Page 17 of Healing the Highland Sinner (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #7)

CHAPTER 17

R osalind was one of the few people she knew of who could blend in and navigate both sides of the town, light and dark, with ease. Men like Ewan and Sinclair only knew one way to conduct their business—with threats, intimidation, and when those failed, with violence. Men like them could not exist in the light of day. Rosalind however, had forged strong relationships with the daytime world by offering an alternative—kindness and respect. She’d had to be firm, of course, but never gave the daytime traders of Thurso reason to fear her.

And because of that, Rosalind had made herself indispensable to the legitimate traders and businessmen in Thurso. They knew they could count on her to move their goods into areas where there might be blockades by the local lairds or any other troubles in the lands that might cause their shipments to go missing. She was able to do things in the light of day the seedy nighttime dwellers in town could not. It was a very lucrative business and had helped keep her coffers full.

It was one of those daylight arrangements she had made that had brought her down to the docks that afternoon. She was to meet a powerful and wealthy merchant from the Lowlands who sought to move his cargo to kin in the Highlands. But because the Lairds Gunn and Sinclair were engaged in a standoff, with each of them seizing vessels they believed benefitted the other, even legitimate merchants like Rory were having trouble moving their goods. Which of course, hit them where it hurt most… in the purse.

Rosalind threaded her way through and around stacks of fish, produce, and other illicit goods the harbor inspectors didn’t bother inspecting too closely, lest they run afoul of one of the nighttime merchants who wouldn’t appreciate the scrutiny. She found Rory, a short, pudgy man dressed in dark velvets, standing on the docks. She cleared her throat and tried to clear her mind of all the fuss back at the compound with Ciar and Ellair to focus on the business at hand. She approached Rory with what she hoped was a welcoming smile.

“Good day tae ye, maister Rory.”

He smiled wide and shook her extended hand. “’Tis good tae see ye, lass. I was beginnin’ tae worry ye werenae goin’ tae make it.”

“Apologies. I was delayed.”

He waved her off. “Nay matter. Ye’re here now. Tae business?”

“Tae business.”

He produced a bottle from somewhere within his voluminous jacket and set it on a crate, then added a couple of small, metal cups as well, and poured them both a drink. It was his tradition. The man never discussed business without a drink in hand. The liquor he brought along tended to curl Rosalind’s nose hairs. It was less whiskey than it was liquid fire. But she had to play the role, so she picked up her cup, toasted the merchant, then downed the liquid, doing her best to avoid tasting it as it went down.

“Good, eh?” he asked.

“’Tis quite somethin’, all right,” she replied.

For the next fifteen minutes or so, Rory described his situation. Not that she needed the story, she already knew what the problem was and why he’d reached out to her in the first place. It was the same problem most everybody else was having—their cargo was being seized and confiscated by the two feuding lairds, each of them claiming they were goods meant to bring aid and comfort to the enemy. When legitimate shippers had troubles, it was always good for her.

Rory finished his tale then frowned. “Ye ken I respect ye, dinnae ye? And I always show me appreciation fer what ye’re able tae dae fer me and me kin, eh?”

Rosalind had to fight to keep the frown from her lips, for she knew what was coming next. This was the part where the man pleaded poverty and asked for a discount on his shipment, promising to make it up on the next run, when times were more… flush. Though, judging by his fine clothing and ample belly, Rosalind had to wonder exactly how much he was actually suffering. The man looked like he rarely, if ever, missed a meal or an appointment with his tailor.

“Of course, I ken, Rory,” she said. “And ye ken how grateful I am fer yer continued patronage all these years.”

“Aye. I’ve been workin’ with yer husband and ye a long time,” he said, leaning into the longevity of their arrangement, which was another precursor to his ask.

“Aye. Ye have.”

“’Tis why I have tae ask ye fer a discount on this shipment. Perhaps the next few, actually,” he said. “With these seizures of me cargo and the new taxes these greedy bastards are chargin’, it’s costin’ me a bleedin’ fortune tae move anythin’. And me kin need these goods.”

And there it was. Rosalind was not in the least bit surprised. His pleadings of poverty and begging for a discount came like clockwork, whether times were thin or flush. She couldn’t blame him, he was a businessman. And that’s what businessmen did—they always haggled to better their bottom line. But she too, was a businesswoman and had to worry about the same thing.

She offered him a small smile. “And how much of a discount were ye lookin’ fer, Rory?”

He narrowed his eyes, a small, mischievous smirk crossing his lips. “I was thinkin’ somewhere around twenty-five percent?”

Rosalind didn’t react since she knew that was his opening gambit. He wasn’t unique in his negotiating tactics. They usually went high with the opening salvo, knowing they’d never get her to agree to that number, then gradually work their way down as they exchanged numbers, until they got to the number they actually wanted. She was guessing that Rory was looking for something around ten to fifteen percent. But she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

She grimaced. “Because ye’ve been such a good customer all these years, I can dae five percent, Rory,” she said. “After all, I’m takin’ the bigger risk in all this. A shipment seized by the lairds will cost ye some coin and inconvenience, but it’ll cost me me life if they catch me.”

He chuckled, his eyes still sparkling mischievously. This was the dance, now fully engaged. From the corner of her eye, Rosalind spied somebody lurking near a stack of crates. She cut a glance that way and felt her heart leap into her throat when she spotted Ellair lurking about. He stood with casual ease and wasn’t looking her way, but she knew he was watching her all the same. He could be looking in an entirely different direction, but he was able to watch her at the same time. It was unsettling.

She wasn’t going to lie, having him watching her back brought her a sense of comfort. Ciar was not one of those men who was able to move about in the daylight. Too many people knew him and if they saw him with her, they would know she was the Widow… a carefully kept secret. But it also frustrated her. Ellair still was not fully healed from the beating he’d received at the hands of Sinclair’s men and he should have been back at the compound resting. Healing. He should have been taking care of himself rather than worrying about her.

“What in the bleedin’ hell are ye daein’?” she muttered.

“Beg pardon, me lady?”

The merchant’s voice pulled her back to the moment and Rosalind gave herself a shake and turned back to Rory. “Apologies. I was only thinkin’ out loud,” she said. “Where were we?”

“Oh, ‘tis quite all right. I was inquirin’ as tae whether twenty percent would be acceptable?” he asked. “Just fer the next few shipments, of course. And if ye’re willin’ tae give me this break, we can work out some sort of recompense in the future, when times are flush again.”

Despite being engaged with Rory, Rosalind kept stealing glances at Ellair. It was as if he had some sort of gravitational pull that drew her eyes, even against her will. And when she watched a pretty young fishmonger’s daughter approach him, appearing to be offering him a fried fish on a stick, Rosalind found herself grinding her teeth. She did not like the way the girl looked up at him or the smile on her face. Nor did she care for the way Ellair leaned down to speak with her, like he was whispering in her ear. And she really hated the way the girl blushed and giggled when he’d said whatever it was he’d said to her.

“Me lady, are ye all right? Ye seem distracted.”

She was distracted, all right. By the pretty maiden obviously flirting and making cow eyes at Ellair. Rosalind cleared her throat, swallowing down the bitter lump of jealousy that had risen from deep in the pit of her stomach and turned back to the merchant.

“Apologies again, maister Rory. ‘Tis a lot goin’ through me head right now.”

He gave her an understanding nod. “Aye. I understand. ‘Tis a great many things goin’ on in around us that require our attention. Such as me shipment…”

“Of course, of course,” she said. “Again, me apologies.”

She snuck another peek over at Ellair and felt a bright jolt of lightning shoot through her veins when she found him looking straight back at her. The girl was leaning close to him, saying something, and he was smiling—though she got the feeling the smile was for her benefit. It was as if he had smelled her jealousy. Damn that man.

“Me lady, if this is an inconvenient time?—”

She ground her teeth. “Of course nae, maister Rory,” she said. “Let us dae twenty percent fer the next few shipments and we’ll settle up on recompense at a later date.”

The portly merchant smiled wide as she grimaced internally, unable to believe what she’d just done. She’d fouled up the entire negotiation because she hadn’t been able to get Ellair and his pretty little fishmonger’s daughter out of her head. She’d just given away the farm on the promise of recompense later—something she knew would never come to pass. Rory was a notorious spendthrift and made promises of recompense that never materialized.

“Well then, I believe we have a deal,” he said. “And I’m grateful fer yer understandin’ and flexibility in this matter, me lady.”

The man beamed like he’d just gotten away with the crime of the century. And she supposed he had, all because she’d been distracted. Because of Ellair. Damn him. Rosalind continued kicking herself inside but offered the man her most gracious smile and a polite bow of the head as she tried to salvage her reputation.

“Of course. Let it never be said I dinnae appreciate me long-term clients,” she said. “I’ll wait fer yer details and let ye ken how quickly I can get yer goods tae yer kin.”

“Thank ye, me lady.”

Rosalind turned away and headed for the docks, steaming and wanting to break something. Never in her life had she flubbed a negotiation so badly. She’d done it because her head had been anywhere but in the game. She’d gotten fleeced by the man. Staring at the sun, which was already beginning its descent to the horizon, she leaned against the railing and breathed deeply, savoring the scent of the sea as she tried to calm herself down.

She heard his boots thumping on the dock and felt his presence behind her. She already knew what she was going to see when she turned around, so Rosalind kept her eyes on the ocean.

Unable to calm her churning mind, she huffed a sigh and turned around and just as she’d expected, found herself staring at Ellair’s smarmy smirk.

“How ye daein’, Rosey?” he asked, his voice light and teasing.

She grumbled a string of curses under her breath and shook her head.