Page 48 of Sutherland's Secret
He snorted. “Blackwood is a fool. We can hide ye under his eyes and he would no’ find ye.”
“Don’t underestimate him, Brice. He’s very dangerous.”
He sat forward, ignoring the shooting pain in his shoulder. “I understand what he did to yer Charles. But Charles was no’ strong enough against Blackwood, and Blackwood knew it.”
“I wish I could believe that,” she whispered.
“Trust me to take care of ye, Eleanor.”
She pressed her lips together and looked away. Brice sat back in defeat and despair. He’d lost her. Just like he’d lost Alisa.
“He’s not the devil,” he said bitterly.
“Sometimes I think he is.”
—
Eleanor slid through the great hall, keeping to the shadows, glad to see that Brice had not come down tonight.
She’d so desperately wanted to say goodbye, but she couldn’t tell him her plan. He would try to talk her out of it, and she was weak enough, in love enough with him, that she would let him.
Yes, she was in love with him. She held the emotion close to her, folding her pain around it. She’d loved Charles, but that love paled compared to what she felt for Brice.
No one seemed to notice her as she slid out the front door.
After convincing Cecilia to find her a pair of breeches and a shirt that would fit her, and swearing the maid to secrecy, Eleanor wrote a letter to Brice, telling him everything she’d wanted to tell him in person and thanking him for picking her up off the road and saving her life. She’d left the note in her bedchamber and told Cecilia not to come in until the morning. By then Eleanor would be on the ship, well away from Scotland, Blackwood, and Brice.
She’d stayed in her chambers and watched out the window for any indication that Colin and the men would be leaving. The entire time she was thinking of Brice in the connecting room and how she might be leaving Scotland, but she was leaving her heart with him.
The men didn’t gather until well after dark, when Eleanor was convinced she had either missed them or they had canceled tonight’s activities.
Now she stood on the top steps of the castle and watched them mill about. They were all dressed for battle, with broadswords hanging at their sides and pistols tucked into their kilts and breeches. She was glad to see others in breeches. Even though she was highly uncomfortable in the trousers, she never would have been able to leave her chambers in a kilt. How scandalous, even in the Highlands, for a woman to show her knees.
Grooms were bringing horses out of the stable. Eleanor pushed away from the door and headed toward the stables, keeping to the shadows. She grabbed a horse from a groom with a gruff thank-you, pulled her hat lower over her eyes, and made sure her hair was tucked under the cap. She really had no plan other than to ride with the men to the ship and board.
There were about a dozen of them, led by Colin, as they rode under the portcullis and out of the keep. In England, Eleanor was considered an accomplished rider, but she quickly learned that accomplished in England was far different than accomplished in Scotland. For one thing, she rode sidesaddle in England, wearing elegant riding apparel. In Scotland she rose astride and in breeches. She kept toward the back and attempted to adjust to riding astride, but she found she enjoyed the freedom of the breeches. She could move much better in them, though it did take some getting used to, having her legs so scandalously exposed.
As they entered the forest, Eleanor looked back at Castle Dornach. All she could see was the darker outline of the guard tower against the dark, cloud-strewn sky. But within those walls lay Brice in his bedchamber, oblivious to her disappearance.
They rode silently and in single file. It was apparent these men knew how to blend into the landscape and appear that they weren’t there at all. Eleanor tried to mimic them, but after an hour of riding, her backside was beginning to hurt. Though she desperately needed a break, she was determined to say nothing. Her plan hinged on Colin not discovering her until they were too far from the castle.
They rode and rode. Eleanor lost all track of time. No one spoke in all that time.
Finally Colin signaled for everyone to halt. Most of the men faded into the shadows of the forest. Eleanor looked around, unsure where she should go or what she should do. Colin caught her eye and motioned with a swipe of his hand for her to get off the road. Eleanor tried to lead her horse, but he balked and sidestepped. Desperately she kneed him, but he tossed his head and pranced forward.
“Oh, please,” she whispered to her mount. “Please go into the woods.”
The warrior who had been riding behind Colin was frowning at her. She tilted her head down and desperately sawed on the reins, trying to get her mount into the safety of the trees. The warrior rode up to her. Startled, her mount reared. Eleanor held on with all her strength, clenching her thighs into the horse’s sides. Her hat flew off, and her hair fell around her shoulders.
The man leaned over and grabbed the reins, bringing her horse under control with a muffled curse.
Eleanor looked up into the cold blue eyes of Brice.
“Eleanor,” he said flatly, his lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure.
Her traitorous mount, now calm, settled beneath her.
“Brice,” she breathed. “But I thought—”
