Page 14 of Healing the Highland Sinner (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #7)
CHAPTER 14
E llair waited in the alley near the town square. The air was thick with laughter, drunken singing, and the salt of the ocean. Thurso was alive and bustling at that time of night, with plenty of drunken revelers coming back after a day out on the sea. He leaned against the building, munching on the meat pie he’d purchased and washed it down with a cup of wine—though just one, for he needed to keep his wits about him.
“Where in the bleedin’ hell are these idiots?” he muttered.
After getting back to the compound, they’d all taken some much-needed rest. It had been a long, trying night. Ellair had awoken to find Rosalind already in the kitchen, making the evening meal. Over supper, she asked him to go down to the harbor to look into a package Sinclair wanted her to move into the Highlands. She had been uneasy about it, and he could tell she was still debating whether she could truly trust him or not. Part of that, he was sure, was because of Ciar. The man trusted nobody other than himself and Rosalind.
It wasn’t a bad thing. In his place, Ellair probably would have been the same way. He actually appreciated how protective of her he was. Ciar would give his life for Rosalind without hesitation. It was something else he appreciated about the man. But getting into that inner circle was all but impossible. Ellair had fought and bled for her and still, it wasn’t good enough. He was starting to wonder if that was a nut he would ever be able to crack.
But trust was only part of it. When she asked him to go see about the mysterious package, he’d seen something else in her eyes. He had no idea what it was, but he knew in that moment, it wasn’t simply a matter of trust that worried her about sending him to get a peek at the cargo.
The fact that she was sending him rather than another of her men for so delicate a mission suggested she trusted him, at least to a certain extent. No, there was definitely something else. Could she have been worried about him? Could she have been scared that she was sending him into the lion’s den? And did that mean she cared about him? That she was feeling something akin to what he did when she was around?
There was part of Ellair that wanted to believe so, that hoped it was true. He groaned and ran a hand over his face, not wanting to admit that, not even to himself. He was there on a critical mission on behalf of his laird and his closest ally. Ellair knew he shouldn’t be making eyes at the woman he’d been sent there to investigate, the woman who was providing aid and comfort to their enemies for profit.
The more he’d gotten to know Rosalind though, the more he thought there was something else going on. She didn’t seem the sort of greedy, profit-driven sort he’d expected to encounter. Yes, he knew she was smuggling English goods to Sinclair and the other clans who supported him. He had seen enough in his time with Rosalind to know that. But he wanted to know why she was doing it. The more he’d gotten to know her, the more he knew there was more to her than met the eye and felt there were other reasons than mere profit.
What that was, he hadn’t been able to ascertain yet, but he was determined to find out before he went back to Laird Gunn to report. He feared that absent a compelling reason for her actions, Laird Gunn might order him to put Rosalind to the sword. He feared that without understanding why she was smuggling on behalf of Sinclair and the English, Laird Gunn would simply see her as another enemy that needed to be dispatched.
Thought of being ordered to kill her tore him apart. It created a conflict within him Ellair never thought he’d have. His loyalty to his laird, and by extension, Laird Gunn, was beyond question. Ellair would lay down his life for Laird MacAulay without hesitation. He was as devoted to him as Ciar was to Rosalind. But being ordered to kill her would put that loyalty and devotion to the test.
“Sod this,” he muttered again. “I’m tired of waitin’ fer these donkeys.”
He hadn’t been thrilled with the idea of taking Ciar’s men with him anyway. The fact that they hadn’t shown up annoyed him even more, but it was probably for the best. He meant to be sneaking into the warehouse where this mysterious cargo was being held, and it was easier to do on his own than with a couple of bumbling buffoons tagging along.
Ellair tossed his cup aside, then started off. As he walked, he pulled the small map Ciar had drawn for him. He quickly studied the route through the streets that led to the warehouse where this mysterious package was being stored, waiting for Rosalind to claim and ship. The deeper he moved into the city and away from the docks, the darker the night around him became. There were fewer people on the streets and much less noise in that part of Thurso. Most of the buildings were dark, the shops having closed long before for the night.
He turned down an alley, walked a bit more, then paused. Peeking around the corner, Ellair spotted the warehouse. It was a low, one-story structure without any windows that he could see at the front. Ciar had assured him there were windows in the western wall he could slip through into the building. There were a pair of men standing at the front of the warehouse, armored and armed. They huddled in front of a fire inside a barrel, struggling to keep warm in the chill night air.
Ellair cut through the back alleys and made his way around to the western side of the warehouse, and there, just as Ciar had said, were a pair of windows, one of them already standing open. Moving swiftly and silently, he dashed to the window, grabbed the sill, and hoisted himself up, using his momentum to pull himself through. He landed on the floor inside with a muffled thump and crouched down, hand on the hilt of his dagger, quickly surveying the warehouse around him. All was silent and perfectly dark.
Standing up again, Ellair gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, then started off. He found an oil lantern standing atop a stack of crates and quickly lit it, then hooded it with a dark cloth he found to keep the light from being seen. He used the dim, flickering light to navigate through the warren of crates and boxes, moving swiftly, and taking care to keep from bumping into anything that might alert the guards out front.
Near the rear of the warehouse, he found what he was looking for: a pair of crates marked with a black spider sigil. That was Rosalind’s mark. Setting the lantern down on the ground next to him, he pulled a tool from his bag to pry the nails out of the lid so he could get a look at the mysterious cargo that had Rosalind so up in arms. He hoped whatever was in there would prove to be useful to Laird Gunn as well.
The nails came out with a sharp squeal that made him grit his teeth. Ellair paused and waited, listening for the front doors, sure the guards out front had heard it. A moment passed. Then two. And when another moment went by without a cry of alarm, Ellair let out a quiet breath, relief flooding through him. He had just pried out the last nail and set the lid aside when a sound behind him raised goosebumps on his flesh and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was a sound he would have known anywhere. Indeed, he knew it as well as the sound of his own voice. It was the sound of a sword being unsheathed.
“I’ve got a message fer ye tae carry back tae yer master,” said the deep voice behind him.
“Aye? What’s that?” Ellair asked without turning around.
“Ye tell the Widow tae dae as she’s told and tae stop stickin’ her bleedin’ nose intae matters that dinnae concern her,” the man said, his voice deep and gruff. “She’s tae move what I say, when I say it, and tae nae ask any bleedin’ questions.”
Ellair’s hand had only just begun to move for the hilt of his dagger when something hard and heavy crashed down on the back of his head. The world around him spun for just a moment and then Ellair found himself quickly spiraling down into a darkness that was absolute.