Page 11 of Healing the Highland Sinner (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #7)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“ A ye. I followed him last night,” Ciar said quietly.

Rosalind looked at him aghast. “And why’d ye dae that? I didnae ask ye tae dae that.”

“Because we need tae ken that we can trust the lad. And it’s me job tae watch yer back.”

Her frown deepened as she glanced over her shoulder. Ellair walked behind them, strolling as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The way his shoulders were bunched though, betrayed his seeming casualness. She could see that he was tensed and ready to fight and would have his sword out in the blink of an eye if any trouble came to them—something that wasn’t outside the realm of possibility in this section of Thurso at night.

Rosalind hadn’t mentioned her sparring sessions with Ellair to Ciar. He was right to be suspicious of everybody and she was grateful that he watched her back so closely. She wished she didn’t need somebody to protect her. Wished she could better defend herself. It was one reason she was happy to receive the lessons Ellair was giving her. She was far from competent with a blade, but she felt like she’d been making progress.

She felt guilty for keeping that from Ciar. But as she’d thought about it, she realized the reasons were personal. She was beginning to trust Ellair. Probably more than Ciar did and definitely far more than he would have approved of. And if Rosalind was being honest with herself, she would have to say that her trust for Ellair was growing along with her other feelings for him. Something Ciar would definitely frown upon.

He wouldn’t understand and would likely be upset by it. So, until Ciar had learned to trust Ellair as much as she was coming to trust him, she thought it was probably best to keep their growing bond to herself.

“And?” she asked. “What did ye learn?”

“Naethin’ useful. He’s got an eye fer the ladies who work the docks. He was with a dark-haired woman last night and they looked friendly enough,” he said.

Rosalind’s stomach clenched and a flash of disappointment or even pain tore through her heart. The idea of Ellair cozying up with one of the women who worked the docks ignited a churning tempest in her belly. It was ridiculous, she knew. Beyond ridiculous. They were not sharing a bed, he had not claimed her, so there was no reason for her to feel… jealous. And yet, the thought of him bedding another woman made her feel exactly that.

“I see,” she said. “And… ye’re sure?”

He nodded. “They were all smiles when I found ‘em and I watched him hand her a fat purse. Only one reason a man hands a woman like that a purse that full.”

Rosalind pressed her hand to her belly and tried to hold down the warm bile that was bubbling inside of her. She cleared her throat and tried to keep her face calm and neutral.

“I see,” she said.

“’Twas nae what I was expectin’ tae find, I’ll admit.”

“And what were ye expectin’ tae find?”

“The lad meetin’ with our enemies,” he admitted with a shrug.

Rosalind laughed softly. “Ye really arenae the trustin’ sort, are ye?”

He gave her a smile and squeezed her shoulder. When they turned the corner though, and the building they were heading to came into sight, the smile faded from Ciar’s lips, and his body grew tense. Rosalind glanced at him and then the bandage on his hand. As if he sensed her looking at him, Ciar tucked his hand under his cloak.

“How is yer hand?” she asked.

“’Tis fine.”

Rosalind didn’t know what they were walking into. It had been Ewan who’d asked to meet with her and from the start, Ciar had been uneasy. Probably with good reason. Ewan was about as trustworthy as a rattlesnake. But he still wasn’t in fighting shape. He was doing his best to hide it, but the wound on his hand had not yet healed completely, and it was still causing him no small amount of discomfort. She could see it whenever he tested his hand when he thought she wasn’t looking. But she had been watching him closely.

She had tried to leave him behind at the compound, but Ciar wouldn’t hear of it. So, as she’d done often over the last couple of weeks, she’d brought Ellair along. She knew Ciar wasn’t happy with it. He was a proud man, and he took his role as her protector very seriously. He was frustrated that he was not in fighting shape, and even more frustrated that Ellair had been supplanting him by her side. But what he wouldn’t understand was that she was trying to protect him by not putting him into a position where he was going to be forced to fight. Trying to fight one-handed was a sure way to get him killed. Not to mention her along with him.

“All right,” Rosalind said. “I want ye tae stay out here and watch?—”

“Nay. I’m nae lettin’ ye go in there alone.”

“I willnae be alone. I’ll be takin’ Ellair in with me.”

His face darkened and his brow furrowed. “Me lady, I dinnae think that’s a good idea.”

She stopped and turned to him, laying a gentle hand on his arm as a small, gentle smile touched her lips.

“’Tis the only good idea in a bad situation,” she said. “If Ewan is in there with some men and they’ve all got bad intentions, I dinnae want ye tae have tae fight. Ye’re nae one hundred percent and I worry that ye’ll be put in a bad spot.”

His chuckle was a deep rumble in his chest. “’Tis me job tae watch yer back and worry about ye. Nae the other way around.”

“’Tis what makes us so good taegether,” she replied. “We watch each other’s backs.”

He glanced toward the building, a frown on his lips. But then he turned back to her and sighed, giving her a nod.

“All right. I ken ye’re right, but…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Rosalind already knew. It wasn’t just his hand that was wounded, but his pride as well. Even still, Ciar was a levelheaded man and knew that what she was saying was true. Knew that in his present condition, he was more of a liability than an asset.

He nodded, then turned to Ellair. “Get over here.”

The man swaggered over to them, a smarmy smile on his face. It quickly faded though, in the face of Ciar’s stony expression and stormy hazel eyes.

“Ye’re goin’ in there with her,” Ciar said. “And ye’d best watch her back.”

“Aye. Of course.”

“I mean it. If somethin’ happens in there, ye need tae put yerself in harm’s way tae protect her,” Ciar said, his voice sharp, his gaze direct.

“Aye. I hear ye.”

“Ye better. Because if there’s a single scratch on her, I’m nae goin’ tae be well pleased.”

Ellair nodded. “I’ll make sure she daesnae have a single scratch on her.”

“Come. We’ll be late,” Rosalind said. “Ciar, watch our backs. If Ewan has more men comin’, let us ken. Loudly.”

“Count on it.”

She turned and walked toward the darkened warehouse. Overhead, dark, patchy clouds sailed across a nighttime sky that was dotted with stars that glittered like jewels. Rosalind’s stomach clenched and a lump rose in her throat. She was nervous. Ewan had been growing bolder over the past months and was not at all quiet about his desire to run the port of Thurso on his own. The only thing that had kept him from acting on his desire was his fear of the men who worked for her. But with Laird Gunn taking many of them off the board and Ciar not in optimal fighting shape, she wondered if Ewan saw it as his time to move.

She glanced at Ellair and tried to quell the quiver that rippled through her heart. The man had the most infuriating effect on her. There was something about him that ignited fires within her she’d thought had been snuffed out for good. But whenever his icy blue eyes met hers, she felt those fires sparking to life once more. She knew it was foolish. He was a mercenary in her employ and nothing more. Except, even as the thought passed through her mind, she knew she was lying to herself. He wasn’t just a mercenary. He was something more. And she could see the same in his eyes. The realization was both exciting and terrifying. She didn’t want to feel for this man. And yet… she did.

“We’re meetin’ Ewan,” she told Ellair, trying to get her focus back, as they walked. “The charmin’ lad we met at the Kraken a while back.”

“Aye. I remember him.”

“And there’s a chance he’s called this meetin’ tae kill me.”

Ellair grinned. “So, there’s a chance I’ll get tae have a little fun taenight after all then?”

“Aye. I suppose there is.”

They reached the warehouse, but before they entered, she stopped and turned to him. As she looked into his icy blue eyes, Ciar’s words about Ellair being on the docks with one of the hostesses down there echoed through her mind. She opened her mouth to ask him about it, feeling that sudden swell of acidic jealousy. But she swallowed it down, hardening her expression instead.

“Just keep yer bleedin’ eye peeled. A snake in the grass ain’t half as clever as Ewan.”

“Worry nae. I’ll keep ‘em both peeled.”

She laughed despite herself then turned and pulled the door open. They walked into the warehouse. It was dim and gloomy, with only a handful of oil lamps scattered around on top of stacks of wooden crates providing any illumination. Rosalind’s heart started to pound so loud she was sure Ellair could hear it. She felt him tense beside her. Ellair threw his cloak back and gripped the hilt of his blade as he surveyed the darkness around them.

Rosalind’s hand drifted to the hilt of her dagger. She swallowed hard.

“Somethin’s nae right,” Ellair said.

“Aye. I was thinkin’ the same thing,” she replied, her voice a harsh whisper.

She turned in a circle, trying to see through the shadows that clung to the interior of the warehouse, thick and inky.

“Ewan,” she called out. “What the bleedin’ hell are ye playin’ at?”

The scraping of blades being pulled from their scabbards echoed throughout the warehouse, sounding all around them. Ellair moved closer to her, putting her behind him. Four figures emerged from the shadows like malevolent wraiths.

“Bleedin’ hell,” Ellair muttered.

The four men stopped, surrounding them and penning them in. A tall, broad man with long, dark hair, and darker, soulless eyes, stepped forward, spinning his broadsword in his hand.

“Ewan wanted us tae tell ye that this isnae personal. He said he actually likes ye quite a bit,” the man said. “But ‘tis business and on that count, ye’re standin’ in his way.”

“Is that so?” Rosalind asked.

“Aye. ‘Tis so.”

The four men moved as one, rushing straight toward them, the weak light from the lanterns glinting coldly off their blades. A sharp squeak burst from Rosalind’s mouth as Ellair pushed her to the ground. She hit the hard packed floor with a grunt, feeling her bones rattling inside of her. But she watched as Ellair waded in and engaged all four men, none of whom seemed to be paying her the least bit of mind.

When the first sharp ring of steel upon steel echoed through the cavernous chamber, Rosalind’s heart leapt into her throat. The odds of Ellair taking on four skilled swordsmen and coming out of it alive seemed slim, at best. But she watched as he whirled and spun, deflecting blows, and redirecting thrusts meant to disembowel him. He moved with the grace of a dancer and the ferocity of a lion.

When she saw him wince as a blade sliced along his arm, Rosalind clamped her hands over her mouth. Every fear inside of her that something would happen to him was coming to life and her heart dropped into her belly. Ellair though, didn’t let up. He continued to spin and dance, somehow managing to get out from the middle of the circle the men had formed around him and stood facing them. Blood soaked the sleeve of his tunic, but a crooked grin touched his lips as he stared his attackers down.

“Let’s go then, lads,” Ellair said. “Let’s dance.”

Moving as one, the men rushed him again. Sparks flew as the blades connected, briefly lighting up the shadows around them, and the constant ring of steel on steel reverberated in Rosalind’s ears. She remained where Ellair had pushed her—on her butt in the middle of the warehouse floor—and felt utterly useless. She desperately wanted to fight and yanked the dagger from her belt, but it shook wildly in her hand.

Meanwhile, Ellair continued flowing through an elegant and deadly dance, somehow taking on all four men at once. An agonized shriek pierced the air and when Rosalind saw a fount of crimson blood in the air. The man whose neck had been sliced open fell to the hard packed ground, dead before he hit, a thick, scarlet pool spreading out beneath him.

Getting to her feet, Rosalind gripped her dagger in her fist then forced herself to relax and hold it the way Ellair had taught her. With a savage cry, she rushed forward, bringing the dagger up, over her head, then brought it down on one of the men. The man shrieked when the blade pierced the flesh between his shoulder blades. Blood immediately began to flow down his back, and he dropped his sword, clawing at the dagger but was unable to reach it.

The man spun around and delivered a vicious backhand that rocked Rosalind’s head to the side. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth as she staggered to her right. The force of the blow sent her reeling and her legs, already shaking, gave out beneath her and she toppled to the ground once more. The man she’d stabbed fell to his knees, still crying out in agony, desperately reaching for the dagger in his back.

It was all in vain though. The man pitched forward and landed face-first onto the warehouse floor. Rosalind watched the man in horror as he gasped and wheezed. Her eyes widened and a moment later, she watched him draw his final, shuddering breath, and then he was still. She had never taken a life before. And although she was justified—he would have killed her if she hadn’t acted first—the idea that she had killed somebody felt like her very soul had been stained.

With two men dead and out of the fight, she watched Ellair as he danced and spun, deflecting every thrust and parry the remaining two men threw at him with a grin on his face. The donkey seemed to be enjoying himself. He feinted to the right and both men lunged that way. When Ellair spun back to the left, they realized their mistake. Too late. He slashed with the edge of his blade viciously, and both men let out a wet, gurgling cry as more blood than Rosalind had ever seen, splashed onto the ground beneath them. They both fell, as dead as their companions.

“Are ye all right?” Ellair asked, his eyes wide and filled with worry.

He knelt beside Rosalind, using the sleeve of his tattered tunic to gently wipe the blood from her mouth. Their eyes lingered on each other for a moment, sparks of lighting passing between them in that silence. Rosalind’s heart both swelled and slowed, the excitement she felt whenever she was near him warring with the sense of peace he instilled in her. Her eyes traveled down to his full, bow-shaped lips and for a moment, the urge to lean forward and kiss him overwhelmed her. She wanted—no, she needed —to feel his lips upon hers.

But he smiled at her and winced when he dabbed her split lip once more, breaking the spell of the moment they’d been wrapped in. Gently sliding an arm around her shoulder, his touch making her body tingle from head to toe, he helped her to her feet.

“Ye still need tae work on yer grip,” he said lightly.

The door crashed inward and Ellair stepped in front of her, blade raised. He relaxed when Ciar came into view, his own blade up and ready.

“We need tae go,” Ciar said, looking at the scene in front of him. “There’s more men comin’ this way, all of them armed and armored.”

“Is there somewhere we can hide?” Ellair asked.

Rosalind nodded. “Aye. Come with me.”

As they moved, Ellair ripped her dagger from the back of the man on the ground with a wet, tearing sound that made her stomach quiver again. But she couldn’t worry about that. Her only focus was getting them to safety.