Page 21 of Healing the Highland Sinner (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #7)
CHAPTER 21
T he storm had finally broken, allowing Rosalind and Ellair to make it back to the compound. After hearing of Ewan’s ambush and their close scrape, Ciar had predictably wanted to take the fight to him and wipe him off the map once and for all. Rosalind had been tempted. But she knew they didn’t have the manpower to make an assault against him. Especially with Ciar still not fully recovered from his wound. The odds were that they would lose.
So, for the moment, they would do nothing but carry on as normal and wait for their moment to strike. It would come. And when it did, Rosalind would be ready. She would not tolerate these attacks on her or her people without doling out a healthy dose of retribution. Ewan would pay. There was no question about that. It was simply a matter of waiting for the right time.
It was one reason she’d been able to rise to the top of Thurso’s underworld. People feared her husband and now her and with good reason. She was calculating and ruthless. Normally. Because ever since Ellair had stormed into her life, everything had felt like it was teetering on the edge of a dagger. Her thinking had been anything but clear and calculated. Whenever that man was around, her mind felt fogged over, her thoughts opaque. And it had only gotten worse after they’d shared that kiss.
Rosalind sighed and tucked her hair behind her ears, trying to forget the way that kiss had made her feel. It had lit her up inside in ways she’d never felt before. Just remembering it still did. Her skin tingled and goosebumps crawled across her skin, feeling like the legs of a thousand ants marching up her arms.
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the wooden crate in front of her, trying to banish the memory of their kiss from her mind. And yet, she couldn’t. He was like a splinter stuck just beneath her skin. She couldn’t look at him without wanting to throw herself into his arms. Couldn’t speak to him without wanting to kiss him. The days after their kiss had been marked by a strain and awkwardness that kept building inside of her, growing so intense, she thought she might burst. She finally had to get away from him and had left early that morning to go to the warehouse just to have a little time alone. A little time to clear her head.
“That bleedin’ man,” she muttered.
“Ye look distressed, lass.”
The unexpected voice sent a hot flood of adrenaline through her. Rosalind stood up straight, her hand moving to the dagger on her belt, silently cursing herself for being so caught up in her own thoughts she’d let somebody get so close to her without her hearing them coming. It was stupid. Especially with Ewan on the hunt for her. The man standing a few feet away was known to her. He worked the docks, but was one of Sinclair’s men. He was unarmed though, and held an empty hand out, showing her he was no threat.
“Easy, lass,” he said.
“What dae ye bleedin’ want, Fischer?”
“I’m only here tae deliver a message.”
She didn’t loosen her hold on the hilt of her blade, her eyes cutting left and right to make sure nobody else was sneaking up on her.
“I’m here alone,” Fischer said.
“What dae ye want?”
“Laird Sinclair wants tae remind ye of yer obligations.”
“As if I could forget.”
“He kens ye’ve had some recent… doubts,” he said. “But he wants tae assure ye that yer braither is still alive. He’s still breathin’. But he also wanted me tae tell ye that if ye dinnae stop pokin’ around where ye shouldnae, or disobey his orders again, that can and will change.”
Rosalind felt like she’d been punched in the gut and had to fight to keep herself from doubling over as the air was driven from her lungs. She should have been used to the threats about Blaine’s safety. It was the carrot Sinclair had been dangling in front of her for what felt like an entire lifetime. And she had naught but his word that Blaine was still actually alive. For all she knew, her brother had been murdered long ago. But she kept moving forward and kept doing Sinclair’s bidding in the hope that he still lived. There was nothing else for her to do.
“Dae ye understand?” Fischer pressed.
She steeled her spine and raised her chin, defiance glittering in her eyes as she recalled Ellair’s words about his own brother’s situation.
“And what proof daes he offer that me braither still lives?”
“He offers ye his word.”
“Which means naethin’ tae me. I want proof me braither lives.”
The man shrugged. “’Tis somethin’ ye’ll need tae discuss with the laird himself. I’m only here tae deliver his message tae ye.”
“Then ye can go back tae yer laird and tell him I require proof of Blaine’s life before I’ll dae anythin’ more fer him.”
The man’s expression softened slightly, and he looked upon her as if he understood her pain or at least took some bit of sympathy on her. It was unexpected.
“Laird Sinclair would have me hide fer tellin’ ye, but I’ve seen the lad meself. Yer braither still lives,” he said softly. “But it will nae continue tae be the case if ye dinnae dae as Laird Sinclair commands ye tae dae. So… dae yer job, me lady.”
The man turned and fled the warehouse not a moment too soon. Confirmation that her brother was in fact still alive, took her legs out from under her. Rosalind collapsed in a heap, hugging herself tightly as long, pained sobs burst from her mouth. She trembled from head to toe as tears rolled down her cheeks. The feeling of relief was profound. Although she only had Fischer’s word to go by, she had heard sincerity in his voice. She believed him.
However, that relief was short-lived as a feeling of utter helplessness and impotent rage stole over her. A howl burst through her gritted teeth, and she buried her face in her hands, trying to stifle the fury that warred with powerlessness that churned her insides and made her heart race so hard, she thought it might beat its way right out of her chest. He was alive. But she could not do anything to get him back other than continue doing Sinclair’s bidding and hope that, maybe one day, he would hold true to his word and return her brother to her.
She flinched hard as a hand fell on her shoulder and jerked backward, her hand flying to her dagger once more. Through her tears, she found herself facing Ellair, who knelt on the ground beside her, genuine concern on his face.
“Rosalind, what is it?”
His usual arrogance and swagger were gone from his expression and the tone in his voice. He asked her sincerely. She looked into his icy blue eyes, trying to draw some bit of strength from them, but felt nothing other than weakness. Given the feelings that had been building between them, Rosalind knew she should push him away, that she should be alone. She couldn’t draw strength from him, but she did find herself wanting a bit of warm comfort instead.
She leaned into him, gripping his shirt, and buried her face in his chest. As she sobbed wildly, he pulled her close and gently stroked her hair, whispering soothing words to her. He held her until her tears had dried and her trembling had ebbed. Until he felt like she could stand on her own two feet again without collapsing into a heap once more.
When she felt strong enough, she let Ellair help her to her feet. She leaned against the crates beside her and wiped her eyes, struggling to get herself back under control. When she felt she had, she offered Ellair a quavering smile that felt sickly upon her face and one she knew didn’t look genuine or natural.
“What is the matter, Rosalind? What’s happened?”
“What are ye daein’ here?” she asked.
“When ye had nae come back tae the compound, I got worried, so I came lookin’ fer ye.”
“I told ye all I wanted tae be alone.”
“Aye. But there’s also a man who’s lookin’ tae take yer head,” he replied. “I wasnae goin’ tae let ye be out here alone and unprotected.”
She wanted to be angry with him, but she appreciated his concern. He looked at her with uncertainty on his face. And she knew why. Rosalind had always done her best to maintain a facade of cool composure. She had always done her best to be the Widow. And to that end, Ellair had seen her be fierce and commanding.
But he had never seen her like that—broken and defeated. She felt empty. Like she’d been completely hollowed out.
“Everythin’ I’ve done has been fer me braither. Tae protect him,” she said quietly. “Sinclair took him from me with such ease… and naethin’ I’ve done since has been able tae bring him home. I havenae been able tae protect him. I’ve failed tae keep him safe.”
“Ye’ve nae failed,” he said gently. “None of this is yer fault.”
“I dinnae ken if I have the courage or strength tae go on,” she said. “I dinnae ken if I have the courage or strength tae save me braither.”
He slipped his fingers beneath her chin and raised her head so she was looking him in the eye. Ellair’s expression was firm. Serious.
“I will nae patronize ye, Rosalind. I cannae say how any of this is goin’ tae play out. I willnae give ye false hope or make promises I cannae deliver on,” he said. “But one thing I can say fer certain is that ye dinnae lack courage and strength. Ye’ve got that in spades, more than most people I ken. And I ken that if there’s a way tae bring yer braither back, ye will find it. Ye just need tae endure.”
“I dinnae ken if I can.”
“I ken ye can,” he said firmly.
A wan smile touched her lips as she laid her head against his chest. She was grateful for his strength and for his belief in her since she certainly didn’t believe in herself. Rosalind closed her eyes and tried to block it all out, to shut down her emotions and get her mind back to its logical self once more. She felt weary. Exhausted. Physically and emotionally spent.
And she slipped further into the darkness…