Chapter 21
Eleanor watched Brice grab a pail that was sitting beside the back door and head outside. She shivered as the wind rushed in and whirled around her on a swirl of dead leaves and dust.
The flames of the fire danced madly about as she stared into them.
Alisa had been a fool; she’d had no idea what was in front of her.
Didn’t she realize that every woman wished for a good husband who cared for her and took care of her?
A beautiful country with honest, hardworking people?
Alisa had been blind to all of that in her desire to see more and do more.
Eleanor was lucky in that her family had enough money to dress and eat well.
They lived in a fine house in a very good part of the city.
They attended the balls that Alisa longed to attend.
The girl would have been terribly disappointed if she did get an invitation to a ball.
The women and girls were vipers, and Alisa would have been just different enough that she would have been ostracized.
Eleanor probably would have been one of those who turned her back on Alisa.
It was how society functioned, but now Eleanor had a clearer picture of things, and she didn’t like what she was seeing.
She was forever changed by her time in Scotland.
While the journey had been harsh—brutal, even—she was at peace with who she had become.
She felt as if she was a better person for her tribulations.
She wished Charles hadn’t had to die or that she hadn’t had to suffer in Cumberland’s dungeon for the greed of Blackwood.
She wished she could have made herself a better person without all of that, but it was nothing she could change now.
And she had met Brice Sutherland and his clan.
If not for them, she would not be alive.
If not for them, she would not have the changed view of Scotland that she did now.
She felt for these people who were running and hiding for their lives and the lives of their families.
Who made the difficult choice to leave the country where their people had lived for centuries.
Brice came back in a swirl of moist air and shook the droplets of rain from his hair.
He was such a handsome man, in a rough way.
Completely different from the men in London, who had soft hands and padded shoulders in their coats.
There was nothing padded about Brice. He was all hard muscles and angles. And Eleanor loved that about him.
“I hope the men make it back to the castle before the storm hits,” he said as he put the pail of water down.
Eleanor hugged her knees to her chest and watched him search through the small cupboard. He came away with a bag of something and a flat stone, then picked up the pail and brought it all to the fire. “Tonight’s fine fare is bannocks,” he said as he placed everything before them.
“It sounds heavenly,” she said.
“Ye’ll no’ be thinking that when ye’re eating it, but it’s the best I can do.”
She watched as, one-handed, he mixed oatmeal and water into a thick dough.
He formed it into a ball, helping with the hand that was in a sling, and placed it on the stone, then flattened it to a thick oval shape.
He set the stone in the middle of the fire, sliding it in with the stick before he sat back.
He scooted next to her, and they sat side by side on the wooden floor as the storm picked up outside and the bannock cooked.
It was all very homey and intimate. If her friends in London could see her now, they would be appalled.
If Charles could see her now, he would be outraged that she’d been forced into such barbaric circumstances.
But Eleanor didn’t mind in the least. She was sitting by a warm fire, a wonderful man at her side.
She was wearing breeches in the wilds of Scotland.
Her life had certainly taken a drastic turn.
“So I know you had a wife, but what about other family? Brothers and sisters?” she asked, wanting to know more about this man.
“Aye.”
Eleanor waited for more, but when none was forthcoming, she bumped his shoulder with her own. “I’m trying to make small talk,” she said.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “I liked it better when ye did no’ talk so much.”
She grinned. “No, you didn’t. You begged me to talk to you.”
He grinned back, and Eleanor drew in a ragged breath. He reminded her of warriors of old. She could imagine a whole line of Sutherland ancestors sitting in front of fires like this, making bannocks and passing the time between battles.
“I had a younger brother. Beathan. He was a captain of one of my ships that took the refugees to Canada. The ship sank about a month ago. No one survived.”
“Oh, Brice.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “So many deaths,” she whispered.
He shrugged, nearly dislodging her head. “No’ any more than any other clan has suffered.”
“But it’s devastating.”
“Aye.” His voice was rough and he cleared his throat. “I have a sister, Brae. She lives in Canada with her husband and their child.”
“Why are they in Canada?” But she knew. Why else would they be in Canada? For the same reason every other Scot was fleeing there.
“Niall, Brae’s husband, was a Jacobite. He was very outspoken and was wanted by the English even before Culloden.
He saw the future and knew it was no’ good, so he took Brae, heavy with child at the time, and they went to Canada.
He now helps the refugees find work and a home when they land.
He’s my contact there, and Brae writes often.
There’s always a letter when a ship arrives. ”
There was warmth to his tone when he spoke of his sister. He was proud of her and he missed her, Eleanor could tell. Just like she missed her family. It was an ache deep inside that she tried not to think about but that was always with her.
“And your parents?” She almost didn’t want to ask but wanted to know nonetheless.
“Dead. They were brought down by the influenza that swept through our clan about ten years ago.”
“They would have been proud of you and your brother and sister. You’re fighting for something bigger than all of us. You’re saving people’s lives.”
He grunted. He’d pulled his knees up and rested his elbows on them, letting his hands dangle.
He’d sat like that in front of a fire before.
When she’d first awakened after he found her in the middle of the road.
She remembered being frightened of his strength and his size.
She remembered waiting for those hands to form into fists and fly at her.
It had never happened, and now she knew that he would never hurt her no matter how angry he was with her.
She’d come far in the weeks since being in his care, but that didn’t erase the fact that she was still being hunted. Just like the remaining Jacobites hiding in the woods from the English soldiers.
Using the stick, he pushed and pulled the stone cooking the bannocks out of the fire. They appeared more like bread now.
“We’ll let them cool for a bit,” he said. “Are ye cold?”
“I’m actually quite comfortable.” And she was. She felt warm and protected in the small hut. “Will your men miss you?”
“Doubtful. They’ll be at the castle in the arms of warm women, no doubt with food better than this in their bellies and strong drink on their lips.”
“I’m sorry that you’re saddled with me.”
He looked at her sharply. “I’m not.”
Startled, she looked at him, and he returned her stare, blue eyes clashing with blue eyes.
“Yesterday, in my chamber, ye said we could no’ couple again. Did ye mean that?”
She drew in a long breath, searching for the right answer. “At the time I did.”
“And now?” His shoulders had tensed, but his eyes smoldered with suppressed desire.
“I still think it’s not a good idea, but I’m not strong when it comes to you, Brice Sutherland.”
His nostrils flared. “Ye make me weak, too, Eleanor Hirst.”
Something in her stomach fluttered at the heated look he gave her. It was inevitable, their coupling. She could no more deny him his needs than she could deny her own.
He leaned over and cupped her face with his good hand to press his lips against hers. His lips were warm from facing the fire. Warm and soft and oh, so lovely and familiar. She didn’t realize until now how much she had ached for his lips on hers. And his body on hers, and in her.
“Ach, Ella.”
“You only call me that when we make love,” she said between kisses.
“Do I? That’s how I think of ye when we make love.”
“I can live with that.”
He chuckled and kissed her again, leaning so far over that she lay back. His body was half on her, his hand still cupping her cheek as he deepened his kiss.
She ran her hands along his back, feeling the tight smooth muscles move.
She pulled at his kilt, grabbing handfuls of it and tugging until it was hitched up around his waist, and then she ran her hands along his tight, round, naked buttocks.
“So you really don’t wear anything under there,” she said.
“And why would we?” He breathed in a harsh breath when she kneaded his butt cheeks. “Lord above, lady. Ye’ll be killing me, ye will.”
She smiled into his mouth and moved her hand around to touch the hard length of his erection.
His hips flexed. “Damnation,” he breathed. He rose up on his good arm and looked down on her. “I’m thinking ye have too many clothes on.”
She raised a brow. “Then do something about it.”
He laughed. Soon he was pulling her shirt out of her breeches, tugging and pulling and cursing. “Damn blasted, bloody thing.” He sat up and whipped the sling off, releasing his injured arm.
“You’ll hurt yourself,” she said.
“I do no’ care right now.”
He pulled her breeches off, and she lifted her hips to aid him as she unbuttoned the shirt. He looked down at her, his gaze roaming over her body as his shaking arms supported him. “Ye are so beautiful,” he whispered.
She found that her maidenly embarrassment at being naked in front of a man had deserted her, and she was glad of that. She liked the appreciation in his eyes when he looked at her. She felt womanly and beautiful. “Let me look at you,” she said.
He rose up on his knees and held his arms out. “I’m yers to do with as ye please.” His voice was husky with desire that thrilled through her.
She rose up on her knees and unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it and the kilt off his bandaged shoulder.
He was even more beautiful with the bandage, because it meant he was real and not a figment of her imagination.
His muscles were clearly defined, his stomach muscles resembling a ladder that led down to his manhood, which was tenting his kilt.
“How do you get this blasted thing off?” she said, pushing at the kilt.
He laughed. “I have ye so worked up that ye’re cursing?”
“Aye,” she said, mimicking his brogue.
He unwound the kilt, and Eleanor was surprised to see that it was nothing but a big piece of fabric. In all his naked glory, he spread it on the floor and looked at her. “It has many uses,” he said with a slight smile.
“I can see that.” But she wasn’t looking at his kilt. She was looking at the engorged penis, standing straight up. It was huge and red and swollen, and her body tingled when she looked at it. She stroked it, exploring its length and breadth, the moist head and the slit in the top of it.
Brice took in a breath, his head falling back and his eyes closing.
He rose up on his knees and went back down on his heels with each of her light strokes.
His member jumped and bobbed, and the twin sacs below it tightened.
She touched those with her other hand, cupping them as she stroked him.
He groaned, his hands clenching at his sides.
She was wet and heavy between her legs, aching for his touch, but when he reached for her, she brushed his hand away. His arm fell to his side. He gasped and moaned and moved his hips as she stroked him softly.
His hand came up to cover hers, showing her how to move, what to do. Together they stroked him, and it was the most fascinating, scintillating thing she’d ever been part of. Their hands were moving faster now, his hips rising and falling with each thrust, his groans nothing but a long low sound.
Suddenly he stopped, his fingers closing over hers in a brutal hold. “Stop,” he ground out between clenched teeth.
She froze, her gaze flying to his in bewilderment.
And then she felt it, the throb of his penis.
The slit in the top opened up, then closed with each throb, and the sacs she was cupping shrank and expanded as well.
Brice held his breath, and when the throbbing stopped, he released it in a long whoosh.
“That was too close. We do no’ want to finish before we even start.” His eyes narrowed as he looked down on her. He released her hand and pried her fingers from him before dropping to his hands and his knees to grin at her wickedly. “Yer turn now, lass.”