Sutherland's Secret (7 page)

He smiled. “I hope that is not the only word ye know.”

Her lips twitched in a smile and she shook her head. She removed her hand from his and touched her throat. “Hurts.”

“I can well imagine it does.”

“My fault. Blackwood.” Her lips trembled, and despite the circumstances, he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. She was so slight, her bones poking into him. But she was also warm, and her body fit to his so perfectly. She sighed and rested her head on his chest. He placed his cheek on the top of her head and closed his eyes.

He had an English officer in his great hall, looking for the English lady in his arms. Brice’s situation couldn’t get any more dire, but he found that at the moment all he cared about was holding this woman in his arms.

Brice watched Blackwood sip his Scotch.

His body was still warm from the feel of Eleanor in his arms. It was something he would never forget. He’d instructed her to keep the door barred and to open it only to him.

He’d also instructed Hannah to take all of the female servants out of the great hall. Blackwood and his men were being served by Brice’s youngest warriors, who were none too happy to be serving English soldiers.

“Sutherland.” Blackwood leaned back in his chair and observed him with those glittering eyes. “I don’t recall that you fought at Culloden. On either side.”

“I didn’t raise arms against the English, if that’s what ye’re asking.” He’d not joined the Jacobite cause, nor the English cause, but he’d not forbidden his men to raise arms in either. A few had fought at Culloden for the Scots. A quick look at his men who still ringed the room confirmed that at least three of them were here. He’d also lost a few warriors in the battle. Their absence was felt keenly, but Brice was not about to mention any of this.

“I thank you for your hospitality,” Blackwood said. “We’ll stay tonight and will most probably leave tomorrow to continue our search.”

Brice didn’t want these men under his roof one more moment, but there wasn’t much he could say, so he nodded.

Blackwood’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll stay in the area for a time.”

Is that a threat or a warning?

“Sutherland land is a fair bit far north for a lass to be finding herself wandering,” Brice said.

Blackwood’s lips thinned. His fingers drummed on the scarred wood of the table. “She lost her escort.”

Brice took a sip of his Scotch and studied the man, who was clearly agitated. “I assume you had the man flogged for his lack of attention.”

“Indeed.”

“If someone I loved was missing due to another’s negligence, I would be tempted to throw him in the dungeon.”

“Rest assured that he will not see the light of day for a long while.”

And did ye manacle him as well?
Brice bit his tongue to keep from asking. The longer he spoke to Blackwood, the less he liked him. He just wanted the man gone from his home and away from Eleanor.

He could only imagine what she was doing in her chamber. Probably hiding in the corner with her dagger. She would not sleep tonight, that was for sure. Not with these men under his roof.

Not for the first time, he wondered what Blackwood had done to her. How had she come to cross paths with such a wretched man? She had a story to tell, and he would hear it. Soon.

Eleanor couldn’t stand one more minute in her room, hiding like a coward. Against Sutherland’s wishes, she crept out of her room and headed for the kitchen via the back servants’ stairs. Sutherland would have her head if he discovered what she was doing, but she had to know what was happening, because her imagination was conjuring all manner of horrid things—from Blackwood’s men stabbing Sutherland’s men in their sleep to Blackwood torturing Sutherland. She shivered at the image of Sutherland’s strong warrior’s body hanging from his manacled wrists as Blackwood put the whip to him. Not many could withstand the whipping for long. She knew because she’d witnessed it numerous times.

She entered the kitchen to find the cook muttering about the “damn English.” He looked up at her and scowled. “What’re ye doing here? Did ye no’ go with Hannah and the rest of the lasses?” He waved her away with a hand clutching a spoon. “Off with ye, now. Those English see ye, and ye’ll regret it.”

Eleanor froze. Did he know her predicament? Did he know that Blackwell was here searching for her? No. He couldn’t possibly. He’d mentioned Hannah and the others. A quick look around confirmed that there were no serving girls here, only boys and the younger warriors entering and exiting with food and ale. So Sutherland had instructed the women to disappear. That was smart. The English thought little of the Scottish, especially the women, and considered them theirs for the taking. She shuddered at the thought and took the stairs to the great hall, where she peeked through the doorway. She almost wished she hadn’t been so bold as to come down here, for all of her fears were realized, and they were sitting in front of Brice Sutherland.

Blackwood was impeccably dressed in his red coat with blue facings and his buff-colored waistcoat and breeches. She’d never seen him dressed otherwise and never less than perfectly. His thinning hair was brushed straight back from his forehead. He was a handsome man. Or at least she had thought so when they first met. But she had soon learned the evil that lurked inside him, and his good looks had soured for her. Now she thought his eyes were a little too close to his nose. She remembered that they were dark, nearly black. Reminding her of the rats that scurried through her cell.

He was sipping from a glass, as was Sutherland, and they were conversing. Blackwood seemed at ease, resting rather loosely in the chair. Sutherland appeared to be at ease, but Eleanor could see the tense line of his shoulders and his alert gaze, which swept the room every few moments.

But it was Blackwood who Eleanor watched with a thudding heart. She’d sworn to herself that she would never be taken by him again, and she swore now that she would hold true to that promise. She would jump into the churning sea that backed up against Castle Dornach before she would allow Blackwood to touch her again.

Her hatred boiled like thick sludge through her veins. This man who sat so arrogantly in Sutherland’s great hall, as if it were his due, had torn her life apart and irrevocably changed her. Before meeting him, Eleanor had lived a cosseted life, well loved and well protected by first her father and then her husband.

Traveling to Scotland with Charles had been an exciting adventure. She’d never thought overly much about why they were going, other than there was to be a battle. In her heart she knew that with Charles, she would be perfectly safe. Oh, how naive she had been.

And oh, how wrong she had been. He had not been perfectly safe. It had not been the battle that had killed him. He’d never even gotten that far. It had been Eleanor who had killed him.

Sutherland’s gaze raked the room again and came to a stop on her. Eleanor ducked out of the doorway and pressed her back against the wall.

Oh, no.

She pushed away from the wall and half walked, half ran through the kitchen to the servants’ stairs. She was brought up short when her arm was grabbed from behind and she was swung around to confront the angry blue eyes of Sutherland.

“Do ye
want
him to see ye?” he growled.

She shook her head. They were standing so close that she had to tilt her head back to see him, then wished she hadn’t. He was furious. She was certain she’d never seen him this angry before.

He leaned close to her, crowding her. His eyes were flat, his teeth clenched. “What were ye thinking?”

She pointed to her eyes and then toward the great hall.

Sutherland’s eyes widened. “Ye wanted to
see
him? Are ye daft?”

She pressed her lips together. He didn’t understand.

He backed away a step and considered her thoughtfully. “Are ye happy now that ye saw him?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. No, she wasn’t happy at all that she’d seen Blackwood. Terrified, yes. Angry, yes. But not happy.

“Ye need to stay where I put ye, lass,” Brice said softly. “ ’Tis for yer own safety. I do no’ know where his men will be. If they see ye, there’s no’ much I can do to protect ye. If what Blackwood says is right, then he has every right to ye.”

She yanked her arm away, both angry and chagrined that she’d put him in this position. “Not betrothed,” she said, her voice rasping harshly against her throat.

He looked around the kitchen. Cook was watching them closely, his spoon dripping all over the floor. The two young servants were standing side by side, their eyes wide, and the young men he’d instructed to serve were frozen in place as if they didn’t want to catch his attention.

Sutherland took her elbow and moved them out of earshot. “So ye say. But he says otherwise,” he whispered.

“Not.” She slammed her fist into her palm to emphasize her point. Blackwood could say all he wanted, but that didn’t mean it was true.

Sutherland’s expression softened. “I believe ye. But, Ele— Lass, it does no’ matter what ye say. He can twist anything to his advantage.”

She well knew that. Oh, how well she knew that. She’d been stupid to come down here, but she’d had to see for herself.

“James,” Sutherland barked over his shoulder. “Take her to her chambers.”

Eleanor clutched the sleeve of his shirt. “You come,” she said.

Sutherland’s brows went up. “As much as I would love to come to yer chamber with ye, I canno’.” He grimaced. “I must entertain our guest.”

She tightened her hold on his sleeve when James appeared to escort her to her chambers. “Bad,” she whispered. Her throat was raw from all the talking she’d done. Never could she have imagined that pushing so few words out of her throat would hurt so much.

“Oh, I know he’s bad,” Sutherland said bitterly. He gently pushed her toward James. “Go. Do no’ make me worry about ye the rest of this night.”

Eleanor went meekly with James, not wanting to cause any more trouble than she already had. Her curiosity had been assuaged. She’d seen Blackwood. He was looking for her. Sutherland had said so. And now she knew the truth. She would never be free of the man, no matter where she lived, be it Scotland or England.

That meant she had to go somewhere else. Somewhere far outside Blackwood’s considerable reach. If she didn’t, then Sutherland would suffer the same fate her Charles had, and she refused to have another good man’s death on her hands.

Blackwood left the next morning. Brice was never happier to see anyone leave. He stood in the bailey and breathed a sigh of relief when the last redcoat rode under the portcullis.

Of course, he wasn’t entirely free of the man. He’d warned Brice that he would be searching the countryside for his woman—for Eleanor. Brice shook his head at the foolish game he was playing. Foolish and deadly game. What was he thinking, harboring an English lady wanted by a very dangerous and powerful English officer?

He’d turned away from the portcullis to head inside and release Eleanor from her chambers when he glimpsed MacLean walking toward him from the stables.

“I came to tell ye that the limey bastard English were seen on yer land, but I see ye already know that,” MacLean said, coming to a stop before Brice. “What the hell did they want?”

“A place to stay for the night,” Brice said.

MacLean shook his head. “Damn
ijits
. Don’t have enough to occupy their time in England, they have to come here and cause us grief.”

MacLean didn’t even know the half of it.

They headed back to the front doors of the castle and Brice debated what, if anything, he should tell MacLean about his guest. He should keep Eleanor’s presence here as much of a secret as possible. Though most of his people knew about her, he trusted them. Anything they could do to thwart the English made them happy. But when too many people knew a thing, it started to become less of a secret. On the other hand, he really wanted to allow Eleanor out of her rooms. It wasn’t right that she was being forced to remain there.

The choice was taken out of his hands when she met them at the front door, looking over Brice’s shoulder toward the portcullis.

“Damnation, woman, can ye not stay where I put ye?” he grumbled.

She smiled, and it damn near made him stumble back down the steps.

“He’s gone,” he said, even though she already knew that.

She rose up on her toes and gave him a swift kiss on his cheek, then bounced back down, her smile widening. Flustered, he lost all train of thought. The sun shone on her blond hair, picking out pieces of red and yellow. She’d fastened it so that it was gathered on top of her head. Long tendrils trailed down the sides of her face and the back of her neck, curling slightly at the ends. Her dark blue eyes sparkled in a way he’d not seen before. For the first time since he’d rescued her from the side of the road, she appeared happy, and he was inordinately pleased that he was the one who’d made her happy.

“Pardon my intrusion,” MacLean said, stepping up to Eleanor. “But it appears our host has failed to introduce us. Colin MacLean, of clan MacLean.”

Eleanor smiled at MacLean, then turned to Brice expectantly, waiting for an introduction. He noticed that she didn’t speak to other people, only him. He wondered if it was because she didn’t want them to hear her raspy voice or her English accent.

“Colin MacLean, may I introduce Eleanor.” He deliberately left off her title.

MacLean shot him a confused look, expecting the rest—a clan name or surname, at the very least—but Brice couldn’t supply one.

“Eleanor,” MacLean said, exaggerating the roll of the L. “ ’Tis a pleasure to meet you, Eleanor. Are you from one of the neighboring clans?”

“We are not entirely certain where Eleanor is from,” Brice said into the awkward silence. “She doesn’t speak.”

“Doesn’t speak?” Colin looked at her a little more closely. “How very interesting. How do you know her name is Eleanor, then?”

Eleanor raised a brow and turned her attention to Brice, apparently awaiting his answer.

“She wrote it down for me.”

“Even more interesting, seeing as how few women know how to write.”

“Cait Campbell knows how to write,” Brice said defensively.

“I said few women, not all women.” Colin studied Eleanor. “And I suppose she did not write down her family name or clan?”

Brice sucked in a breath from between clenched teeth. Damnation, but MacLean could be a pain in his backside at times. “No.”

Both Eleanor and Colin raised their brows at him, but he was damned if he would say more. It was none of MacLean’s business.

Brice pushed past them and entered the great hall. The serving girls were back, preparing the tables for the afternoon meal. As good as it was to have the English out of his home, he felt like the entire hall needed a good washing.

Eleanor and Colin entered behind him; she drifted away, while Colin continued to watch her. “Interesting,” he said.

“Ye’ve said that already.”

“Because I find it interesting.”

Brice put his hands on his hips and faced his best friend. They’d fostered together many years ago and had formed a tight bond that had only strengthened in the intervening years but that didn’t mean that MacLean didn’t aggravate Brice from time to time. “And what do ye find so interesting, might I ask?”

“She doesn’t speak. Ye have to admit that’s interesting. She told ye her Christian name but not her family name. Seems to me she’s hiding something. Are ye certain she’s Scottish?”

Brice pulled in a breath. “And why would ye ask that?”

Colin looked toward where Eleanor had ascended the steps, a thoughtful look on his face. “I was out riding, per Graham’s instructions,” he began. “And heard that a large contingent of English officers was in the area and on Sutherland land. I also heard that the officer, a Colonel Blackwood, was looking for an English lady who had wandered away from her party and become lost.” Colin turned his thoughtful look to Brice. “Like I said, interesting.”

“Follow me,” Brice said.

Colin followed him to his solar. Brice closed the door and motioned for Colin to sit in the chair in front of his desk.

Colin made himself comfortable while Brice perched on the edge of his desk. They sat like that in silence for a long time, Colin looking at him expectantly and Brice contemplating what to tell his friend. It wasn’t that he was bad or irresponsible. Well, maybe a wee bit irresponsible. But Colin was also a quick thinker, and it shouldn’t have surprised Brice that he had put the pieces of the puzzle together. Colin could be useful to him at some point.

“Ye are correct. Blackwood is looking for her.”

Colin whistled low. “That’s a dangerous game ye’re playing,
bràthair.
”

“I’m aware.”

Colin eyed him speculatively. “She must be powerfully special if ye’re willing to risk everything for her.”

He put a slight emphasis on the word “everything,” and it made Brice wince. So much was at stake. So many lives that she couldn’t even begin to be aware of. More and more people were asking for his help. He was becoming overwhelmed. He didn’t have enough ships to help everyone, and it tore him up. It also angered him that it had come to this—his people fleeing their own homes in order to save their lives and the lives of their loved ones.

“Her name is Lady Eleanor Hirst, the Countess of Glendale.”

Colin was silent for a long moment, apparently unable to speak. Brice supposed there was a first time for anything.

“Damnation, Brice. When you finally find a woman, ye don’t hold back.”

“I haven’t found a woman,” he snapped. Of course Colin’s thoughts would go in that direction. What a ludicrous idea. He wasn’t the least interested…

He couldn’t even finish that thought, noting it for the lie it was. He was interested. Very interested. Far more interested than was safe or appropriate. He thought about holding her in his arms the night before, while the English soldiers were carousing below them. It had been a powerful feeling and a frightening one all at the same time.

No one had attracted his interest since Alisa. Occasionally he thought that he would have to choose another wife so he could produce an heir to pass all of this mess on to. But on the heels of that was the thought that he didn’t really want to pass it on. It wasn’t an honor. It was a stone that sat upon his shoulders, weighing him down, the stress of everything keeping him awake at night. He was responsible for so much—the
Staran
and all of the fugitives, those who gave the fugitives shelter at their own peril, the people who willingly harbored his secrets. He’d already lost his younger brother to this damnable covert operation, and there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t feel guilty for it.

Colin waved a hand in front of his face. “Where did ye go off to?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Brice blinked his thoughts back to the present.

“Ye were saying that this Lady Eleanor is no’ yer woman,” Colin said.

“She’s not. I found her on the side of the road, unconscious and near death. She was supposed to die.”

Colin’s eyes widened. “What?”

Brice waved his hand in the air. “She was so near death that I would have bet money that she would no’ make it to the next sunrise, but she surprised me and rallied.” He spread his hands wide. “What was I supposed to do, leave her on the side of the road? She’d been misused, bruises covering her body. She has scars on her wrists.” He wrapped his fingers around his opposite wrist and looked at Colin meaningfully.

“Are ye saying that this bastard Blackwood abused her?”

“I think so.”

“But she’s English.”

“I do no’ have her whole story. Up until yesterday she did no’ speak at all. Now she says a few words.” His voice dropped, and he voiced what he’d dared not before. “I think she was so misused that she lost her ability to speak.”

The room fell silent as both men contemplated that. Colin appeared furious, but it was nothing to Brice’s own fury, coupled with a sick sensation that churned in his stomach.

“What will ye do with her?” Colin asked softly.

“I know not.”

Eleanor stared at Sutherland in shock. He couldn’t possibly be thinking of doing what he’d just said. She looked at his friend, Colin MacLean, but MacLean was just as serious as Sutherland.

“No.”

Sutherland took her hands in his and rubbed them. They were so cold, but the chill had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the fools standing before her.

“He’s…out…there.” She pushed the words from her throat, hating the sound of her ugly voice. She used to have a melodic voice and had been able to carry a passable tune.

“And that’s why we need to ride tonight,” Sutherland was saying. “There are…things I must protect against the English. Property and such.”

She understood. They might not think that she did because she was English, but she knew far more than they would ever realize. She had not seen the atrocities, but she’d heard the stories straight from the soldiers’ mouths, and they had been disgusting. She didn’t blame Sutherland for wanting to protect his people, especially with English soldiers on his land.

He chafed her wrists where her scars protruded. Something else that was ugly on her. They reminded her of where she had come from, but they also reminded her that she could never go back.

“Stay in yer chambers, Eleanor. Ye’ll be safe here. Angus will put a guard on yer door. Call him if ye need anything.”

Surely she could not call Sutherland to hold her in the middle of the night when the nightmares got to be too much. She pushed that selfish thought away. He could not be at her beck and call at all hours of the day. He was a busy clan chief with much responsibility. She was just another of those responsibilities, and an unwanted one at that.

She looked at MacLean, who was watching their exchange closely, and wondered how much he knew about her. Did he know that the soldiers they were guarding their people against were looking for her?

MacLean winked at her. It was all she could do not to smile back. The rogue. Sutherland cleared his throat and shot MacLean a pointed look.

MacLean pointed to her door. “I’ll just be right outside. Whenever ye’re ready.” He backed to the door, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Take yer time. No rush.”

“Out!” Sutherland bellowed, making Eleanor jump and MacLean laugh.

When they were alone, Sutherland looked down on her, his blue eyes soft. She stepped closer and raised her head at the same time he lowered his. Their lips touched.

She’d kissed him before. Twice. But those had been kisses of gratitude. This was something altogether different. His lips were warm and soft, and they moved over hers gently, as if he didn’t want to frighten her.

She rose up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down so she could deepen the kiss. With a groan, he placed his hands on her hips and drew her closer. He was so tender that it brought tears to her eyes. She hadn’t experienced gentleness in so long that she almost forgot what it felt like.

Slowly he pulled away to frown down on her. “Ye’re crying.”

She shook her head and laughed softly. “Good tears.”

Cupping her face between his large palms, he wiped the tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “When I come back, I will have yer story, Eleanor Hirst, Countess of Glendale.”

She looked up into his eyes. There was no anger there, only questions. Many questions that she would answer because she owed him those answers. And she would speak those answers if it killed her.

He pressed another soft, albeit swift, kiss on her lips and left.