Chapter 9
It was time to stop hiding. Eleanor had never been one to hide. All her life she’d been a social creature, needing the company of others. Of course, the last few months—the last year—had not been normal for her, but she would no longer accept that as an excuse.
She had no idea what her future held, where she would be a year from now, a month from now, or even a week from now, but she did know that she could no longer take the charity of Sutherland without giving something in return.
Because she had no idea how to summon Cecilia, she waited until the afternoon for the maid to return to her chambers. As usual, Cecilia entered chatting, but Eleanor cut her off. She took Cecilia’s hand and led her to the cupboard of gowns in the other room.
“Do ye want to change yer gown?” Cecilia asked.
Eleanor shook her head and swept her arm up to indicate all of the gowns.
While she liked the color blue as much as the next person, she wondered at the woman who wore only blue gowns.
But learning about the woman wasn’t her mission right now.
She tugged on Cecilia’s gown and looked at her hopefully.
“Ye want to wear my clothes?”
Eleanor shook her head again and pondered how she was to express her needs. She pulled at the skirts of her gown and shook her head. She pointed to the other gowns in the cupboard and shook her head.
“These gowns are not to yer liking?” Cecilia asked.
Oh, dear. Now she thought that Eleanor was being ungrateful when the opposite was true.
Frustrated, Eleanor opened her mouth, determined to voice her needs, but of course nothing came out. What was wrong with her that her voice had deserted her? Was God punishing her? Good Lord, hadn’t she been punished enough?
She put her hand to her throat and tried again. A guttural sound emerged, startling both of them.
“Are ye trying to speak?” Cecilia asked. “Oh, do it again.” The girl clapped her hands and looked so pleased that Eleanor tried again, but no matter how hard she strained, no discernible word emerged. Just a strange, deep gruff sound. She threw her hands up in the air.
“No, no,” Cecilia said. “Ye must no’ give up. Ye do no’ like the gowns and so ye want another gown, am I right?”
Eleanor shook her head, then deliberately nodded.
Cecilia’s brows came together. “I’m right and I’m wrong?”
Eleanor nodded and smiled and once again touched Cecilia’s plain linen gown.
Cecilia’s eyes brightened. “Ah. Ye want a gown like mine.” Her brows lowered again. “Why would ye want a gown like mine if ye can have a very fine gown like these?”
Eleanor stepped in front of the cupboard and put her arms out to the sides as if blocking the cupboard, then pointed to Cecilia’s gown again.
“Very well,” Cecilia said with doubt in her voice. “I’ll fetch ye a plain gown like mine, but I think yer daft.”
She went to fetch the gown, and Eleanor smiled. That had been taxing, but she had accomplished what she’d wanted.
Cecilia returned and helped Eleanor dress.
The gown was made of light gray linen and was very simple, with a belt at the waist and no adornments.
Immediately Eleanor felt better in it. She forsook shoes, having noted that most Highland women didn’t wear shoes unless they were going to church.
That was fine by her, since she had none.
Her feet were healing nicely, and she enjoyed going barefoot, something she would never have done in her old life.
She paused at that thought. Her old life.
Yes, that’s what it was. For the life she had led was gone, forever out of reach.
Another one awaited her, even though she had no idea what it would be.
She felt a stab of grief that she would never see her mother and father and brother again, never step foot on English soil.
But she could not dwell on that for long.
Maybe sometime in the future, when she deemed it safe, she would write to her family and let them know that she was alive and well. If luck was on her side.
Eleanor made her way down to the great hall.
She didn’t stop to hide in the shadows. Instead, with sure steps and her head held high, she went straight through the great hall and toward the back stairs to the kitchen.
At least she hoped it was the kitchen she was heading toward.
She’d never been anywhere except her rooms and the great hall.
No one stopped to look at her, and she knew her idea had been a good one. Wearing those beautiful gowns had marked her as someone different, an outsider, and it had separated her from the rest. She was different and an outsider, but now, dressed as an average Highland woman, she was less so.
It was approaching mealtime. The servants were milling about in the kitchen, waiting for the trays of food they would take to the great hall.
She knew she would be serving the warriors and it made her stomach flutter.
She still wasn’t comfortable around the big, fearsome men, skittish at the thought that one of them would discover she was English and toss her in the dungeon.
The servants looked at her oddly, but no one told her to get out, so she didn’t.
They grabbed trays and began to file from the hot kitchen.
The cook was yelling orders to servants who scurried about.
Eleanor wiped the sweat from her forehead and ignored her own grumbling stomach, reminding herself that she was no longer a highborn lady.
If she was to make it in this new world on her own—and eventually she would have to—then she needed to learn as much as she could and acquire as many skills as she could.
There were plenty of positions for hardworking servants.
She knew that from helping her mother try to staff several of her father’s estates.
You can do this, Eleanor.
She grabbed the next tray available and made her way up the circular stairs to the great hall. Her courage faltered when she was faced with Sutherland’s men. He had taken a small contingent with him, but quite a few had stayed behind.
She set a bowl of some sort of soup in front of the first table she came to and continued down the line. Most ignored her, intent on their discussions. Some eyed her appreciatively. Those she ignored, knowing not to encourage that type of flirtation.
The noon hour flew by. She didn’t know how many trips she made between the kitchen and the tables, but it was many.
Her feet hurt and her arms ached from carrying the heavy trays, but when the great hall cleared, she experienced a satisfaction she hadn’t felt before.
She smiled, looking at the tables strewn with bowls and eating utensils and spilled food.
“Best hurry and get it cleaned up afore Cook starts yelling,” one of the girls said to her as she passed by.
Eleanor’s smile slipped. She had to clean up as well?
She looked at the mess in a new light. How rude of these men to leave such messes for the women to clean up.
Had they no manners? Did they not understand how hard it was to serve them, only to have to turn around and clean up after them before even getting a meal?
She huffed out a breath and began gathering bowls. Watching the other women, she cleaned as they did. They were far more efficient at it then she would have been.
Well, at least you learned something today. You learned to serve men food, and you learned to clean up after them. It seemed a fine if somewhat depressing start to her new life.
When she was finished, she was so tired she almost fell asleep in her own soup. She managed to take a few bites before dragging herself up the steps and falling onto her nice, soft bed and closing her eyes.
The next day she returned. Her feet still hurt, and her arms felt heavy and cumbersome, but she was determined to keep at this.
She found she was faster than the day before, but the men were no less slovenly in their eating habits, something that made her frown.
Were her English counterparts just as horrid?
Had she ever stopped to think about those who served her food?
Had she even considered what happened to the plates and utensils after she rose from the table and left the dining room?
She was cleaning up when an armed warrior flung open the front door, causing Eleanor to pause with a bowl in one hand and her tray in another.
“English soldiers are coming,” he said breathlessly.
The other serving girls began chattering all at once, but Eleanor’s heart had stopped. The bowl clattered to the table, spilling the dregs of that day’s soup.
The warrior raced on, muttering to himself. Eleanor was frozen to the spot, her mind blank in the panic that had taken over her body.
English soldiers were coming, and Sutherland wasn’t here.
She looked around the room. The other girls continued to clean up, still talking about the soldiers, but Eleanor couldn’t move. They’d found her.
She put her tray down and ran toward the stairs, thinking only of getting away. She couldn’t let them see her here. It would bring the Duke of Cumberland’s wrath down on these people, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.
She ran straight into Hannah.
“Whoa, there.” Hannah grabbed Eleanor’s arms to steady them both. She looked Eleanor up and down, noting the servant’s attire. “What are ye up to?” Hannah asked, her brows raised.
Eleanor shook her head and pushed away, picking up her skirts to run up the stairs. She stumbled into her room and raced to the window that overlooked the bailey. She had to get out. Get away from the castle. She couldn’t be seen here by the English soldiers.
Oh, please, please, don’t let it be him.
The bailey was quickly filling up with Sutherland’s warriors.
Angus was directing them as if they were preparing for a siege.
How much time did she have? Could she sneak out?
But where would she go? Could she hide in the forest while the English were here?
Her heart pounded and her palms were sweating.
Her breathing was ragged, punctuated by small whimpers.
A shout arose from the portcullis and a line of red-coated English soldiers rode through.
Eleanor gasped. She was too late. They were here and she was here, and nothing, nothing good could come of this.
She’d doomed them all and possibly cost them their lives.
She watched the soldiers ride in. It seemed like a lot, too many, but in reality it was only about a dozen.
And in the front, sitting tall, was Colonel Henry Blackwood.
She turned and ran to the door, slamming it shut and placing the bar across it.
She looked around wildly for a place to hide.
All good sense left her. She was nothing but a trapped animal, terrified, needing to run but with no place to go.
Would she be safe up here? Would the officers approach the bedchambers?
Was Blackwood here because he’d heard she was here?
Had he found her, or was this dumb luck?
Oh, what did it matter? He was here, and if he found her, he would take her away and punish Sutherland and his people. And she would rather die than be taken by him again.
She raced into the adjoining room, but there was nowhere to hide in the sitting area and nowhere to hide in the bedroom. Breathless, she sank to the floor in a far corner and waited for Blackwood to find her.