Page 45 of Sutherland's Secret
Brice made a noise in his throat, and Eleanor shot him a look from under her lids. “I’m endeavoring, lass.”
“That was the first time I’d met Blackwood. He was just as handsome and endearing as the other officers. I didn’t think much about our dance. We talked. I flirted because that was what I always did at balls. No one ever took me seriously.”
“But Blackwood did.”
“Yes. I didn’t realize it at the time. We’d come across each other occasionally. He was always polite and respectful. Easy to talk to. I liked him. Not in the wrong way. He was nice, and he didn’t have a wife, and I felt that he was lonely. Maybe I spent a little more time conversing with him than I should have. I don’t know.”
“He took yer attentions the wrong way.”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“Of course ye didn’t. Ye were just being yer kind self.”
“I was being my naive self.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
She lifted her head to look at him. “There’s everything wrong with that when it costs your husband his life.”
Chapter 18
It took everything Brice had to sit still and let Eleanor tell her story. The pain in her eyes just about killed him.
“What did the bastard do to yer husband?” He forced the question out.
She drew in a shaking breath, and as she’d done throughout the telling of the tale, she looked at their hands held tightly together. “He accused Charles of treason. He had papers…” A sob escaped her and Brice tightened his hold. There were no tears, but the memories were tearing her apart. He wanted to tell her to stop, but he knew he needed to hear this, and she needed to tell it. She’d probably not told anyone, and it was slowly eating her up.
She breathed deeply and seemed to collect herself. “He had papers proving his lies. I don’t know where he got them, and I was never allowed to read them. They came…”
He waited silently for her to continue, giving her the time she needed. In the meantime he held on to his anger. He despised Blackwood and was glad that he had not known this story when the man was sleeping under his roof. He wasn’t certain what he would have done if he had known.
“They came for Charles in the middle of the night. They dragged him out of bed and tied his hands behind him. He looked so confused. I was yelling, trying to ask them what they were doing. These were men I had danced with at the ball, and suddenly they were in our home, arresting my husband.
“I found out the next day that he was accused of feeding information to a Jacobite who had family connections to the Hirst family. I tried to tell them that there were no family connections. Charles wasn’t related to anyone from Scotland. He was as English as one could get. But they didn’t listen to me.”
She swallowed and blinked. Brice knew she wasn’t in the room with him; she was reliving whatever had happened to Charles Hirst. The poor fool, putting his trust in the likes of the Butcher and Blackwood.
“The next time I saw him, he was being led to the hangman’s noose. A crowd had gathered. I’d heard of hangings. I knew they were a spectacle, but I’d never been to one. It was horrible. The people…they were like animals, yelling and screaming, throwing things. Poor Charles looked so confused. He didn’t understand what was going on, and neither did I. They hanged him. Right there with no proof other than some papers that Blackwood claimed he had. They killed him. He was a good man, an honest man. And they killed him.”
Brice could hold himself back no longer. He leaned forward and gathered her in his arms and let her weep upon his good shoulder. She cried like she probably hadn’t cried since the day her husband had died, and Brice let her.
He stroked her back and whispered in her ear. His shoulder became wet with her tears as her body shook against him. He let his hatred for the English grow. Apparently it mattered not to them whether one was English or Scottish. They were untrustworthy bastards. Every one of them.
She pulled back and wiped her tears from her cheeks. She took a shuddering breath.
“The next time I see Blackwood, I will kill him,” Brice said softly but with deadly intent.
“I appreciate the thought, but I won’t have another man’s death on my heart.”
“Ye would feel guilty for his death?” he asked, surprised.
“No. I would feel guilty for your death.”
“Ye wound me with yer lack of faith in my abilities.”
“I don’t doubt your abilities, Brice. But if you kill Blackwood, you’ll have all of the English soldiers looking for you, and that I won’t have.”
He grunted, not willing to admit that she was right. “I’ll wound him, then. Severely.”
