Page 26 of Sutherland's Secret
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.
Chapter 12
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. “Damnijits. 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?”
