Page 44 of Sutherland's Secret
“And why is that?”
He’d told her he would have her story, and she’d held off on telling him, but he needed to know. It was only right that he knew whom he was harboring and why.
“Come here, Eleanor.” She noticed that he’d stopped calling her Ella, and she felt the loss of her nickname.
He patted a spot on the bed beside him. She sat next to him, facing him, and curled her fingers in her lap. Brice took her hands and unfolded her fingers to hold them in his. “Tell me why ye are no’ a lady any longer.”
She drew in a deep breath. “I can’t return to London, not with Blackwood looking for me.”
“Surely he can’t search for ye there if ye are here.”
“He won’t be searching for me, but he’ll have people watching my parents’ house, waiting for me.”
“And why does he want ye, lass?”
Eleanor looked down on their joined hands but didn’t see them. Instead she saw her husband, Charles. She pictured what he’d looked like the last time she saw him, and tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away because she knew she wouldn’t be able to tell her story if she allowed the tears to come.
“My husband was Charles Hirst, the Earl of Glendale. He’d served in the English army. Cumberland asked him to go to Scotland to be his colonel in the Third Footguard. It was a great thrill for Charles. And for me. I was excited to follow him to Scotland. I’d heard great things about Edinburgh.”
She blinked, remembering the excitement, the thrill, of moving their household to Edinburgh. The pride she’d felt that her husband had accomplished something so wonderful.
Brice was rubbing the top of her hand with his thumbs, watching her with serious eyes that were almost navy in the light of the candles and the fire.
“I apologize. I know your feelings about the English soldiers.”
“Aye,” he said softly. “But I want to hear yer story, so I will endeavor to keep my thoughts to myself.”
She smiled and looked down at their hands. For some reason it was easier to tell her story if she wasn’t looking at him.
“First I think it’s important to tell you about myself, because that plays into this dreadful tale. I am the only daughter of the Marquis of Hopewell. I have one brother who is quite a bit older than I am. We were close but not that close. I was spoiled. Anything I asked for, I received. I never knew hunger or discomfort. I was the apple of my father’s eye, and even my mother found herself hard-pressed to deny me anything.”
“Ach, lass—”
“No. When I came up here to tell you my story, I promised myself I would tell you the truth, and that’s the truth. I’m not proud of what I was. I’m a bit embarrassed by it. I never really thought about anyone but myself.”
“That’s no’ how ye are now.”
“Thank goodness.”
“I can’t help but wonder what made ye change.”
“Scotland. Fort Augustus. Blackwood.”
“Ye were at Fort Augustus?” he asked in surprise.
Eleanor blew out a breath. “Oh, yes. I was at Fort Augustus.” Fort Augustus was the headquarters of Cumberland. And the prison of Cumberland. “A few weeks after all of the officers arrived in Edinburgh, Lady Dinsmore hosted a ball in our honor. I was excited. It was just like London. Charles was excited as well. He hoped that Cumberland would be there, because he wanted to introduce me to the duke.”
“And did ye meet the Butcher?”
Eleanor grinned up at him, well aware of the Scots nickname for the Duke of Cumberland. “I thought you were going to keep your thoughts to yourself.”
“I said I would endeavor to, but when ye speak of the Butcher, I canno’ help myself.”
“I don’t blame you. I agree with you. The man is horrible, and what he’s done to the Scots is atrocious.”
“Enough of that. Tell me about this ball ye were excited to attend.”
“Charles and I attended, and it was everything I had hoped it would be. The men looked so fine in their dress uniforms, so dashing.”
