The Stolen Bride. Brenda Joyce
resolve strengthened. She would be packed and ready to leave at dawn, as well. In fact, she had the beginnings of a bloody brilliant idea. “No, not in the woods, it’s too dangerous.”
He glanced at her, his face filled with wariness.
“You can hide in my rooms.”
CHAPTER FIVE
EVERYTHING WAS AT STAKE now and Eleanor knew it—Sean’s life and his freedom, and her future with him. She refused to think about the fact that he had not agreed to let her journey to America with him. She refused to think about the years they had shared, when he had never once suggested that he might love her back. Instead, she would think about the way he had looked at her and the desire she had felt pulsing between them. She could not have misinterpreted that.
They had agreed that he would remain in the woods for the day, as there was no way he could steal into the house without, in all likelihood, being detected. Now that she knew he was back and being searched for by the authorities, she feared the imminent arrival of British troops. He seemed remarkably calm and unafraid, insisting he would hear their approach long before they could ever find him. Their plan was that he would go up to the house during the supper hour, when the family, their guests and the staff were occupied.
She’d finally had a moment to actually assimilate all that had transpired. She would never stop loving Sean, but he was a convicted traitor now. She knew that each and every member of her family would fight for his freedom and his good name, if they were given a chance. She also knew that no one, not her father, her mother or her brothers, would ever condone a match with him now.
If he had returned home with the same status as when he had left, it would not have been hard to convince her father to allow her to marry for love. Sean’s family was an ancient one, and once, his ancestors had been great earls, ruling half of Ireland, but he had been born the younger son of an impoverished Irish Catholic nobleman. His father had actually leased Askeaton from Adare, even though those lands had once belonged to the O’Neills. Yet the earl would have given her hand in marriage to his own stepson, and he would have gifted them with a small estate. Their life would have been a simple one; Eleanor would not have cared.
The earl would never approve of such a marriage now, not that Sean had offered for her. And no one would allow her to run away with him, if they ever suspected her plans. It saddened and distressed her that, so suddenly, her great family was being torn apart.
But they would spend the night together, and she could barely wait to be with him again. She had to know everything that he had been through. He had become so distant, like some dangerous stranger. Surely his wariness toward her would ease. And his insistence that Sean O’Neill was dead was absurd. Sean O’Neill was very much alive, even if he was thin and scarred, his voice strained and hoarse. He had been wounded somehow, but he wasn’t dead. The wounded healed, and Sean would heal, too. Eleanor intended to make certain of it.
Although he remained a short distance away in the woods, she missed him terribly. She wanted to sit close to him, his arm around her, the way they once had. She wanted to see him smile and hear him laugh. It had been so long! Did he even know that Tyrell was married and that he had two children? Did he even know that Devlin now had a son as well as a daughter? There was so much to share. And if she were very daring, she would encourage him to kiss her.
The tension inside her spiraled wildly. In spite of the dire circumstances, in spite of the changes in Sean, she was happy. He had come home and she would never let him go without her again.
Eleanor had reached the flagstone terrace and she slowed, glancing cautiously around. Her morning rides were usually over well before seven, before the sun had a chance to shake the chill of the prior evening. Well, it was past seven now, and the sun was high and warm. If it were close to eight, her father and her brothers and any number of their male guests were having breakfast in the morning room. Ladies rarely came down before ten or half past that hour.
Rex appeared before her, having been seated alone on the terrace. Eleanor jumped nervously. He smiled, limping toward her. “Did I give you a fright?” he asked curiously.
“Yes, you did,” she said even more nervously. His expression was oddly calm and flat.
His gaze traveled over her. “You seem to be riding a bit later than usual.”
He was suspicious, she thought in alarm. Rex was as solid and dependable as a rock, never mind his recently acquired sardonic humor. He had always been close to Sean—they were the exact same age. If she were not determined to be with Sean, she would go to him for help and advice. But she contained the impulse. Sean had been very clear that he did not want anyone in the family involved in his escape, and Rex would no more wish to see her running off with him than the earl or his brothers would.
He smiled very slightly. “You are very flushed. It’s not that warm out,” he said.
She swallowed hard, thinking of Sean, who so needed help.
“Is there something you wish to tell me?”
She was almost certain that he was suspicious of her. She managed a smile. “I am running late, and I rushed here from the stables. The last thing I wish is for one of the Sinclairs to see me dressed like this.”
“Do you want me to see if the path is clear?” he asked.
She nodded and seized his left hand, as he always kept his crutch under his right shoulder. “That would be wonderful.”
His eyes softened with kindness. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll go first.”
A few moments later, Rex signaled that the salon was clear, and she darted through it, into the hall and safely upstairs. A maid was passing. Instantly Eleanor changed the plans she had made with Sean. “Beth!”
The plump girl paused, curtsying. “My lady.” She never blinked at the sight of Eleanor in men’s clothes standing in the hall at such an hour. Beth, while very pleasant and helpful, was rather dull and somewhat dim-witted, a fact that worked in Eleanor’s favor. So many of the staff indulged in the gossip that ran rampant below stairs.
“I should like for you to go to the kitchens and fill a sack with a loaf of bread, a very large hunk of cheese—any kind will do—some meat if it is available and a bottle of wine. It need not be chilled,” Eleanor said. Sean had told her he could wait until the evening to eat, but she was not going to heed him now.
Beth nodded. “Wine, bread and cheese,” she repeated.
“In a sack. If Cook asks, you may tell him it is for me. You are to leave it outside the back kitchen door,” she instructed, hoping all of this would not be too much for Beth to manage. “And do not forget some meat, if we have it.”
Beth left to obey her orders.
Eleanor took a deep, calming breath. She was so overwhelmed with the stunning development of Sean’s return that it was hard to think clearly. He also needed clothes. She hurried up the hall, knocking on the door to the room that was Cliff’s. As a privateer who spent most of his time at sea, pursuing one fortune after another, he was rarely home. She had learned from a blushing maid that he had appeared late last night, well past the midnight hour but in time to join some of their guests for a few games of whist.
There was no answer and she shoved open the door.
The room was a large, lavishly furnished one with blue walls, a marble fireplace and a large canopied bed in its center. As there were so many bed coverings, it was hard to tell, but her brother most definitely seemed to be in its midst. “Cliff!” she demanded, striding over.
He jerked upright, his chest bare, looking positively stunned to see her, and Eleanor realized he was not alone. She felt herself turn red as the woman next him hid under the covers.
“Do you ever knock?” he exclaimed. Like all the de Warenne men, he was tall, well built and handsome to a fault. Like Eleanor, he had dark blond hair, but his was riotously streaked from the sun and years at sea. He was as bronzed as the pirates he hunted.
“You