make love.”

“I can live with that.”

He chuckled and kissed her again, leaning so far over that she lay back. His body was half on her, his hand still cupping her cheek as he deepened his kiss.

She ran her hands along his back, feeling the tight smooth muscles move. She pulled at his kilt, grabbing handfuls of it and tugging until it was hitched up around his waist, and then she ran her hands along his tight, round, naked buttocks. “So you really don’t wear anything under there,” she said.

“And why would we?” He breathed in a harsh breath when she kneaded his butt cheeks. “Lord above, lady. Ye’ll be killing me, ye will.”

She smiled into his mouth and moved her hand around to touch the hard length of his erection.

His hips flexed. “Damnation,” he breathed. He rose up on his good arm and looked down on her. “I’m thinking ye have too many clothes on.”

She raised a brow. “Then do something about it.”

He laughed. Soon he was pulling her shirt out of her breeches, tugging and pulling and cursing. “Damn blasted, bloody thing.” He sat up and whipped the sling off, releasing his injured arm.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” she said.

“I do no’ care right now.”

He pulled her breeches off, and she lifted her hips to aid him as she unbuttoned the shirt. He looked down at her, his gaze roaming over her body as his shaking arms supported him. “Ye are so beautiful,” he whispered.

She found that her maidenly embarrassment at being naked in front of a man had deserted her, and she was glad of that. She liked the appreciation in his eyes when he looked at her. She felt womanly and beautiful. “Let me look at you,” she said.

He rose up on his knees and held his arms out. “I’m yers to do with as ye please.” His voice was husky with desire that thrilled through her.

She rose up on her knees and unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it and the kilt off his bandaged shoulder. He was even more beautiful with the bandage, because it meant he was real and not a figment of her imagination. His muscles were clearly defined, his stomach muscles resembling a ladder that led down to his manhood, which was tenting his kilt.

“How do you get this blasted thing off?” she said, pushing at the kilt.

He laughed. “I have ye so worked up that ye’re cursing?”

“Aye,” she said, mimicking his brogue.

He unwound the kilt, and Eleanor was surprised to see that it was nothing but a big piece of fabric. In all his naked glory, he spread it on the floor and looked at her. “It has many uses,” he said with a slight smile.

“I can see that.” But she wasn’t looking at his kilt. She was looking at the engorged penis, standing straight up. It was huge and red and swollen, and her body tingled when she looked at it. She stroked it, exploring its length and breadth, the moist head and the slit in the top of it.

Brice took in a breath, his head falling back and his eyes closing. He rose up on his knees and went back down on his heels with each of her light strokes. His member jumped and bobbed, and the twin sacs below it tightened. She touched those with her other hand, cupping them as she stroked him. He groaned, his hands clenching at his sides.

She was wet and heavy between her legs, aching for his touch, but when he reached for her, she brushed his hand away. His arm fell to his side. He gasped and moaned and moved his hips as she stroked him softly.

His hand came up to cover hers, showing her how to move, what to do. Together they stroked him, and it was the most fascinating, scintillating thing she’d ever been part of. Their hands were moving faster now, his hips rising and falling with each thrust, his groans nothing but a long low sound.

Suddenly he stopped, his fingers closing over hers in a brutal hold. “Stop,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

She froze, her gaze flying to his in bewilderment. And then she felt it, the throb of his penis. The slit in the top opened up, then closed with each throb, and the sacs she was cupping shrank and expanded as well. Brice held his breath, and when the throbbing stopped, he released it in a long whoosh.

“That was too close. We do no’ want to finish before we even start.” His eyes narrowed as he looked down on her. He released her hand and pried her fingers from him before dropping to his hands and his knees to grin at her wickedly. “Yer turn now, lass.”