Page 16 of Healing the Highland Sinner (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #7)

CHAPTER 16

E llair grimaced. Not just from the pain of ten thousand wounds inflicted upon him by Sinclairs men, but by the sound of Rosalind and Ciar screaming at each other. The big man was understandably upset that Rosalind had deceived him and snuck out to rescue Ellair. Although Ciar worked for Rosalind and answered to her, their relationship was a close one. More like brother and sister than employer and employee. And he took his job protecting her very seriously. It upset him when she was careless and reckless. It was something Ellair understood.

He had never intended to be the source of such discord between them. The sound of something crashing and breaking in the other room made him jump in his seat—a move he immediately regretted.

“Bleedin’ hell,” he muttered.

He understood Ciar’s fear and frustration. Rosalind had deceived him and slipped away to rescue him. In the big man’s place, Ellair would likely be just as upset. His job was to protect her. But Ellair understood it was far more than just a job for the man. He cared for Rosalind and the thought of anything happening to her tore a hole right through his soul. It was a sentiment that Ellair understood all too well.

Selfishly though, Ellair was glad she had. Grateful to her. She’d taken a big risk looking for him and had saved his life. It had also shown a side of her he hadn’t seen before—a fierce and capable warrior. He had suspected she had that in her but seeing her in action was something else. She had been a lion.

The other thing that had been confirmed through his misadventure was that she was not working with Sinclair. She was working for him, which was entirely different. Even more different still was that she was not working for him willingly. Everything she did for that bastard was being coerced from her. They held some bit of leverage over her head and were using that to force her to do their bidding. What that leverage was, he didn’t know yet. He hadn’t been able to tease it out of them between beatings. But he knew it existed.

Ellair feared that Laird Gunn and Laird MacAulay would see that as a distinction without a difference, but he was going to make his case for Rosalind anyway. He would make them see none of this was her doing. That she didn’t want to work for Sinclair and was being made to do it against her will. If those two men were as just and fair as he believed them to be, they would understand. They would absolve her of any guilt when the final reckoning came. And it would come soon. He just had to get a letter to Laird Gunn.

The door behind him opened then slammed shut so hard, the walls of the small house rattled. Rosalind stormed in, huffing and puffing, and cursing up a blue streak under her breath. He was a man of war, used to being around other men of war, and even he had never heard some of the curses that had slipped from her lips.

Rosalind spent a couple minutes pacing the room, clenching and unclenching her fists in a vain effort to cool down. She stopped and turned to him. Her face was red, her eyes tight, and a scowl pulling the corners of her mouth down.

“Yer cursing… ‘tis creative,” he said lightly.

“That man. He’s insufferable,” she growled as she stamped her foot. “Who is he tae scold me like I’m some misbehavin’ bairn?”

“He’s somebody who cares fer ye, Rosalind. Somebody who worries fer ye.”

His words seemed to take a small bit of wind out of her sails as her shoulders slumped, though her face remained twisted with anger.

“I ken he cares fer me. But he wouldnae have…”

Her voice trailed off, but Ellair knew what she was going to say. A small smile crossed his lips as he sat up as straight as his aching body would allow.

“He wouldnae have allowed ye tae come after me,” he said.

She swallowed hard and looked to be fighting off a thick wave of emotion as she nodded, seemingly unable to speak.

“He wasnae wrong,” Ellair said. “Dinnae get me wrong, I’m bleedin’ grateful ye did. But in his place, I would’ve advised the same thing. Goin’ in there like ye did was reckless, Rosalind. Ye could’ve gotten yerself killed.”

“I couldnae let anythin’ happen tae ye.”

There was a hitch in her voice that stood out to him. Ellair studied her face and wondered at the meaning behind her words. As if she sensed him probing her mind, she cleared her throat and folded her arms over her chest, trying to wipe the emotion off her face.

“I sent ye in there and Ciar’s men failed tae have yer back like they’d been ordered tae,” she said. “Ye didnae sign up fer that and I would’ve felt guilty if I had.”

It was a plausible reason, but her voice still carried a tremor, telling him there was more behind her words than she was admitting. He decided not to press her on it. Not yet. But there would come a time when he would. So instead, he nodded.

“Aye. Ciar’s men nae turnin’ up was a problem,” he said. “But I made the decision tae go intae that warehouse alone.”

“Because I ordered ye too.”

“But I made the choice tae go in alone,” he repeated. “So, ‘tis me own fault. It was as reckless as ye comin’ after me the way ye did.”

A small laugh escaped her lips and as she raised her eyes to him, he admired the way the flush in her cheeks made her skin glow and sparkled in her chartreuse eyes. It stirred something deep within him and Ellair felt his arousal growing. Tearing his eyes away from her, he bit the inside of his cheek, tamping it all down.

“I should see tae yer wounds,” she said.

“Are ye goin’ tae put some of that stinky stuff on me?”

“Oh, it’ll be even stinkier than the last batch.”

“Wonderful,” he groaned with a laugh.

Rosalind retrieved a basket with an assortment of colored jars and clean cloths and set it on the table beside him. She turned and walked over to a side table and picked up a basin of water and carried it over as well.

“Take off yer shirt,” she said.

“Dyin’ tae see me unclothed again, eh?”

She pulled a face. “Ye’re as incorrigible as Ciar is insufferable.”

“We all have our gifts, me lady.”

She laughed, a high musical sound that sparked joy in his heart. “Strip,” she said.

“Aye.”

He grimaced as he raised his arms over his head to pull his shirt off, a groan bursting from his throat. Rosalind gently helped him remove it then tossed it onto the table.

“That shirt stinks worse than anything I’m about tae put on ye.”

“I doubt that,” he replied.

“We should burn it in anyway. It smells… terribly,” she said. “Any enemy will smell ye comin’ long before ye ever arrive.”

He laughed and shook his head. Rosalind dunked a cloth into the basin of water, then wrung it out before turning and cleaning his torso, which was crisscrossed with shallow wounds and deep, dark bruises. He winced as her hands moved tenderly over his body.

“Me God. They really worked ye over,” she said sadly.

He chuckled then grimaced. “’Twas nae me best day.”

“I have a feeling the next few days, as ye heal, are goin’ tae be worse,” she said. “The days after sufferin’ a wound always hurt more.”

Once she had him clean, she picked through her jars and pots, then nodded to herself when she found the small brown pot she apparently wanted. She uncapped it then dipped her fingers into the thick, greasy substance. Leaning forward, she began carefully applying the ointment to the cuts that lined his torso with such gentleness, he almost didn’t feel it. Almost. The lightest touch couldn’t take the sting out of all his wounds.

But even the small flashes of pain that surged through his body couldn’t detract from the warmth that spread through him at the feel of her hands on his body. Her fingertips trailed over his torso, leaving furrows of fire in their wake. As her green eyes bore into his and he focused on her full, pillowy lips so close to his, Ellair felt his heart spinning madly in his chest and the fires down below growing ever warmer. Once again, he was struggling to contain his arousal.

“Ye should’ve been a healer instead of a smuggler,” he said. “Ye’ve nae only got an obvious talent fer it, it’s a far less hazardous line of work.”

She laughed softly. “Once upon a time, I did want tae be a healer.”

“What happened?”

“Life happened.”

“How dae ye mean?”

She shrugged. “I just mean that I had talent and was trainin’ with a healer, but then… I had tae switch me vocation. I had tae dae somethin’ else.”

“I understand that. But what happened?”

She wiped her hands on a rag, then capped her small pot and put it back into the basket. Her eyes filled with emotion, brimming with tears, and Ellair had to fight the urge boiling inside of him to take her into his arms and comfort her.

“I was married once,” she said. “Did I tell yet that?”

He shook his head. “Nay. Ye didnae tell me that.”

“Well, I was. He was a good man, and I was trainin’ tae be the village’s healer,” she said. “But then the raiders came and wiped out me village. Everybody was put tae the sword. Including me husband. Just… gone.”

“I’m so sorry, lass.”

“I was out in the forest collectin’ herbs… makin’ medicines. And when I returned, it was all over,” she said. “The raiders were gone and so was me village. Me people… all gone.”

“And that’s when ye learned the smugglin’ trade?”

She nodded. “Aye. I was needed. Me husband had a lot of work and well… Some people didnae want tae let his business die. So, I was somewhat forced tae step in. ‘Twas easy at first because nobody even looked me way. Nobody ever suspected a woman could be a smuggler?—”

“Let alone the infamous Widow.”

She giggled. “Aye. Exactly. ‘Tis gotten harder over the years. Thurso… the people here are just so different. Most of ‘em will cut yer throat fer lookin’ at ye the wrong way.”

“Aye. I noticed that.”

“But this is where the money is tae be made.”

“And Sinclair?” he asked. “How’d ye fall in with that bastard?”

At the mention of Sinclair’s name, Rosalind’s entire demeanor changed. Her face fell, her eyes grew dim, and her body grew tauter than a bowstring. Ellair could tell he’d hit a nerve and that she was shutting down. It told him that whatever leverage they had over her was deeply personal to her. It piqued his curiosity but also made him think that whatever it was, he could use it to buy her some goodwill with Laird Gunn. Maybe he would see that none of this was her doing. That they were using her personal tragedies to force her into working for them.

“Rosalind? What is it?” he asked gently.

She said nothing as she finished cleaning up the table, putting her pots and jars back into the basket and tossing the rags into the basin to be cleaned out. She seemed intent on letting the conversation die then and there, but Ellair needed to know. He needed her to tell him why she was working for Sinclair so he could plead her case to Lair Gunn. Ellair reached out and took her by the hand, looking into her eyes pleadingly.

“Rosalind, talk tae me,” he said gently. “Why are ye workin’ fer Sinclair?”

She wrenched her hand away and looked down at him coldly, her lips curled into a frown but sadness filling her eyes.

“Because they have somethin’ of mine,” she said. “Somethin’ dear.”

And with that, she strode out of the room, closing the door behind her, but not before Ellair had heard the choked sob that burst from her mouth.