Page 64 of Sutherland's Secret
“If I may, sir, it’s a big country, and there are wild animals. I don’t think she’s alive.”
Blackwood strode to the window and looked out. He should have killed her along with her husband. He shouldn’t have let it come to this. He’d become greedy, and that had been a mistake.
Killing Hirst had gotten him what he’d wanted, the promotion that he’d deserved. The promotion that Hirst had stolen from him. Eleanor would have been the icing on his cake. Being wed into one of the most powerful families in England would have opened doors for him that being a mere colonel under Cumberland wouldn’t have.
He rubbed his jaw. He should have killed her when she’d told him that she knew those treason charges were false. A grieving widow taking her own life wouldn’t have been questioned. Now he’d lost her, and his sources were telling him that her family was asking questions. The last thing he needed was the wrath of her father all the way from London. Hopewell was not a man to trifle with. Blackwood needed to find her before her family discovered what he had done.
He pressed his thumbs into his aching eyes. They’d thoroughly searched south of here and found nothing. They’d even ventured north, into Sutherland land, and discovered nothing.
Eleanor was a fine lady. She’d not grown up in the rough Highland country. She wouldn’t have lasted long after her escape. That meant someone had found her and was helping her. Who? Who would dare hide an English lady, knowing it would mean sure death if she were found?
“Keep looking,” he said to the private standing behind him. “And you better damn well find her.”
He could hear the private gulp. “Yes, sir.”
—
Brice adjusted Eleanor’s cap and tucked a lock of hair underneath it.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you for allowing me to go with you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Ye gave me no choice.”
She grinned and leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lips. “I promise I’ll follow all of your rules.” And there had been quite a lot of them. Do this, don’t do that. She would obey because she knew he was worried about her, and it wasn’t her intention to distract anyone. She wanted to help.
She found that she felt a connection to the refugees being driven from their homes and hoping to find a new start to their devastated lives. After all, she was one of them, although she’d been luckier than most in finding Brice.
He’d told her that the refugees needed to be moved periodically. The English were constantly riding through the country, looking for escaping Jacobites. They were known to stop at various homes to “search” or to demand food and shelter. Moving the refugees and rotating the use of the safe houses offered reprieve to the families hiding the refugees.
Brice stepped back and looked Eleanor up and down critically. His perusal changed as his gaze roamed over her legs, encased in the breeches. His eyes darkened to sapphires and his lips pressed together. He stepped forward, his breathing uneven. Eleanor tipped her head to look up at him. “Those breeches do something to me,” he whispered harshly.
“They do? And what do they do to you?” She grinned, knowing full well what they did to him.
He took her hand and drew it toward his full erection, molding her fingers around it. “I can’t seem to get enough of ye,” he said against her lips before taking them with his own.
Eleanor was wet and ready for him almost immediately. She’d never thought it could be like this with a man. Her body was always aware of him, always ready for him, and Brice seemed to have the same reaction to her. She pressed her body against his, massaging the full length of him with her palm.
He groaned and gasped, and before she knew what he was about, his fingers were fumbling with the fall of her breeches.
“We’ll be late,” she said, pulling back a bit to lift his kilt. She rather liked that he wore nothing beneath it. It made it easier for her.
“They’ll wait.” He came back for another kiss, finally managing to get her breeches undone. He pushed them down her hips as he stepped forward, forcing her to step backward until her back hit the wall. Her breeches were around her ankles.
“This is quite the switch,” she said between kisses. “Usually it’s the woman who lifts the skirts and the man who drops the breeches.”
“ ’Tis not a skirt,” he said, sounding offended, but then he pushed his finger up inside her and she lost all thought. Her back arched to accept him as she cried out. He rubbed her nub with his thumb.
“Ye’re more than ready,” he growled as he lifted her up.
She stepped out of her breeches and wrapped her legs around him and he guided his penis into her. She’d never considered that they could do it against the wall and vaguely wondered what other possible positions there were. The thought made the liquid between her legs gush out, and Brice groaned into her neck as he began pumping into her.
He held her with one arm as his other hand found that secret spot between her legs and rubbed. It didn’t take long. By now she well knew the familiar sensation of coming undone. This one was approaching quickly and out of her control. As if she ever was in control with him.
Brice pumped faster and lunged forward hard, burying himself as his warm liquid squirted inside her. Eleanor clenched down on him as a keening cry erupted from her, and her world went black for one glorious moment.
She was pressed against the wall and Brice’s chest, and she was breathing deep, struggling to catch her breath. Her cap had been knocked off her head and her hair was in her eyes. Brice, still buried inside her, rested his forehead against her shoulder and struggled to breathe as well.
Someone pounded on the door, making Eleanor jump.
