Chapter 8
In his chambers, Brice unbuckled his scabbard and dropped his broadsword next to the bed. He stretched again. Every muscle ached, and he looked longingly at the bed. What he wouldn’t give to fall into it right now. But he had one more thing to do before sleep could claim him.
“Ye called for me, my lord?”
“Come in, Angus.” Brice turned to the man who was in charge of the castle when he was gone. Angus had been a fierce warrior in his day, but an old injury had incapacitated him. He was not able to ride long distances, but he was very well suited to his present position.
Angus stood with his hands clasped behind his back, causing Brice to smile. “You can relax, Angus. I trust everything went well in my absence?”
“Aye, my lord. Nothing to report.”
“What about the woman?” Brice was conflicted when it came to the lass.
He was attracted to her. It was too powerful for him to deny.
The grin she’d bestowed on him down in the great hall had weakened his knees.
And the crude form of sign language she’d used had warmed his heart.
She was willing to converse with him in her own way, and that cheered him.
At the same time, he wasn’t willing to completely trust her.
She was English, he knew, though he hadn’t proved it yet.
And until he learned who she was and why she’d been on that road for him to find, he would remain cautious.
So he’d had Angus keep an eye on her, and Cecilia had orders to report anything suspicious to either him or Angus.
“She remained in her chambers most of the time, my lord. Occasionally she ventured to the great hall but never partook in meals with us. Today Hannah managed to coax her out to eat.”
Brice hesitated to voice his next question, but he had to know. “And at night?” Angus had been ordered to put a guard on her door at night.
“If she slept, it wasn’t much. She was heard to roam the rooms at night. Sometimes the guards could hear her…” Angus looked away as color crept into his creased face. “Weeping.”
So her nightmares continued. Sutherland felt guilt for not being there to soothe her. However, he couldn’t run back to the castle every night to hold the lass in his arms—much as that thought appealed to him.
“Thank you, Angus.”
Angus hesitated. “Should I keep a guard on her tonight as well, my lord?” Though his expression was neutral, Brice got the impression that Angus knew Brice would go to her on the nights when he was home.
“Yes, please.”
Angus nodded and left. Brice fell on the bed and was fast asleep before his head hit the pillow.
He was awakened by a scream and was up and heading toward the lass’s chambers before he knew what was happening.
The guard looked torn about whether to enter.
Brice waved him away and strode in. He knew what he would find, and he was correct.
She was writhing on the bed, her mouth open but no sound escaping other than a garbled moan.
Brice, still half asleep, lifted the covers and crawled into bed beside her to take her in his arms.
She calmed immediately and snuggled to his chest, her nose pressing against his nipple. In the back of his mind, before sleep claimed him again, he marveled that it was the middle of the night and he’d slept all day.
—
When Eleanor awoke, she was warmer than she had been in a long while; in fact, she was almost hot.
It was a wonderful feeling. She also felt rested and was pleased that she hadn’t had another nightmare.
She wasn’t certain she could have handled another night of roaming the rooms in order to avoid sleep.
She kept her eyes closed, stretching her legs, arching her feet. She groaned at the exquisite feeling of lying on a feather mattress under a pile of heavy blankets with a soft pillow under her head. Except the pillow wasn’t as soft as she remembered it to be. It was quite hard, but oh so warm.
She opened her eyes and screeched, jumping out of bed so fast that the bedsheets twisted around her legs and she went crashing to the floor.
She lay there for a moment, looking up at the ceiling, while beside her the bed ropes squeaked. She scrambled to her knees and peered over the edge of the bed. Her heart nearly faltered.
Brice Sutherland was lying on his side, leaning on his elbow, his head supported by his hand, smiling at her with twinkling eyes. “Good morning to ye.”
She could only stare at Sutherland, a million questions crowding her throat but never to be spoken.
“Ye’re wondering what I’m doing in yer bed, aren’t ye?”
She nodded.
His expression softened. “Every night ye call out in the middle of the night, writhing with horrible nightmares. Ye have since I found ye on the road. The only way to calm ye is to hold ye in my arms.”
Her eyes widened. No wonder she hadn’t been able to sleep when he was gone. He’d been coming to her room every night and sleeping with her.
“Ah, now. Do no’ look so enraged. Most nights I lay on top of the bedsheets, but last night I must have been so tired, I just climbed right in. I can promise ye that nothing untoward happened.”
She huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes, causing him to chuckle.
“O’ course ye knew that, right?”
She nodded and lowered her gaze.
“I’ll, uh…” He slipped out of bed, and she was relieved to see that he was dressed in his kilt and shirt from the day before. “I’ll be leaving ye now.”
Eleanor stood and rounded the bed until she was before him. He looked down on her, those soft blue eyes so clear.
She opened her mouth to say thank you, but of course no words emerged. She blew out a frustrated breath, wanting to express her thanks. Not many men—none she knew—would have done what Sutherland did. Especially with a woman he barely knew and didn’t trust.
She rose up on her tiptoes and placed a quick kiss on his lips, closing her eyes as their lips touched.
A frisson of sparks raced down her back, and she opened her eyes to see that he had not closed his at all but was looking at her with a heat that made her tremble. She dropped down and stepped back.
“Ye’re welcome,” he said in a husky voice.
He walked toward the closed door on the other side of the bedchamber—not the door that led to the hall. She supposed this one opened into his bedchamber. He paused and turned back to her. “I’m sorry, lass, but I’m leaving again today and won’t be back tonight.”
She nodded, although inside she yelled her objection. Part of it was because she didn’t want to face her nightmares alone, but there was another side. She didn’t like when he was gone. There was a hole in her life and in the fabric of castle life when Sutherland was absent.
He left, closing the door silently behind him.
Cecilia entered from the hall door, and Eleanor rushed to her, grabbing her arms. Cecilia pulled back, her eyes widening. “What’s wrong, my lady?”
Eleanor mimed writing on a piece of paper. Cecilia stared at her with brows drawn. “I do no’—”
With a frustrated sound, Eleanor moved her hand across her palm as if writing.
Cecilia’s brows rose. “Oh, ye want paper and a pen?”
Eleanor nodded and pushed Cecilia toward the door. Cecilia dug her heels in, and Eleanor made another frustrated sound.
“Be calm, my lady, I believe there are writing implements in the escritoire right here.”
Eleanor raced to the escritoire and pulled a drawer out so hard that it fell to the floor, along with a quill and a few sheets of paper.
She quickly scooped them up, found an inkwell that had a few drops of unhardened ink in it, and wrote.
She folded the paper, then motioned for Cecilia to help her dress.
Cecilia chattered while she laced Eleanor into her gown, and all the while Eleanor fidgeted, afraid Sutherland would leave before she could give him her note. As soon as Cecilia finished with the laces, Eleanor bolted out the door. She didn’t have shoes on; nor were her feet bound.
She raced down the steps and out the front door, barely aware that the servants stopped what they were doing to watch her.
—
Sutherland was just about to mount his horse when the lass came flying out of the castle. He dropped back to the ground and watched her make her way to him. For a moment he feared something was terribly wrong, but the look on her face didn’t confirm that.
She stopped in front of him. Her bare toes peeked out from beneath her gown, and her unbound hair fell in unruly waves around her shoulders in a beautiful tangle of golden blond.
“What do ye need, lass?”
She took his hand and pressed a folded piece of parchment into it. He stared at her, the edges of the paper biting into his palm. She looked at him expectantly with those beautiful dark blue eyes.
He pulled his gaze away and made to open the note. She made a sound, took his hand, and curled his fingers into his palm, crinkling the paper. She pointed to the gates.
“Ye want me to read it after I leave?”
She nodded. As when they were alone in the great hall, the air around them thickened and pulsed with an attraction that was ill advised but impossible to ignore. Galad stamped his hoof and blew out a loud breath, breaking the spell between them. Brice mounted his horse, still clutching the note.
When they crested the hill and Castle Dornach had disappeared from sight, Brice pulled Galad to the side and motioned for his men to keep moving. He unfolded the paper.
One word was written on it.
Eleanor.