Sutherland's Secret (14 page)

Brice hugged her more tightly to him and thanked God that he had found her. What if it had been those soldiers who had been behind them? What if Brice had decided to leave her on the side of the road and they’d found her? She would be back in Blackwood’s hands, probably dead.

“I’m sorry for what they did to ye,” he said. Good God, but she’d lost her husband and her freedom within days of each other.

“Sometimes…” Her voice trailed off again; it was a while before she spoke, and when she did, her voice was soft. “Sometimes I thought about giving in to him. About sending a message to Blackwood that I would accept his terms.”

Something wet plopped onto his hand and he realized it was a tear. She was silently crying and it broke his heart.

“I was so hungry,” she whispered. “And so scared.”

“No’ a person would blame ye if ye had,” he said. “Even grown men have their breaking point. Ye held out a long time. Far longer than most.” The thought of her in Blackwood’s arms, of Blackwood using her in that way, infuriated Brice. There were no words to describe a person such as Blackwood.

“But then I thought of Charles, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t give myself to my husband’s killer.” She swiped at her tears as if frustrated with them.

Brice halted Galad and, with a touch on her chin, lifted her head so she was looking up and back at him. “Ye are one of the bravest people I know, Eleanor Hirst. I have seasoned warriors who would no’ have been able to endure what ye did.”

Her eyes shimmered with her tears, making her eyes appear a brilliant blue. “I guess that naive girl from London grew up,” she said.

“Aye. That she did.” He kissed her softly, stunned that she was even here with him after all she’d endured. What fate had put her on the same road as he at the same time for him to find her? Was it sorcery? Or God’s will?

And how, after all of that, could he put her on that ship and send her away from him?

Hannah and Lachlan were there to greet Brice and Eleanor when they rode through the portcullis. Hannah immediately swooped Eleanor up and, with a friendly arm around her shoulder, guided her into the castle.

Brice tossed the reins to a waiting groom and said to Lachlan, “Meet me in the lists,” before striding off. He was so filled with fury that he couldn’t speak. He’d never been this angry, and he knew the only way to burn some of it off was to hit someone, hard, with something sharp. Lachlan was the poor fool who happened to be there at the wrong time.

But the exercise didn’t work. Both he and Lachlan were drenched in sweat, their arms hurting. Brice’s shoulder ached like the devil, and he was fairly certain that the wound was bleeding, but he cared not. He bent over, placed his hands on his knees, and breathed deep.

“Can I ask what that was all about?” Lachlan said between breaths. “No’ that I mind the extra practice.”

Brice straightened and walked to the fence where he’d tossed his shirt. He wiped his face and looked toward the sea that battered the back of the castle. “I know ye do no’ like her,” he said.

Lachlan held up a hand. “I’ll admit that to be the truth at the beginning. And it wasn’t that I didn’t like her. It was that I didn’t trust her. She’s English. But when I saw her take charge of everyone in that great hall when ye were brought in with yer injury, my mind was changed. She was magnificent, Brice. She saved yer life, and for that I will forever be grateful to her.”

Brice looked at his friend in a new light. Lachlan held strong convictions; Brice had heard Lachlan admit he was wrong only a few times. This was a monumental moment. “She was magnificent?” he asked with a smile.

Lachlan nodded. “Very.”

He shook his head and looked at the ground. “Ye have no idea what they did to her,” he whispered before looking at the sky and blinking rapidly to clear his vision. “It’s a wonder she was alive when we found her.”

Lachlan shifted. “I had a suspicion. Cecilia told Hannah about the scars and cuts.”

“ ’Tis barbaric.” He slammed his fist into his palm. “If we encounter Blackwood, I will kill him, make no doubt about it, Lachlan. That is my vow.”

“Brice—”

“Ye will no’ talk me out of this. I will avenge her.”

“Think,
caraid dhomh
. I know ye’re angry now, but what ye’re saying—”

“I know well what I’m saying.” Brice glared at his longtime friend and the only man he’d have at his back.

“So ye’ll bring the wrath of the English down on yer head and jeopardize everyone’s life?”

Brice pressed his lips together and looked away. “The man needs to pay.”

“He will. But ye can’t go tearing off in a fury to kill him.”

“I didn’t say I would.”

Lachlan raised a brow in disbelief. “So ye have feelings for the lass?”

“Aye.” He had feelings. He loved her with all his heart, and it hurt so damn much to admit it, knowing they only had two weeks together.

Lachlan slapped him on his injured shoulder and smiled. “Felicitations, then.”

Brice grimaced. “She’s leaving.”

The smile slipped from Lachlan’s face and coldness entered his eyes. “Where to?”

“Not London, if that’s what ye’re thinking.” He paused. “Canada.”

Both of Lachlan’s brows rose. “Canada? What for?”

“Because that bastard Blackwood is searching for her, and he’s persistent. If I could kill him…” He waved away Lachlan’s protest. He knew he couldn’t outright kill the limey bastard. Too many lives were at stake. He just wished that for once things would go his way. But there was no way he could think of to keep Eleanor and continue with his clandestine activities. Not without risking one or the other.

“He must want her powerfully bad.”

“That’s what’s confusing,” Brice said thoughtfully. “Does a man really go to the lengths Blackwood has gone to in order to claim her?”

If Blackwood were to wed her, he would be well connected in London, and their marriage would probably open many doors for him, but Eleanor had to agree to wed him, and he certainly had not gone about that the right way. Imprisoning your intended would not endear her to you.

Brice could not help but think there was more to it. It had to do with Charles Hirst’s death, but for the life of him, he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Hannah sat Eleanor down in the great hall and ordered a servant to bring her something to eat. “Something warm and comforting,” Hannah instructed.

But Eleanor had no stomach for food. Telling Brice about Blackwood had made her sick with dread and loathing, and the thought of leaving him in two weeks made things even worse.

Hannah looked at Eleanor with a slight, knowing smile. “So ye and the Sutherland had to spend a long night together hiding out from the storm,” she said.

“Yes,” Eleanor said dully.

Hannah touched her hand, bringing Eleanor out of her thoughts. “I take it the night was not as ye expected?”

“Oh, no.” Eleanor flushed. Though she’d had plenty of acquaintances in London, she never would have been comfortable discussing such things with them. Even now she was uncomfortable with the twinkle in Hannah’s eyes. She looked around, but the hall was empty save for two of Brice’s men, clear on the other side and deep in conversation.

“It was nothing as I had expected, in that I didn’t know such a thing…I mean…I wasn’t aware it could be like that.” She looked away, mortified, but also pleased that she had someone she could talk to.

Hannah sat back. “It wasn’t that way with your husband, then, was it?”

“Definitely not.”

Hannah laughed. “Highland men can be a lusty lot. It’s quite…invigorating.”

Eleanor dipped her head and smiled, remembering what they had done together the night before. In the light of day it seemed so scandalous, and at the same time her body heated and yearned for more.

“So why the long face on both of ye when ye rode in?” Hannah asked.

Eleanor sighed. “Oh, Hannah. I love him so much.” She’d not been able to tell him that because she’d not wanted to burden him with her feelings when nothing could come of them. But it felt good to unburden herself to Hannah.

Hannah smiled wide. “That’s a good thing, is it no’?”

“No, it’s not. Nothing can come of it.”

“And why no’? Because ye’re English? Well, let me tell you, Eleanor, Brice’s wife was Scottish, and she caused him no small amount of problems. I’d rather ye be English and treat him right than Scottish and break his heart.”

“Yes, it’s because I’m English, but it’s not what you’re thinking. Oh, Hannah…” Suddenly it seemed too much. Eleanor put her head in her hands and let loose the tears that she’d been holding back since last night. She’d cried while telling Brice of her imprisonment, but those had been tears of fear and sadness. These were tears of grief for Brice and what they could never have.

Hannah rounded the table to sit next to Eleanor and put her arm around her. “It can’t be all that bad. Nothing is insurmountable.”

“This is,” she said behind her hands.

“Tell me, then.”

Eleanor lifted her head and sniffed. “I’ll not go into the details, but I can’t stay here and put all of you in danger.”

Hannah waved her hand in the air. “There’s nothing—”

“I know of the
Staran,
Hannah.”

Hannah’s mouth rounded in an O. “But that does no’ mean ye’ll be a danger to us just because yer English.”

“I’m wanted by the English soldiers. They’re searching for me even now. The one who came a few days ago? He was looking for
me
.”

Hannah blinked. “I see,” she said after a moment.

“And now you know why I can’t possibly stay here. I can’t put Brice and the rest of you in danger.”

Hannah pressed her lips together, and Eleanor could see in her friend’s eyes that she knew what Eleanor had said was the truth.

“I’m leaving on the next ship,” Eleanor said, the enormity of her predicament hitting her square in the stomach and making her want to double over with the pain of it.

Hannah gasped. “No. Ye canno’ do that.”

“What else am I to do?”

Hannah blinked and her eyes shone with tears. “Oh, Eleanor. I am so very sorry.”

Brice and Lachlan walked through the front door. Brice stopped to look at Eleanor, and every feeling of despair that she was feeling was reflected in his eyes.

Hannah slipped off the bench and went to her husband to kiss him on the cheek and wrinkle her nose. “Ye need a bath,” she said. “Come, husband, I’ll wash yer back.” She winked at him and Lachlan dutifully followed her out of the hall, watching her backside the entire way.

Brice sat down next to Eleanor and indicated the plate of uneaten food. “Are ye going to eat?”

She shook her head and pushed the plate toward him. He pushed it back toward her. “Ye canno’ go without food for the next two weeks.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eleanor—”

“We have two weeks, Brice. I don’t want to waste them by being sad.”

He looked deep into her eyes before nodding. “Very well. What would ye like to do with them, then?”

“You’ll not like it,” she said, inserting a teasing tone to her voice.

His blue eyes darkened in desire. “I’ll no’ know unless ye tell me.”

She swatted his arm and smiled. “It’s nothing like that.” Although her legs were a bit weak from the sultry look he’d just given her. She decided that maybe she would like spending part of their two weeks doing things like they’d done last night.

“What is it, then?” he asked with a smile that did nothing to quell the trembling in her thighs.

“I want to go on more night runs with you.”

The smile vanished immediately. “Absolutely no’.”

“But why? I went the other night and did fine.”

“Ye were a distraction.”

“I want to go, Brice. I want to help, and I promise not to be a distraction.”

“Ye can help by staying safely tucked away in the castle.”

“That’s not helping. That’s you keeping me out of the way.”

“Aye. It is.” He folded his arms and glared at her.

She glared back. “I’ll sneak out anyway.”

“No’ if I lock ye in yer rooms.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“You need help. I heard you tell Colin that.”

“Good Lord, Eleanor. What else did ye learn in yer eavesdropping?”

“That Colin is a smuggler.”

Brice looked around the hall, but the two men who had been on the other side were gone. They were alone. “Woman,” he growled, “ye are something, indeed.”

She smiled. “Is that a good something or a bad something?”

He leaned forward, and right before he kissed her, she glimpsed the flash of his smile.

“Damnation!” Henry Blackwood slammed his gloves down on his desk and rubbed his face.

The private in front of him winced and visibly trembled. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’ve seen nothing.”

“She can’t have just vanished. She has to be somewhere in this godforsaken country.”

“If I may, sir, it’s a big country, and there are wild animals. I don’t think she’s alive.”

Blackwood strode to the window and looked out. He should have killed her along with her husband. He shouldn’t have let it come to this. He’d become greedy, and that had been a mistake.

Killing Hirst had gotten him what he’d wanted, the promotion that he’d deserved. The promotion that Hirst had stolen from him. Eleanor would have been the icing on his cake. Being wed into one of the most powerful families in England would have opened doors for him that being a mere colonel under Cumberland wouldn’t have.

He rubbed his jaw. He should have killed her when she’d told him that she knew those treason charges were false. A grieving widow taking her own life wouldn’t have been questioned. Now he’d lost her, and his sources were telling him that her family was asking questions. The last thing he needed was the wrath of her father all the way from London. Hopewell was not a man to trifle with. Blackwood needed to find her before her family discovered what he had done.

He pressed his thumbs into his aching eyes. They’d thoroughly searched south of here and found nothing. They’d even ventured north, into Sutherland land, and discovered nothing.

Eleanor was a fine lady. She’d not grown up in the rough Highland country. She wouldn’t have lasted long after her escape. That meant someone had found her and was helping her. Who? Who would dare hide an English lady, knowing it would mean sure death if she were found?

“Keep looking,” he said to the private standing behind him. “And you better damn well find her.”

He could hear the private gulp. “Yes, sir.”

Brice adjusted Eleanor’s cap and tucked a lock of hair underneath it.

She looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you for allowing me to go with you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ye gave me no choice.”

She grinned and leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lips. “I promise I’ll follow all of your rules.” And there had been quite a lot of them. Do this, don’t do that. She would obey because she knew he was worried about her, and it wasn’t her intention to distract anyone. She wanted to help.

She found that she felt a connection to the refugees being driven from their homes and hoping to find a new start to their devastated lives. After all, she was one of them, although she’d been luckier than most in finding Brice.

He’d told her that the refugees needed to be moved periodically. The English were constantly riding through the country, looking for escaping Jacobites. They were known to stop at various homes to “search” or to demand food and shelter. Moving the refugees and rotating the use of the safe houses offered reprieve to the families hiding the refugees.

Brice stepped back and looked Eleanor up and down critically. His perusal changed as his gaze roamed over her legs, encased in the breeches. His eyes darkened to sapphires and his lips pressed together. He stepped forward, his breathing uneven. Eleanor tipped her head to look up at him. “Those breeches do something to me,” he whispered harshly.

“They do? And what do they do to you?” She grinned, knowing full well what they did to him.

He took her hand and drew it toward his full erection, molding her fingers around it. “I can’t seem to get enough of ye,” he said against her lips before taking them with his own.

Eleanor was wet and ready for him almost immediately. She’d never thought it could be like this with a man. Her body was always aware of him, always ready for him, and Brice seemed to have the same reaction to her. She pressed her body against his, massaging the full length of him with her palm.

He groaned and gasped, and before she knew what he was about, his fingers were fumbling with the fall of her breeches.

“We’ll be late,” she said, pulling back a bit to lift his kilt. She rather liked that he wore nothing beneath it. It made it easier for her.

“They’ll wait.” He came back for another kiss, finally managing to get her breeches undone. He pushed them down her hips as he stepped forward, forcing her to step backward until her back hit the wall. Her breeches were around her ankles.

“This is quite the switch,” she said between kisses. “Usually it’s the woman who lifts the skirts and the man who drops the breeches.”

“ ’Tis not a skirt,” he said, sounding offended, but then he pushed his finger up inside her and she lost all thought. Her back arched to accept him as she cried out. He rubbed her nub with his thumb.

“Ye’re more than ready,” he growled as he lifted her up.

She stepped out of her breeches and wrapped her legs around him and he guided his penis into her. She’d never considered that they could do it against the wall and vaguely wondered what other possible positions there were. The thought made the liquid between her legs gush out, and Brice groaned into her neck as he began pumping into her.

He held her with one arm as his other hand found that secret spot between her legs and rubbed. It didn’t take long. By now she well knew the familiar sensation of coming undone. This one was approaching quickly and out of her control. As if she ever was in control with him.

Brice pumped faster and lunged forward hard, burying himself as his warm liquid squirted inside her. Eleanor clenched down on him as a keening cry erupted from her, and her world went black for one glorious moment.

She was pressed against the wall and Brice’s chest, and she was breathing deep, struggling to catch her breath. Her cap had been knocked off her head and her hair was in her eyes. Brice, still buried inside her, rested his forehead against her shoulder and struggled to breathe as well.

Someone pounded on the door, making Eleanor jump.

“Hurry, Brice,” Lachlan yelled. “We’re running late.”

Brice lifted his head and slid out of her as Eleanor lowered her feet to the ground. “Aye,” he called back. “I’m coming.”

His kilt fell over him as he stepped away, and for a moment Eleanor envied him the ease with which he recovered. She, on the other hand, was a sticky mess.

Brice wet a towel from the pitcher and bowl and handed it to her. “I’ll go down and get the men organized while you clean up. But hurry.” He gave her a pointed look. He was just about to open the door but paused, turned around, and strode back to her. He kissed her on her astonished lips and smiled down at her. “Please, hurry,
mo ghràdh
.”

She smiled up at him, loving him more and more every moment they were together, which just made their impending parting—now a sennight away—even more difficult to bear. “Go to your men. I’ll be down shortly.”

He nodded and left while Eleanor cleaned his seed from between her legs. Not for the first time, she wondered if she were with his child. It was far too soon to tell, but they had come together many times in the week since the night in the hut. She and Charles had been married ten months, and she had not conceived in that time. But then Charles came to her only once a week, not once a night.

What if she were with child? What would she do all alone in Canada, a mother with a babe? The thought was frightening. Far more frightening than just her alone in Canada. She had no idea how she was going to support herself. She supposed that eventually she could write to her family and ask for money, but until then, what?

But the thought of becoming big and round with Brice’s son or daughter sent chills up her spine. She would take something with her, something tangible, to remind her of Brice.

And yet how unfair was it that she would take Brice’s child from him?

Gah. What a mess she’d made of everything. And she wasn’t positive she was with child. She could very well not be, which would probably be the best for everyone involved.

She picked up her cap and set it on her head, tucking her hair underneath it. There were far more serious things to worry about right now. There was no need to be borrowing trouble.

When she entered the bailey, Brice had the men organized and waiting. He helped Eleanor onto her mount and grabbed her ankle to look up at her. “Ye stay close to me. Don’t go wandering away. Do what I say at all times.”

“I will,” she promised, as she’d promised at least a dozen times. She knew he was worried for her and for his men and for the people they were transporting. She would show him that she could do this.

They rode for a few hours. Eleanor still wasn’t used to riding astride for so long. Although Brice had shown her how to ride so her bum didn’t hurt as badly, her thighs and back still hurt, and she was a bit tender between the legs, where Brice’s seed lingered.

Brice called a halt a few hours later. As instructed, they all melted into the shadows and waited for Brice and another of his men to collect the family of refugees. This time it was a mother, a father, and a young son who looked terrified. The mother was round with child, and Eleanor’s heart twisted. Anger burned through her at Cumberland and his army of brutes, who thought nothing of rounding these people up and arresting them, of taking their homes from them and confiscating the land they’d lived on for centuries.

She was beginning to despise her fellow countrymen. Even if she could go back to England, she didn’t know how she would be able to live among them without screaming out the atrocities they were perpetrating against the Scottish.

The people she had once called friends probably knew nothing of this and wouldn’t care if she told them. To them, Scotland was a heathen land, a place that existed far outside their realm of understanding or compassion.

Her hands tightened on the reins, and her horse blew out a breath. The family was divided among the men, who carried an added person on their mount. Eleanor was given no one, but she kept her eye on the woman. Her face was pale and pinched, as if she were in pain, and she kept rubbing her extended belly.

Brice took the lead and they all filed behind him. Though Eleanor got separated from Brice, she was in the middle of the lineup and wasn’t too concerned.

They had been riding only a few minutes when Eleanor heard an owl hoot. Immediately Brice held up his fist and the entire line stopped. Silently the men pulled their broadswords from the scabbards, their bodies tense. An air of expectation and anticipation surrounded them.

Eleanor strained to hear something. The owl hoot had been their scout, one of Brice’s best men, who was riding ahead of them looking for English patrols. Apparently he had found one.

Brice made a slashing motion with his hand, the sign that they were to scatter. With near-silent curses, the men edged their mounts into the trees and disappeared. Eleanor did the same, looking over her shoulder at Brice, who was still sitting on Galad in the middle of the road.