Chapter 23
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.