Page 15 of Healing the Highland Sinner (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #7)

CHAPTER 15

“ I t’s been too long,” Rosalind said. “Somethin’s wrong.”

“It’s nae been that long. Ye need tae relax,” Ciar said around a mouthful of apple.

Her arms folded over her chest, Rosalind paced back and forth in the front room of the house. Her stomach clenched and unclenched and her heart raced so fast and hard, if felt like it was on the verge of exploding in her chest.

“Nay. Somethin’s wrong,” she stated and frowned. She had sent Ellair out hours ago, believing Ciar’s men were going to meet him at the warehouse to watch his back. But when Ciar’s men returned to the compound about an hour ago, claiming they had never seen Ellair, Rosalind felt the first stirrings of fear.

“What if naethin’s wrong and he’s simply with a woman down on the docks?” Ciar offered without much conviction in his voice. “Or what if I was right about him and he’s with his master betrayin’ us right now?”

She turned and cast an eye at him. “I think ye ken that’s nae true.”

He frowned and took another bite of his apple, saying nothing. But Rosalind could tell by the tightness around his eyes and the set of his jaw that he didn’t believe what he’d said. Deep down, she knew Ciar respected Ellair.

“Have ye questioned yer men yet?” she growled. “Have ye found out what happened and why they didnae go with him?”

He shrugged. “They said they never saw him.”

“’Tis nae good enough.”

“Forgive me fer sayin’ so, but ye’re takin’ this all very hard. Too hard,” Ciar said. “Ellair was only ever meant tae be a hired sword, a tool fer ye tae use and discard when ye were done. Why are ye so upset? He kent what he was gettin’ intae when he took yer gold. He kent somethin’ bad befallin’ him was a possibility. Same as me. Same as every other man in yer employ.”

“And dae ye nae think I’d be just as upset if I thought somethin’ happened tae ye?”

“Aye. I’d hope ye would,” he said with a chuckle. “But ye and I have been taegether a long time. Ye’ve kent Ellair fer but a few weeks now. Is there some other reason ye’re so upset about this, Rosey? Somethin’ ye need tae tell me?”

Rosalind opened her mouth to respond but closed it again and didn’t say a word. She knew he would see through her. Knew that if she spoke a single word, Ciar would know her true feelings for Ellair. They were still new, but they were growing in strength, rapidly. The merest glance from those icy blue eyes of his sent her heart racing, her stomach churning, making her feel like a giddy little girl.

It was foolish, she knew. Ciar was right, Ellair had been hired for his sword. Men came and went, and some had fallen in her service, and though she’d felt the sting of guilt, none of them had opened up the yawning chasm of despair inside her the mere thought of losing Ellair did.

She grumbled to herself, restless and worried. Despite what Ciar said, she knew Ellair should have been back by now. Something was wrong. She was absolutely sure of it and Rosalind had to do something about it.

“I want ye tae go question yer men,” she ordered in a firm, cool voice. “I want tae ken why they didnae show up at the rendezvous spot and go with Ellair.”

“Rosey—”

“I want tae ken, Ciar,” she said. “And if I dinnae like their answers, I’ll figure out what tae dae with them them. They need tae be held accountable.”

“’Twas probably a simple mistake. Maybe Ellair left early.”

“Maybe. But I want tae ken. Ellair is a valuable sword and nae havin’ him at our backs, especially as ye heal up, is a problem fer us.”

“Rosey, be reasonable?—”

“I said I want ye tae go question yer men. I mean really question them and get tae the bottom of this, Ciar,” she snapped. “We cannae afford these kinds of failures. I’m sure even ye can agree with that, eh?”

He sighed heavily. “All right, lass. I’ll go talk tae the lads. But I’m tellin’ ye, there’s goin’ tae be a reasonable explanation fer this.”

“There better be. But I’ll tell ye, if I’m nae satisfied with their answers, there will be hell tae pay, Ciar. I mean it.”

“Understood.”

Ciar walked out of the house, and she waited, listening to his heavy footsteps ebb before dashing upstairs and into her bedroom. She quickly changed into an outfit she wore when she wanted to blend in with the people on the docks and not be recognized. She tucked her hair up into the woolen cap, shrugged into the heavy woolen jacket, and pulled on the thick black trousers. She put on her dark, knee-high boots then paused as her gaze fell upon the pair of daggers sitting on the table, memories of having used one so recently still fresh in her mind.

With a trembling hand, Rosalind grabbed them, tucked them into her belt and pulled her coat over them. She gave herself a glance in her looking glass then tugged her hat a bit lower while raising the collar of her coat. Satisfied, she turned and dashed out of the house, making it through the gate and out onto the streets.

The sun was already dipping below the horizon when she reached the warehouse district of Thurso. She knew the docks and the part of town around it would be bustling and lively already, meaning this section of town, now that the workday was done, would be empty. It was what she had been counting on, and she hadn’t been disappointed. The streets were largely empty, with everybody having gone down to the docks to seek their entertainment for the evening.

Rosalind made her way through the town, carefully moving through the back alleys and side streets to avoid being detected. Sweat was beaded on her brow and made her shirt stick uncomfortably to her skin beneath her coat once she made it to the alley just beyond the warehouse where she’d sent Ellair. She peeked around the corner and spotted four guards outside the front door. They appeared to be passing a bottle between themselves and even from where she stood, Rosalind could hear their boisterous laughter as they settled in for the night.

She followed the route through the alleys she’d told Ellair to take, coming out on the western side of the warehouse. The window he had likely gone through was still propped open. Rosalind scampered up and through the window. She landed on the hard packed earthen floor softly and paused, listening for anybody moving through the darkness.

The interior of the warehouse was gloomy, but still light enough to see. She navigated her way through the warren of crates and boxes. She came around a particularly tall stack of barrels and stopped short, a gasp bursting from her mouth. On the ground in front of her lay Ellair, lying slumped over on his side, his hands bound behind his back. He’d been beaten and bloodied, one eye nearly closed, thick crimson rivulets running from his nose and mouth.

As if he’d heard her gasp, he raised his head and groaned. He grimaced in pain as he moved his head and when his one good eye fixed on her, she saw an expression cross his face she didn’t recognize at first. It took a moment to realize he was staring at her with a look of absolute terror on his face—something she never thought she’d see from the swordsman.

“Ye need tae get out of here, Rosalind,” he said. “They’ll be back soon.”

“Who did this tae ye?”

“Sinclair,” he groaned. “And a few of his men?—”

“Why?”

“Tae send ye a message.”

“Message received,” she said as she dropped to a knee beside him. “If they find ye here?—”

“Then let’s be away before they get back, eh?”

She pulled a dagger from her belt and quickly cut the bonds from his hands then helped him to his feet. He was in sorry shape, looking like he’d been beaten by men with large, thick sticks.

“Ye look like hell,” she said.

“Stands tae reason,” he said in a harsh, grating whisper. “I feel like hell too.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Dae ye nae take anythin’ seriously?”

“I try nae too. ‘Tis bad fer yer health, I hear.”

“So is being beaten by men with sticks.”

“Aye. That’s nae wrong.”

The sharp squeal of rusty hinges shattered the air around them and Rosalind felt a burst of panic, bright and hot, surge through her body. As the sound of footsteps approached, she felt her heart race and her body grow taut.

“Sounds like we’re nae gettin’ away clean after all,” Ellair said.

She pressed a dagger into his hand. “Are ye fit? Can ye fight?”

“Dae I have a choice?”

“Nay.”

“Then I’m fit.”

She pulled the second dagger from her belt and tried to quell her quivering heart. She was getting better, but she was still far from competent with a blade. She just hoped she’d learned enough from Ellair to at least make a good show of it.

The four large, gruff-looking men she’d seen out front came around a stack of crates, stopping when they spotted her standing beside the man they’d battered.

“I told ye I heard somebody in here,” said one.

“Aye. Looks like ye werenae hearin’ things after all.”

Gripping his dagger and standing as straight as his battered body allowed, Ellair grinned at the four men standing in front of them.

“Evenin’ lads,” he said. “I’m goin’ tae give ye one chance tae turn around and walk out. Take it and we all go our own ways. Take it nae and I’ll kill every one of ye.”

The men burst into side-splitting laughter, doubling over and clapping each other on the shoulders like it as the funniest thing they’d ever heard. Rosalind cut a glance at Ellair, who was staring at the men, stone-faced. She knew he had some swagger and bravado about him, but given his current condition, he had ascended to a whole new level of arrogance. One she never knew existed for it was a boast she knew he couldn’t possibly back up.

“Look at this one, lads,” the man said. “Didnae take beatin’ enough the first time. Looks like we need tae teach him another lesson, eh?”

“I’d be glad too,” said a second.

“Just remember, Laird Sinclair said not tae kill him.”

“Aye. We willnae kill him,” the first man confirmed. “But Laird Sinclair didnae say we couldnae make him hurt.”

As the men continued laughing amongst each other, Ellair took them by surprise, launching himself into the middle of them with a speed nobody expected. The first man’s belly was sliced open, his blood and innards spilling out before he’d even stopped laughing.

The three remaining men quickly recovered and launched themselves at him. Reacting on instinct, Rosalind sheathed her dagger, then darted forward and grabbed the fallen man’s sword. She drove the point of her blade through the back of the leg of the man nearest to her. He threw his head back and screamed as Rosalind’s borrowed sword erupted through the front of his leg, sending a spray of blood splashing onto the ground before him.

He spun around, agony warring with rage upon his face but Rosalind, who’d remembered what Ellair had taught her and had already yanked the sword from his leg, slashed viciously, opening up the man’s throat. He dropped his own blade and clutched at his neck, his blood, thick and crimson, squeezing between his fingers, and fell to his knees.

The other two men wheeled around and stared at her, their eyes fixed on the bloodied blade in her hand and their lips curled back in a sneer. With a cry of rage, the two men rushed at her, raising their swords to strike. Heeding another of Ellair’s lessons, Rosalind used their momentum against them, deftly slipping to the side, and let them pass her like enraged bulls. She spun around and quickly drove her sword between one man’s shoulder blades.

The man threw his arms out, dropping his sword with a clatter and threw his head back. He fell backward and though Rosalind tried to yank the blade back as she’d been taught, his momentum carried it down with him.

The last man turned to her with both shock and fury on his face. Rosalind looked down at her hands lamely and felt a rush of panic as she realized she held no weapon.

“Bleedin’ hell,” she muttered.

As the remaining man charged at her, she fumbled for the second dagger on her belt. Before she could pull it though, she felt the wind of something heavy pass by her face, catching a glimpse of silver a moment before the hilt of her dagger sprouted from the middle of the man’s throat. His sword hit the ground with a dull thump and his fingers found the hilt of the dagger.

Choking and gasping, the man stupidly pulled it out, sending a river of crimson spilling down the front of him before he fell to his knees then onto his face and went still in the scarlet pool that was growing around him. Once she’d recovered from her shock, she turned to Ellair, who was leaning heavily on the crates, a crooked grin on his face.

“Kennin’ how tae throw a blade can help get ye out of a sticky situation,” he said.

It was such a ridiculous thing to say, all Rosalind could do was laugh.

“Grab those swords. We’ll take ‘em with us just in case,” he said. “And we should probably get out of here before Sinclair returns.”

“Aye. Good idea.”

She grabbed two of the swords from the ground, keeping one for herself and handing the other to Ellair. After that, she let him lean against her as they hobbled out of the warehouse and made their way to the alleyways, where they could lose themselves and disappear from view.

She feared that Sinclair would not take this lightly. That there would be some form of retribution. But not for her. For Blaine. It was a thought that sent a cold chill through her heart. But she’d been right about something being wrong, and she wasn’t going to leave Ellair to his fate. If something worse had befallen him, because she had given the order for him to go, Rosalind would have never forgiven herself. Worse, it would have shattered her heart like glass. She’d done what was necessary. That was all that mattered.

“Ye acquitted yerself well back there,” he said. “Very, very well.”

She smiled warmly. “I had a good teacher,” she replied. “Speaking of which, are ye goin’ tae teach me how tae throw a blade then?”

He chuckled. “Of course I will,” he said with a mischievous smirk on his battered face. “Once I feel comfortable ye might nae accidentally hit me.”

“Beast.”

They laughed together as they made their way through the alleyways and side streets, heading for her compound, the dark shadows of the night swallowing them whole.