Page 7 of Sutherland's Secret
Eleanor huddled into herself and tucked her chin into her chest, waiting for him to hit her. When the blow never came, she peeked over at him. He was still looking at her, his arms draped negligently over his knees, his hands hanging loosely between them. She stared at those hands, imagining what damage they could do when curled into fists. They were nicked and scarred. He’d worked hard in his life. She could tell by those rough, strong hands.
He reached for a plate beside him and offered it to her. She stared at it for a long moment, uncomprehending.
“Hare that I caught yesterday. It’s a wee bit dry but still edible. Go on, now, take it.”
Her gaze flew to his in surprise. He raised dark blond brows. His eyes were a brilliant blue. Beautiful, she would have thought in another life.
Slowly she uncurled herself and took the plate from him. When it wasn’t snatched out of her hand, she grabbed a piece of meat and shoved it in her mouth. She swallowed before she’d barely chewed it, then grabbed another piece, watching him, waiting for him to take the plate from her. Waiting for the mockery.
In the back of her mind, she knew her manners were deplorable, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t eaten meat in months, and even though it was cold and tough, she’d never had anything that tasted so good. She shoved another piece in her mouth before she’d swallowed the bite before it. His brows rose in shock. She reached for more, but the plate was empty. He took it away and placed it on the ground.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
She swallowed the last mouthful and nodded, even though she could have eaten more. He grinned, and she was arrested by the transformation in him. He didn’t look so fierce or dangerous when he grinned like that.
Her eyes began to droop. Strong hands guided her to the ground.
“Sleep,” his voice rumbled. “I command it.”
—
When they crested the rise and the trees thinned out, Eleanor got her first glimpse of Sutherland’s home, and she pulled in a deep breath. It was frightening and magnificent at the same time.
In these modern times most Scotland chiefs were renovating their castles to reflect the genteel country estates of the English, but not Sutherland. Like the arms that surrounded her and trapped her on his mount, his castle—for it could only be called a castle—represented the man. It was formidable, enormous, and impenetrable, built for protection and defense instead of grace and beauty. It gleamed in the sunlight, appearing almost pink, with a sloping slate roof and towers at the front and back corners. Behind it gleamed the ocean, with the rising mountains framing the nearly perfect picture. Tiny specks hustled about outside the castle; she assumed they were the inhabitants of his domicile.
“Castle Dornach,” he said with pride in his voice.
She wouldn’t have been at all surprised if Highland warriors had come charging out, hair flying behind them, faces painted, belting out their war cries. That was where the frightening part came in. She had no idea what she was riding into. Could it possibly be worse than where she came from? At one time she would have thought not, but now she wasn’t so certain.
With a click of his tongue, he coaxed his mount down the steep path that led to his castle. A feeling of foreboding and apprehension shivered through her. What were his plans for her? She wanted to ask, but every time she attempted to speak, her voice failed her and nothing emerged. Not even a squeak. Maybe it was for the best that she couldn’t speak. She was almost certain that this large man with such a formidable castle was not a great friend of the English, and she was most certainly English.
A large gatehouse stood sentinel in front of the main house, vigilant in its purpose. The portcullis was already raised by the time they approached. Sutherland was strangely quiet behind her. The arms that imprisoned her were roped with a humming tension.
They passed beneath the gatehouse, through the portcullis, the horse’s hooves clattering on the timbered ground. They emerged on the other side and into the bailey. And it was everything she had feared. Fierce warriors were waiting in a line to greet him. They wore ferocious expressions, lips downturned, eyes narrowed. People milled about, looking at her. Curious and on guard.
Instinctively she pressed her back to Sutherland’s chest. He stopped his mount in front of the men. Each of them stood with shoulders back, long hair waving in the soft breeze, the edges of their blue and green kilts fluttering. Wicked broadswords hung from their waists, nestled next to pistols. Long boots covered them from knees to toes. White shirts were stretched taut over muscular chests and arms.
Sutherland slid off the horse and reached up to pluck her off and set her beside him. They’d been riding for so long that she swayed, but Sutherland’s hands settled on her shoulders to steady her.
One of the men, the one with the most ferocious expression, broke the line and approached them, his dark, direct gaze locked on her. She moved a half a step closer to Sutherland.
The man had hair so dark it was black and eyes so piercing she swore he could look into her soul. He stopped in front of her and looked her up and down with suspicion and distrust. He turned an incredulous gaze to Sutherland. “She lives?” he asked in surprise.
Sutherland grunted. Eleanor’s stomach dropped to her toes and she sucked in a ragged breath. Sutherland’s fingers on her shoulder flexed.
The dark-haired, dark-eyed man looked her over again.
“Enough, Lachlan.” With a hand in the middle of her back, Sutherland guided her up the steps that led to the doors of the castle. She went, because what choice did she have? Run? She’d proved last night that running was impossible, and even if it weren’t, the portcullis slammed into place just as she put her foot on the first step.
The warrior named Lachlan opened the front door. It was thick and heavy and impenetrable. It should have given her a sense of protection, but all it did was frighten her more. She hesitated before entering, knowing that if she stepped into this castle, she more than likely would never leave it.
Sutherland nudged her. She stumbled over the threshold and into the dark recesses of her newest prison.
She blinked. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. They had stepped into the main hall, or what she assumed they would call the great hall. Here the walls were paneled in dark wood and the vaulted ceiling soared above, giving the place a cavernous, echoing quality. An enormous fireplace—everything was enormous here—took up a large portion of one wall; it was so big that several of Sutherland’s warriors could stand erect in it. Two rows of long tables took up the middle of the hall. Light filtered through windows set high up.
Sutherland led her to a bench at a table and nearly pushed her down on it with a firm hand on her shoulder. A girl stood a few paces away, watching with wide eyes. The servants appeared to be going about their duties, but in reality they were watching everything. The warriors tromped in behind them and stood at attention.
Lachlan approached, and it took everything Eleanor had not to flinch. She knew very well that he did not think highly of her.
