Page 10 of Healing the Highland Sinner (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #7)

CHAPTER TEN

E llair leaned against the railing and took a bite of the meat pie he’d purchased from the vendor. The rich, warm gravy spilled over his tongue and the flavor of the well-seasoned meat burst in his mouth. It was delicious. Far better than the fare he’d been eating at Rosalind’s house. For all his other gifts, Ciar wasn’t a very good cook. Rosalind was better in the kitchen, but she didn’t cook all that often, leaving Ellair to prowl the town for something to fill his belly most nights.

As he chewed thoughtfully, he looked around, surveying the gathering crowd. Being the beating heart of the harbor town, the docks were always bustling as there was plenty of legitimate commerce going on. But the later in the day it got, the more he noticed that the makeup of the people who crowded the harbor changed. The people who frequented the area were rougher and Ellair noticed there were many more blades visible.

“Enjoyin’ yer meat pie, are ye?”

Ellair grinned as the woman leaned against the railing next to him. With hair blacker than midnight and eyes that sparkled like sapphires, the woman was petite and lithe. Nyssa was a beautiful woman, a necessity in her line of work. But she was also one of the deadliest he’d ever met. She was a lovely Scottish rose but with the incredibly sharp thorns, which was probably also a necessity k given the rough treatment and violence some men visited upon women.

“Ye were right,” Ellair said. “That man makes the best meat pies in Thurso.”

“I told ye.”

“Aye. That ye did,” he said with a chuckle as he pulled another pie wrapped in paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “I thought ye might be hungry.”

“’Twas very thoughtful of ye, Ellair.”

He shrugged. “I’m a thoughtful guy.”

She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling all the more. “Thank ye.”

She tucked into her pie, and they stood against the railing together eating in a companionable silence for a few minutes. As they did, the back of his neck began to crawl, and the hair stood on end. As he took another bite of his pie, Ellair casually surveyed the docks around him, searching for unseen eyes. He usually only had that feeling when he was being watched. But as he looked around, he saw nothing. If there was somebody watching him, they’d managed to conceal themselves very well.

“So, I ken ye didnae come down here just tae bring me supper,” Nyssa said.

“How dae ye ken that? Maybe I find yer company pleasant.”

“That silver tongue of yers is goin’ tae get ye intae trouble one of these days.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

Her laugh was musical, and her face lit up, making her look even younger than he knew she was. He wished she didn’t have to live the life she did just to get by or do the things she did just to survive. She deserved better than having to rut with strange men every night just to get a meal. He pitied her. Ellair grimaced, reminding himself once again that he was not there for Nyssa or to worry about her fate. And that bothered him.

The sun was slipping toward the horizon, casting the sky in shades of deep purple and dark blue as the day began giving way to night. It was the time of day when the docks and the town of Thurso started coming to life. Nighttime was when most of the illicit business that sustained life in the harbor town took place. It was when the shadowy figures who ran the criminal enterprises in town emerged to run their empires.

It was also when violence ran rampant and people who crossed those shadowy figures found themselves on the wrong end of a dagger. A dangerous time of day, when one had to watch their step while navigating the treacherous world of Thurso’s criminal underbelly. Over his time with Rosalind, Ellair had managed to learn where he could and could not put his feet. But it was still a delicate dance.

Rosalind was keeping him busy. Getting into her good graces and getting her to trust him was proving to be a long and arduous process. But he felt like he was making progress. In those rare times when she did not have him running her errands or accompanying her to meetings to watch her back, Ellair had managed to slip away and spend some time developing contacts around the docks. He had managed to foster relationships with various people who were able to feed him useful information. Such as Nyssa.

Part of Ellair felt guilty about using her. Despite her tough and rugged personality, Nyssa had a heart of gold. She was kind. And he hated that he was lying to her about who he was. Almost as guilty as he felt about deceiving Rosalind. He was not a man who liked lying or being duplicitous, but he was loyal to his laird. He had been sent on this mission. It was critical to the survival of one of his laird’s staunchest allies. And perhaps even to the survival of his laird and the clan itself. So, he set his personal feelings aside and focused on the mission.

Nyssa finished her pie and crumpled the paper in her hand then turned to Ellair. The air grew heavy between them, and he watched as a veil descended over her face. Her smile faded and the sparkle in her eyes dimmed. The warm and pleasant part of their meeting was clearly over, and it was time to get down to business. One of the reasons Ellair had sought out a woman like Nyssa—a hostess—was because he knew they serviced many of the men on the docks. And if there was one thing men with a bit of drink in their belly were notorious for, it was seeking out the warmth of a woman… and being unable to keep their mouth shut in the wake of the act.

“I was with a man last night who crews on one of Dashiell’s ships,” Nyssa said. “He said they’re secretly runnin’ a bit of cargo up the river tae the Sinclairs.”

“Without tellin’ the Widow?”

She shrugged. “Aye. The cargo’s comin’ from London and I got the idea the money they were bein’ offered was too good tae pass up,” she said. “Good enough fer them tae be willin’ tae defy the Widow.”

It must have been quite the payday if they were willing to risk Rosalind’s wrath by taking a secret shipment to Clan Sinclair. Everybody knew she controlled the smuggling lanes, and nobody was allowed to run cargo inland without her approval and paying her tax to allow it.

“And ye’re sure he said the cargo was goin’ tae Clan Sinclair?”

She nodded. “Aye. I’m sure,” she said. “He also said a day was comin’ when they wouldnae have tae worry about gettin’ the Widow’s approval at all.”

“What daes that mean?”

“Couldnae tell ye. Nae fer certain,” she replied. “But it sounds tae me like Dashiell may be lookin’ tae move up the ladder by takin’ out the Widow. ‘Tis the way of things in Thurso. Everybody always lookin’ tae step on or over somebody tae improve their lot. Bunch of schemin’ backstabbin’ arses.”

Her words sent a lance of guilt through Ellair’s heart, for he too, was a scheming, backstabbing arse. He was not cut out for that kind of work.

“There’s somethin’ else he said I found curious,” she said.

“And what was that then?”

“He said they’d be runnin’ more cargo tae some of the other clans.”

“Aye? Like who?”

“Some of the smaller clans like Barclay, Dunbar, Glen… though I dinnae why. They’re small clans who dinnae have the coin the Sinclairs dae,” she said.

Ellair paused, a frown stretching his lips as he started to see the plan that was being played out. At least, his theory of the plan. What Nyssa didn’t seem to know was that Clans Barclay, Dunbar, and Glen, though small, were staunch allies of Clan Sinclair. They were also renowned fighters. Fierce and stubborn, their small clans had managed to continue existing because they killed anybody who moved against them. Of course, Sinclair had moved quickly to ally with them.

And now, cargo coming from London, which he had to assume was English gold and weapons, was secretly flowing north and into the hands of Sinclair and his allies. What was happening became obvious to Ellair. The English, acting through their surrogate—some might say puppet—Hugh Sinclair, were arming an opposition to Clan Gunn, potentially destabilizing the area, making it easier for Sinclair to conquer. With such a force, backed by the English, aligning against him, Laird Gunn wouldn’t be able to stand for long. And neither would his.

What that donkey Hugh Sinclair wasn’t taking into account in his grand plan of conquest were the English themselves. He believed the English, because he had a fancy English title and lands in the south, were his ally and friends. But Ellair knew them for what they were: rabid dogs. The English had wanted to wipe out the Scottish for centuries and they had found a useful idiot in Hugh Sinclair. He was all too happy to do their bidding for a chance at power and wealth for himself. The man who would be king was willing to betray his countrymen for outside invaders.

What Sinclair didn’t seem to understand was that a rabid dog, though docile at times, would eventually turn on you. What he didn’t see was that once the English got all they wanted and Sinclair was no longer useful to them, they would do to him what he did to his countrymen. The English wanted Scotland. And they wanted it without Scots. But Sinclair was too greedy, consumed with his own power, and shortsighted to actually see it.

“Did he tell ye anythin’ else?” Ellair asked.

“Nay. He fell asleep soon after that. The lad daesnae have much in the way of stamina,” she said with a laugh.

Ellair grinned at her. “Or maybe ye just take it out of ‘em?”

“’Tis possible,” she replied and trailed her fingertip down his chest, her blue eyes glittering in the fading light. “Ye could always find out fer yerself…”

There was a time, Ellair probably would have taken Nyssa up on her offer without thinking twice about it. But as he pondered the idea of seeing her naked, he realized she did not hold the appeal she would have had at any other time. All Ellair could think about was Rosalind. When he thought of her, he felt the swell of desire he had once enjoyed at the sight of most any beautiful woman. It was confounding.

He cleared his throat and offered her a grin. “I wish I had the time taenight, love. But perhaps another time.”

“I’ll hold ye tae that.”

Ellair pulled a small but full black purse from beneath his cloak and bounced it in his hand. The sound of the coins clinking against each other filled the air between them. He gave her a smile and handed it over to Nyssa. She took the purse and it disappeared from view like she was a sorcerer and had banished it to another realm.

“Ye be careful, lass,” he said.

“Ye be careful yerself.”

“Always.”

She leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek, her gaze lingering on his for a long moment before she gave him a smile. She turned and walked away, disappearing as swiftly as the purse she’d claimed from him. Ellair turned to go and felt his skin prickling as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end again.

He looked left and right, searching the faces in the crowd around him, but nobody seemed to be paying any undue attention to him. He saw no shadowy figures in the alleyways standing around watching him, nor anybody approaching. And yet, the feeling of being watched persisted. A frown spread across his face as he pulled his hood down low, concealing his face in shadow, and his cloak around himself a bit tighter.

Unable to find the source of his unease, Ellair started moving away, melting into the crowd. He needed to get back to Rosalind’s compound before he was missed.