Page 14 of Sutherland's Secret
She looked up at him with fierce determination and opened her mouth. He could see the effort she was making to force a word out. He leaned forward, silently urging her on, straining toward her as if he could lend her his strength to utter just one word. Just her name.
But nothing came out. Her shoulders slumped, and the determination was replaced with despair.
Brice released one of her wrists and touched her shoulder. “Work on that while I’m gone, lass. Mayhap when I return, ye can tell me yer name.”
Without thought, he drew her toward him. She looked up at him and came willingly, stepping close until there was barely a breath between them. He leaned forward, his entire being focused on her pink lips.
“Brice!” Lachlan pounded on the door, startling Brice enough that he pulled up and placed a swift kiss on her forehead, then fled the room before he did anything else stupid.
—
Brice and Lachlan led the people through the dark forest. There were only three this time. A mother, a father, and their young son. Brice had been worried about the son, but he’d been assured the lad knew what to do.
’Twas a tricky business they were in. Tricky and deadly and no room for error. Error would cost them all their lives, and the consequences would trickle down to his people.
Silently they walked. Daylight was just a few hours away. If they continued at the same pace, they would reach their destination in time. But Brice didn’t trust the woman to keep this grueling pace.
He and his men had been transporting wanted Jacobites through Scotland and onto his waiting ships for months now. It started with Cait Campbell—yes, a Campbell. About the only Campbell whom Brice was able to tolerate.
Her home sat on the border of Campbell and Sutherland land, but she was a Campbell by marriage. And a healer. She’d sent a message to Brice shortly after the Jacobite defeat at Culloden, and he’d gone per her request. To his shock, he found her cellar full of wounded Jacobites. Hiding them had put her in danger, but she’d refused to turn them away.
The countryside had been overrun with English soldiers who had been ordered to kill any Jacobite they could find, using only swords, dirks, or bayonets. Even thinking about it put Brice in a foul humor. Animals. All of the English were animals with a severe lack of humanity. It was well known that anyone who aided a Jacobite was tortured, their property taken from them, and their wives beaten—and sometimes worse.
But Brice had not hesitated. He’d not fought at Culloden, but that didn’t mean he sided with the English. If he had to choose, he would choose for Scotland and its people, and that was what he did that fateful day in Cait’s cellar. He’d taken the wounded soldiers and, over a fortnight, hidden them here and there, moving them only at night, until they reached his ships at Dornach, where he saw them off to Canada and the growing community of displaced Scots making a home there. By then more had come to Cait for healing, and theStaran—the trail—had been born.
Brice had too many other responsibilities to accompany his men on these missions every night, but he offered his assistance as often as he could. He accepted their help only after he was certain they were well aware of the risks. Every one of his warriors offered their assistance. It warmed Brice’s heart that they were so generous.
The woman tripped and fell with a soft cry. Brice and the rest of the party froze, waiting and listening, as the woman’s husband rushed to help her stand.
Brice made just as certain that the refugees knew the risks. Even though they all said they could handle the rough terrain and the grueling trip, Brice knew they spoke out of desperation. He knew that some would not have the fortitude, and some would not survive.
He slowly let out the breath he’d been holding. The man helped his wife up and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks. They would have a better life in Canada. One where they were not hunted or in fear of torture, rape, and death. And that was what drove Brice to risk everything.
The woman straightened her shoulders, looked at Brice, and nodded with determination. He motioned for everyone to continue.
They reached the next safe house within minutes of the sun rising. The little family was safely hidden in the farmer’s barn, fast asleep, by the time Brice and his men left.
He had two ships transporting the Jacobites. One landed on the shores of Dornach every two weeks. Brice always breathed a sigh of relief when a ship disembarked, but the relief never lasted long, for there was a never-ending line of terrified Scotsmen waiting to flee their homeland.
“So what will ye do with her?” Lachlan asked later that morning. They were still a few hours from Castle Dornach, a warm, soft bed, and much-needed sleep.
Brice didn’t have to ask whom Lachlan was speaking of. His second in command, who was more like a brother, had not wasted words when telling Brice what he thought of the woman living in the lady’s chamber.
“I do no’ know.” He’d tried not to think of the woman while he’d been gone, but images of her had interrupted his concentration more than a few times. Just snippets. The curl of her hair on his arm, the sweep of her lashes on her cheek. The slight smile she’d bestowed upon him the day he’d left. The panic in her eyes when she realized he was leaving her. They were frustrating and unwanted, these thoughts. And yet he couldn’t stop them.
“Have ye discovered more about her?” Lachlan asked.
“Nay. She canno’ speak.”
Lachlan snorted. “Canno’ or will no’?”
Brice recalled how she’d strained to speak, how hard she’d worked to get one word out. “Canno’.”
“Ye certain about that?”
Brice sighed. “What will ye have me do with her, Lachlan? Put her back on the road for someone else to find? How do ye think that will turn out?”
“ ’Tis dangerous to all of us to keep her.”
