Page 86 of Sutherland's Secret
Brice cursed and ran a hand down his pale face. “That damn MacLean. He always was impulsive. He never did think before he acted, and now look what happened.” He was speaking of his friend in the past tense, as if Colin were already dead.
“There has to be something we can do.”
“And what would that be? Walk in and ask for him back?”
She pressed her lips together, recognizing the futility in that. But there had to be something they could do. Therehadto be. She wrapped her arms around his waist and put her head against his chest to listen to the steady beat of his heart. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He lifted her head and kissed her, a hard and passionate kiss that poured out all of his fear and sadness for his friend. She took that fear and sadness from him gladly, making it her own so he would not be alone in it.
Her door opened. “Eleanor—”
Eleanor jumped away from Brice at the sound of her brother’s voice. Thomas stood in the doorway, his gaze jumping from one to the other, his lips twisted in disapproval.
Brice’s arms dropped to his sides and his chin dropped to his chest. He cursed and rubbed his eyes. “Thomas, can you please knock before entering? I could have been dressing, for all you knew.”
“I’d rather you were,” Thomas said tightly. He took in her attire, or rather, lack of. Dressed in Brice’s overlarge shirt, she might as well have been wearing nothing. Realizing this, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her brother.
Brice stepped in front of her. “Eleanor will meet you in the great hall as soon as she dresses,” he said, his tone broking no argument.
Thomas’s lips thinned, but he nodded and backed out, closing the door behind him.
Brice gave her a long, steady look filled with disappointment. Eleanor looked away. She didn’t know what to do or how to behave. Her actions were bordering on—no, definitely crossing over—indecent. For her brother to see her acting so loose was embarrassing. And yet she knew Brice was feeling as if she were drifting away from him.
“I’ll leave ye to dress.” He left her standing in the middle of her bedchamber. Cecilia entered, chattering incessantly about the MacLean’s men. From the sparkle in her eyes, Eleanor concluded that Cecilia had found one to her liking. She let the girl talk while her mind wandered.
“Cecilia,” she said suddenly.
The girl stopped her observations on the attributes of a man named Rory.
“I see the Sutherland women occasionally wearing a plaid over their gowns.”
“Oh, yes, my lady. We don’t wear kilts like the men, because that would reveal our knees.” She giggled as if such a thought were ludicrous. “So the women wear what we call an arisaid and attach it with a broach.” She thought for a moment. “I believe the former mistress”—she shot Eleanor an apologetic look that Eleanor waved away—“might have one somewhere.” Cecilia went to the wardrobe and, on her hands and knees, entered headfirst, talking the entire time. “She never wore it much, to my lord’s disappointment. She wasn’t much of one for the Highlands, even though she was a Highlander herself. Here it is!” Cecilia backed out and held up a length of tartan in the blue and green of the Sutherland clan. She draped it over Eleanor’s shoulder and gathered it at her waist with a belt she unearthed from the floor of the wardrobe.
Eleanor looked at herself in the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back. She’d gained weight since coming to Castle Dornach, and there was color in her cheeks and on her nose from the days she’d spent in the sun. Her blond hair was streaked with lighter blond.
In England women would have been appalled that there was color on her cheeks, claiming she was ruining her skin. And the fact that she rarely wore shoes inside the castle would have been completely unacceptable. Not to mention the plain linen tunic she preferred to wear instead of elaborate, expensive gowns.
In England she wore silk and French lace. And she didn’t miss it one bit.
Cecilia rummaged through a jewelry box and produced a sapphire broach. It was breathtakingly beautiful in its simplicity. Cecilia pinned it to Eleanor’s breast, then stepped back and smiled. “Ye look like a proper Highland woman now. No’ like aSasannachat all.” Her eyes widened. “My apologies, my lady. I didn’t—”
“It’s all right, Cecilia. I’m proud to look like a proper Highland woman.”
Satisfied with her attire, Eleanor made her way down to the great hall. Brice and Thomas were sitting at a table across from each other, glaring at each other. Eleanor hurried over, unsure how she was going to dispel the tension between the two, worried that she never would.
She sat next to Thomas because it seemed that it was he she needed to work on the most, but as soon as she sat down, she knew she’d made the wrong decision. Brice’s eyes flashed. And yet if she’d sat with him, Thomas would have been angry. She was caught between the two men who meant the most to her.
Thomas took in her attire with a steely-eyed glare. His gaze went from her bare feet to the simple linen tunic to the arisaid draping her shoulders. He looked at her without words, telling her she was dressing and behaving inappropriately. She lifted her chin and stared back, letting him know she didn’t care.
“We will leave as soon as we can be prepared,” Thomas said to her, dragging his gaze from Brice.
“I still say it’s no’ safe,” Brice said.
Thomas looked at him before turning to Eleanor. Eleanor winced at her brother’s rudeness and clear dismissal. From the color climbing in Brice’s cheeks, she gathered he hadn’t missed the slight, either.
“We’ll go to Campbell and ask him to lend us some of his men for safe passage. According to Blackwood, Campbell is sympathetic to the English.”
“If ye’re hell-bent on leaving, I’ll lend ye the men to get ye to the Campbell,” Brice said, but Eleanor could tell the words cost him. He looked at her, but there was nothing in his cool blue eyes that alerted her to what he was thinking.
