Sutherland's Secret (13 page)

He lightly pushed on her shoulder until she was lying in front of him. She felt extremely vulnerable like this, naked, while he hovered over her. And extremely excited.

He took his time looking her over, starting at her legs, his gaze stopping for long moments at the V between her legs. Her body flushed under his scrutiny.

His nostrils flared again. His blue eyes darkened with passion. She wanted to squirm but forced herself to remain still. Lightly he ran his hands across her curls. Her hips came up and she gasped. He pulled his hand away, a smile playing on his lips as his gaze moved over her belly, up her torso, and stopped at her breasts. They tingled as if he’d touched them with his hands and not just his eyes. She could feel her nipples harden, straining toward him, begging for his touch. The word “please” hovered on her lips; she bit it back, determined not to beg. But oh, how she wanted, needed, him to touch her. She almost whimpered with the need but managed to swallow it at the last moment.

Finally his gaze moved on to her lips. His tongue came out to lick his lips as if he were tasting her on them. Instinctively she did the same to her own. Her body felt as if it were on fire. Every part of her tingled in awareness and demand. She was breathing deep in an effort to control herself, so she wouldn’t touch him or command him to touch her. The fact that he hadn’t touched her only increased her desire to a fevered pitch. She had to consciously hold her body still to keep from squirming. To keep from rubbing her legs together for some much-needed relief.

His penis stood up, bright red and so full and heavy. She centered her gaze there, but that did nothing to alleviate her hunger. She wanted to touch it, caress it, as she had done before. She wanted to feel it pulsing in her hand, so near to bursting that he was groaning.

She shifted, too excited to remain still. Her thighs rubbed together, the insides so wet with her need that they slid against each other. He muttered something in Gaelic, but she wasn’t versed enough in the language to know what he’d said.

“Touch me,” she said, giving in to her needs and throwing out her vow not to beg.

His lips twitched. He rubbed her nipples with his thumbs. Her back came off the floor, and she cried out as currents shot through her to center on the secret part of her lower belly where her need was the greatest.

He sat over her and continued to lightly rub her nipples. It was torturous, for his touch was too light, not enough. She wanted more. “Please, oh, please.”

He leaned forward until their lips were almost touching. She reared up to kiss him, but he pulled back, denying her even that. “Please what,
luaidh mo chéile
.”

Words escaped her. All she could think of, concentrate on, was the maddening brush of his thumbs across her nipples. Need built inside her. She moved her legs to relieve the pressure between them. Her head whipped to the side and she whimpered.

“Do ye want me to stop?” he whispered in her ear.

A shudder ran through her body.

“Do ye,
mo ghràdh
?”

“No,” she breathed.

With a wicked grin, he sat up, his thumbs still working her engorged nipples. They were standing up straight, so sensitive to his touch. She cried out again as a powerful feeling arrowed through her.

And then he stopped, and the cessation of sensation was worse than almost anything. She whimpered again, this time in despair.

His fingers skimmed her stomach, making her muscles clench. And then they were at the juncture of her thighs, running through the curls. She opened her legs wider and he drew in a deep breath.

His finger slipped in and she cried out, thrusting her hips upward, eager to feel him inside her. With his first two fingers buried deep inside her, he rubbed the nub with his thumb.

Eleanor screamed as she thrust her hips up. He withdrew his fingers, then pushed back in, stroking her all the while. The feeling was like nothing she’d experienced before. She was coming undone, lost in a world of sensation, her entire being centered on his fingers and what they were doing to her. She was crying, begging, uttering incoherent words as her hips pumped up and down. She was racing toward her climax, unable to stop it.

“Look at me,
mo ghràdh.
”

She opened her eyes just enough to look up at him. He was watching her, and the thought was so exciting that she cried out. Her body was not her own, and all she could do was ride it and enjoy it.

She pumped her hips harder while his fingers slid in and out and his thumb rubbed her. The wave was almost upon her, and she was eagerly reaching for it when he pressed down with his thumb and pushed his fingers up.

She screamed and arched her back as her entire body clenched down on his fingers and the feeling of coming undone raced through her. It went on and on, stealing her breath and her mind. Eventually it slowed to little pulses that gently milked his fingers.

Her body was so loose that she felt as if she had no bones left. She could only lie there, incapable of movement, her breathing hard and her heart continuing to thunder.

Brice leaned forward, his own breathing uneven. “We’re no’ finished yet,
mo ghràdh
.”

She whimpered, convinced her body could endure no more. Surely she would break into a thousand pieces if he did that to her again. But his fingers were still there, gently sliding in and out, and his thumb was still rubbing that nub. It was incredibly sensitive, tingling at his touch. To her shock, her body began responding again.

“I can’t,” she whimpered.

“Ah, but ye can.”

The need was building again, this time far too quickly. She hadn’t even caught her breath from the last time. Her fingers curled into the kilt beneath her. She cursed. Speaking words she’d never dared to speak out loud.

Brice chuckled and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Yer juices are all the way up to my wrist, wee’un. I can smell ye from here, and it has me so hard that I’m about to burst.”

She groaned. Never had she imagined that coupling could be like this.

He lightly bit her ear, causing her to moan. Her hips were pumping again. She’d thought there was no way she had another one in her, but she’d been wrong.

“Come undone for me,
mo ghràdh
.”

“Brice…”

“I’ll be right here with ye. Come for me.”

It came so fast that she didn’t have time to prepare for it. She sat up, screaming, using her entire body to clench down on his fingers. All the while Brice whispered in her ear erotic things, exciting things. Things she’d never heard.

She fell back and sighed. Surely she would not be able to move for a year. Brice would have to carry her back to the castle.

But they weren’t finished yet. He positioned himself above her and, with his eyes closed, slid inside her, filling her completely. Her inner muscles were still clenching from the orgasm, and they eagerly latched on to Brice.

“Ahhhh,” he said with a smile. “Exquisite.”

He moved, his large erection sliding in and out, massaging her. She was stretched to the limit, and it was a completely different but no less powerful sensation than his fingers. She found herself wrapping her arms around his waist and moving with him.

“I’ll no’ last long,” he said. “It was so beautiful watching ye come undone that I almost lost myself then and there. I have no strength left in me to hold back any longer.”

She touched his face and looked into his eyes. “Come undone for me,” she whispered, using his words against him.

That was all it took. He shouted, arched his back, and thrust inside her, burying himself so far up that it touched a place she’d never known existed, setting off yet another wave for her. This one was not as powerful, but it was deep, and she felt it throughout her body. She cried out as his warm seed shot up inside her.

For long moments they lay connected, their breathing rapid. Brice’s entire weight was on top of her, but she didn’t mind. She smoothed her hand up and down his back, feeling scars here and there from dagger and broadsword wounds.

She closed her eyes and let herself drift in a land of relaxation and love. The fire crackled, the wind blew, and large round raindrops hit the thatched roof, but they were safe and warm and dry inside, and that was all she needed for the moment.

They lay in front of the fire on top of Brice’s kilt. After they were able to move—many, many minutes later—Brice had taken a bit of cloth, wet it, and lovingly cleaned Eleanor up. Then they ate the bannocks. Eleanor was so hungry that she didn’t care that the bannocks were cold and hard. She just enjoyed sitting next to Brice in front of the fire, naked.

Their stomachs were full and they were half asleep. Eleanor lay curled on her side, tucked into the crook of Brice’s arm, while his hand lazily skimmed her from waist to shoulder. She’d examined his wound, which seemed to be healing well; he swore it didn’t hurt.

She turned her head so she could look at him. He was staring into the fire, the flames catching the bits of red in his hair and beard and turning his skin a glowing gold.

They needed to talk. She didn’t want to bring up his deceased wife or the reason they were in this hut to begin with, but it needed to be said, and she was afraid the time would never be right again, especially when they returned to the castle and his myriad responsibilities claimed him.

“Brice.”

He looked down on her. A small smile played around his lips. She thought that she’d never seen him so content. She hadn’t realized how heavy his responsibilities lay on him and how often his lips were turned down.

“Aye,
mo ghràdh
?”

“I’m not Alisa.”

Immediately he tensed beneath her. She put her hand on his stomach. The muscles there were hard and unyielding.

“I do no’ want to talk about her now, Eleanor.”

“Just listen, please. I need to say this, because you need to know.”

He blew out a breath, and she took that as permission to keep talking.

“I didn’t run away from you because I was running to something. I ran away because I needed to escape from Blackwood and the danger he presents. Not only to me but to you and your clan. I’m a threat to you.”

His arm tightened around her. “No, ye are no’.”

She sat up to face him. “I am. You have to know that I am. We were lucky when Blackwood visited the last time, but how many times are we going to get lucky? When will someone let it slip that I’m there? The next time? The time after that? I have to leave, Brice. I have to get away for your safety.”

His jaw was set and he continued to stare into the fire.

She took his hand and held it. “I’m not Alisa. I don’t want to go. I’d do anything to stay, if you would have me, but we both know I can’t.”

He finally looked at her. “Of course I would have ye, but for how long? Ye’re from London. Eventually ye would want to go back and see yer family.” His words were bitter, and they hurt her.

“I’m
not
Alisa. But that’s neither here nor there.” She paused. “I have to be on that next ship, Brice. I have to.”

His body went rigid. He sat up, his face set. She put a finger to his lips, silencing the denial that she knew was coming.

“We both know this is the only way. Blackwood won’t search for me in Canada because he can’t. But he can search for me here and in England. It’s my only chance.”

He pushed her finger away and stood to pace to the other side of the hut. It wasn’t that big and took only three of his long strides. He was completely naked, and the firelight played havoc with her senses when it highlighted his body, outlining it in a golden nimbus. His fair hair fell to his shoulders, unbound and uncombed.

He turned to look at her, his face a mixture of grief and fear and anger. “The next ship won’t arrive for another two weeks.”

“I know.” They had two weeks together. Fourteen days. Maybe more if the ship ran late. It would have to be enough. She would make the most of it, creating plenty of memories to last a lifetime.

He ran his hand through his hair. “God, Eleanor.”

She stood and walked toward him to wrap her arms around his waist and lay her head against his chest. She listened to the steady beat of his heart and the working of his lungs.

He put his arms around her and laid his cheek on top of her head while outside the storm raged.

Two weeks. Two weeks to live the rest of her dreams.

The next morning the sun shone and everything appeared greener and more lush. Brice made certain the fire was completely out and everything was put in order before he hoisted Eleanor onto the horse and hopped up after her.

They’d not slept much. They’d made love one more time, a sweet coming together that was nothing like the previous lovemaking but just as exquisite.

They’d not talked any more of her sailing to Canada. The thought sickened him, but at the same time he could think of no other solution. As much as he wanted to keep her beside him, he couldn’t put his people in that sort of danger. Nor could he risk the
Staran
. Too many people counted on it to get out of Scotland. He would put too many people’s lives at risk if he kept Eleanor with him.

Besides, it wasn’t fair to make her live in fear, constantly looking over her shoulder for Blackwood, forever afraid that he would find her. Brice was rarely at home these days, and he would hate himself if he were absent and something happened to her. It all came down to one thing: He couldn’t protect his people and Eleanor at the same time.

But the thought of putting her on that ship, of seeing her off, of saying goodbye to her, knowing he would never see her again…It made him want to rage at the fates. Once again the English were taking away everything he cared about. Would it never end? Would he ever be able to find peace again?

No. Never. Not when he had to give up Eleanor.

He cradled her in his arms. His wound ached, but he refused to voice his pain because that would mean she would move, and he wanted to hold her because he didn’t have many more days to hold her.

He thought back to the night before and their lovemaking. He’d not said anything to her, but he hadn’t pulled out the first time they’d made love. Or the second. Had he gotten her with child? Lord, he hoped not. It would be hard enough for her to start a new life in a new country all alone. Yet a small part of him wanted to send her off with his seed in her belly. His sister and brother-in-law would watch out for her and protect her and the babe if he asked them to.

He shook his head at such foolish thoughts. He’d been irresponsible. If he’d impregnated her, then she would carry and give birth to a babe without its father present. His son or daughter would grow up not knowing him. All because he’d been selfish. And if the babe were a boy? Then his heir would live in Canada, a world away and unable to eventually become chief of the Sutherlands.

Glory be, but he’d made a mess of things.

“What does
mo ghràdh
mean?” Eleanor mumbled from the safety of his arms, yanking him from his thoughts.

Brice kissed the top of her head. She was so sleepy, curled in his arms, and so warm and comforting to him. “
Mo ghràdh
means ‘my love.’ ”

She turned her head to look up at him and smiled sleepily. He squeezed her to him. How in the hell was he going to put her on that ship in two weeks?

“I’m your love?” she asked.

“Aye,” he said gruffly. “That ye are.”

She leaned up and kissed the bottom of his chin before settling back into his arms. They rode in silence for a bit, he lost in thoughts, Eleanor dozing. It was a memory he would keep with him for the rest of his days.

He was nearly asleep in the saddle himself when he heard a noise that put all his senses on alert. He stiffened. Eleanor came awake; his hand went up to cover her mouth quickly. She went silent, her body taut.

Brice guided Galad far into the trees. He dismounted, then held his arms up for Eleanor to dismount as well. They crouched behind thick bushes as a group of English soldiers came into view.

Eleanor gasped and Brice dug his fingers into her arm. The soldiers were young. They laughed and spoke to each other in normal voices, unaware that they were being watched. Brice had to wonder how in the world the English had won the battle at Culloden. Their soldiers were far too lax and undisciplined, in his mind.

They passed without incident, but it wasn’t until several minutes had passed that Brice relaxed. Eleanor looked up at him, the fear still in her eyes. It struck him that no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t keep Eleanor here. Every time they encountered soldiers, they would have to hide in fear.

They mounted Galad and rode in the opposite direction of the soldiers. The peace that Brice had been feeling was long gone.

“Ye have no’ told me what happened after yer Charles was killed,” he said. He’d held off asking because he knew it would be difficult for her to tell and for him to hear. But there was more to her story than her husband being killed. He wanted to hear it and yet he didn’t want to hear it, but time was running out and he feared he needed to hear her story in order to protect her during the short time she was here.

Eleanor took a long time in answering, so long that he feared—and maybe hoped—that she wouldn’t answer.

“He never even gave me time to grieve,” she said softly. “Blackwood came to me that afternoon, just hours after they hanged Charles. They’d not given me the body to send back to his family in England for a proper burial. They’d taken that from me as well. I was numb with disbelief. It had all happened so quickly. I hadn’t had time to write to either of our families. I’m certain that was what Blackwood wanted. He’d planned it that way.”

Blackwood was a cur who preyed on weakened women. Brice hadn’t liked him before, but now he despised the man.

“He told me that my husband’s ‘treason’ should not taint me and that since I was now unprotected, he would be happy to step in as my protector. He was so sincere, so worried about me, and I was so grief-stricken, that at first it seemed like the natural thing to do. After all, he was a colonel in the English Footguard. He was honorable because all English soldiers are honorable. Or at least that was what I thought.” She laughed, but it was a bitter laugh filled with irony and despair. “I was such a fool.”

“Ye were naive, I’ll give ye that,” Brice said. “Ye were protected by yer family and then by yer husband. I’ll warrant that before yer Charles’s death, ye’d never been left alone before to make a decision on yer own.”

“You would be correct. It seems so stupid now. How was it that I let everyone control my life?”

“ ’Tis not yer fault, lass. It’s the way of the world for the men to protect the women. We do it in Scotland as well.”

“I can’t see Hannah falling victim to the likes of Blackwood.”

He smiled. “Nay. But Hannah is a special woman. She’d have to be, to put up with the likes of Lachlan.”

“I still should have known better.”

“Blackwood knew from the first that ye were easy pickings. No offense.”

She laughed again, this time a little more lightheartedly. “No offense taken. You’re right. I’d never thought of it that way. He’d had this planned since he met me at the ball.”

“Maybe not exactly, but he’d known he wanted ye. Seems to me he’s a spoiled bastard, taking what he wants. I’m certain he’s done the like before. Maybe not had someone killed for his needs, but he’s ruined other lives. I would bet all of Castle Dornach that he did no’ come by his status honorably.”

She was silent for a bit. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”

“Because ye’ve never met a man like Blackwood before. I’ve met my fair share to know them when I see them. My guess is that his promise of protection came with some provisions.”

“Yes. He invited me to his quarters to discuss the best way to tell Charles’s family about his death. I was happy for help, because I had no idea what I was going to say to them. But when I got there, he…”

Brice’s body went tight with fury, for he could guess what had happened next.

Eleanor took in a deep shuddering breath. “Well, I told him in no uncertain terms that his…proposition was unacceptable, and I left.”

“Good for ye, lass, for sticking up for yerself.”

“A lot of good it did me. The next morning I was arrested for treason as well.”

Brice pulled in an outraged breath. When Eleanor held up her fists, his eyes were riveted to the scars that circled them.

“He clapped manacles on me and threw me in the dungeon. He didn’t have to say anything, but I knew that I would be released if I accepted his terms. I refused.”

“Gu sealladh orm,”
he said under his breath. He despised Blackwood with every bit of his being. If he had known just half of Eleanor’s story when Blackwood had visited, Brice would have stabbed him in his sleep. No, he would have brought Eleanor down and told the bastard that he was avenging Eleanor’s honor and then killed him. Slowly and without mercy.

“When the army moved to Fort Augustus, I moved with them…” she said.

Her voice trailed off, and Brice imagined that she was reliving the horrors she had seen there. He’d heard stories. Stories that had made grown men tremble. He couldn’t imagine a lady such as Eleanor witnessing the things that he had heard. The scars and bruises made sense now.

“Tell me, lass, did he starve ye for yer insolence?”

“I’m not sure it was so much that he deliberately starved me. All of the prisoners were starved. Food went to the soldiers first. Prisoners were the last to be fed. More often than not, we were forgotten.”

“And the beatings?”

“There were few. He was busy with the battle and, afterward, with rounding up the enemy. Things were chaotic. Prisoners filtered in and out. But we all knew that those who didn’t return were dead. The English just don’t release their prisoners. I heard them talking. They were instructed to kill the Jacobites.”

Brice grunted. He’d heard similar stories. A communication had been intercepted by a Jacobite in which Cumberland had instructed his men to kill any enemy by dagger, dirk, or broadsword.

“Ye said they didn’t release prisoners, and yet ye were released.”

“I escaped. One night a guard simply didn’t lock my cell door after delivering my dinner. I walked out, hid until nightfall, and crawled out of a window. I walked for days, until I couldn’t walk anymore, and that’s when you found me.”