Page 24 of Healing the Highland Sinner (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #7)
CHAPTER 24
R osalind walked into the compound yard and frowned when she spied Ellair saddling his horse. She walked over and stood behind him. As if sensing her presence, he turned around and offered her a warm smile. Immediately, unbidden images of the passion they’d shared flashed through her mind.
Her insides turned to water and the heat that bloomed between her thighs grew intense, her skin suddenly slicked by her passion. She wanted more, so much more. But it was something she could not afford to let herself think about or feel at the moment. She ruthlessly quashed the images and faced him, trying to maintain her self-control.
“And where dae ye think ye’re goin’ then?” she asked.
“I’ve got a little business in town I need tae handle.”
She smirked. “Ye work fer me. What kind of business dae ye have?”
“Personal business,” he said with a grin.
Rosalind’s frown deepened. Ciar had told her about his late-night trysts with some woman in town and though she tried not to be, she couldn’t control the jealousy that flowed through her veins. She knew that despite their night of passion together, she had no claim to Ellair. He was not hers to command. She had no right to order him about or tell him to not see one of the tarts in town if he so desired. But part of her wanted to.
“And who is she, then?” Rosalind couldn’t stop herself from asking.
He shrugged. “Nobody important. Just somebody who feeds me information.”
She cocked her head. “And what are ye gatherin’ information about?”
“This and that,” he replied. “If I’m tae be watchin’ yer back as ye hired me tae dae, I need tae ken what’s goin’ on in and around Thurso, eh?”
She nodded. It all seemed reasonable enough. But there was something in his eyes, a glimmer of—something—that made her question what he was saying. She didn’t think he would lie to her outright. But she got the feeling there was something he wasn’t telling her. And she didn’t like being kept in the dark. But what could she do?
Before she could speak another word though, a savage cry shattered the still night air. Rosalind’s heart leapt into her throat, and she stared in disbelief as armed men poured over the walls of her compound. The main gate crashed inward with a thunderous crack and her mouth fell open as she watched Laird Sinclair striding in. Ellair gave his horse a slap on the rump, sending it running as he turned and drew his blade, taking a step-in front of her protectively.
Sinclair stopped a few feet in front of them, a dozen of his men, blades drawn, standing behind him. He eyed her closely for a moment before his gaze shifted to Ellair, his lips curling downward in distaste. Rosalind heard the door to the buildings behind her crash open followed by the sound of her men running to her defense. She held her hand up to stop them before they threw themselves into the fight. Sinclair had the upper hand.
Once her men had stopped advancing, she stepped around Ellair, giving him a grateful nod, before stopping in front of Sinclair. A tense moment of silence followed and she took a beat to quell the churning in her belly and heart.
“There’s nay need fer bloodshed taenight,” she said with forced confidence.
“Perhaps nae,” he replied. “But ‘tis time ye learn tae dae as I say and stop pokin’ yer nose intae affairs that have nothin’ tae dae with ye.”
“What are ye daein’ here?”
“I came tae repay the favor yer man showed me last eve,” he replied.
“What are ye talkin’ about?”
“Yer man there,” he said, gesturing to Ellair. “Came by tae pay me an unexpected visit. I thought we’d dae the same taenight.”
Rosalind shook her head. She turned to Ellair whose jaw remained clenched, eyes narrowed and fixed on Sinclair, and was otherwise expressionless.
“What is he talkin’ about, Ellair?” she asked.
He said nothing but the muscles in his jaw flexed as he ground his teeth together. She turned back to Sinclair, her mind spinning with questions, not understanding what this was all about.
“Was it yer daein’?” Sinclair asked. “Did ye send him tae come poke about where ye need nae be pokin’ about?”
“I dinnae ken what the bleedin’ hell ye’re talkin’ about,” she almost shouted.
Sinclair’s eyes narrowed like a predator spotting prey, shifting from her to Ellair and back again. But then his eyes sparkled with mirth and a wide, feral smile stretched his lips.
“Ye truly didnae ken,” he said.
“I’ve got nay idea what ye’re on about, Sinclair.”
“Yer man here,” he started, gesturing to Ellair again. “Came tae pay me a visit last night. And by visit, I mean he got caught skulkin’ about me compound just outside of town.”
“I didnae ken ye had a compound just outside of town.”
“Because ‘tis nae yer business tae ken,” he said, his voice icy.
She turned to Ellair, questions in her eyes. He swallowed hard and would not return her gaze. Instead, he stared at Sinclair like he wanted to run him through right then and there.
“I suppose ‘tis nae all a bad thing,” Sinclair went on, his tone haughty and arrogant. “At least he can confirm fer ye that yer braither still lives.”
His words drove the air from her lungs, and she felt like her legs were ready to give out beneath her. She turned to Ellair and saw a flicker of something in his eyes—shame? Regret? What was it? There was a story there, she was sure. And it was a story she would have. But Rosalind wasn’t so foolish that she couldn’t see what Sinclair was trying to do. He was trying to drive a wedge between them. He was creating a rift and trying to exploit it.
She knew Ellair to be many things—secretive chief among them. She knew he was more than he purported to be. But the one thing she no longer questioned about him was his loyalty. He might not tell her anything about himself—the things she truly wanted to know—but she knew without a doubt that he would never betray her. He had his reasons for doing what he’d done in scouting Sinclair’s apparently hidden compound and for not telling her that Blaine still lived.
She couldn’t fathom what those reasons were at the moment, but she trusted him. And she would find out what he was thinking if she had to torture it out of him herself. The one thing she would not do though, was give in to Sinclair’s naked manipulations. She would not let him drive the wedge he sought to between them.
“I am pleased tae ken me braither still lives,” she said. “It seems as if ye’re nae the lyin’ scoundrel I’ve always taken ye fer.”
A small smile flickered across his thin lips. “’Tis a situation that can be remedied, I assure ye. But if ye dae what I say?—”
“I have done what ye’ve told me tae dae since the day ye took Blaine,” she growled.
“’Tis not what I’m here fer,” he said. “I’m here fer yer man. His transgressions cannae go unpunished, lady Rosalind. Ye ken this. Hand him over tae me, and we’ll forget this ever happened, and yer braither will continue breathin’.”
Rosalind swallowed hard. He was asking her to choose between her brother and Ellair—a choice she was not going to make. She cut a glance at Ciar and her gave her a small nod, silently letting her know he was with her. Licking her lips, she turned back to Sinclair.
“I’ll nae be daein’ that,” she said.
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Nay? So, ye want me tae send yer braither’s head tae ye in a box then, dae ye?”
“Ye’ll nae be daein’ that either.”
“And why nae?”
“Ye forced me intae this bleedin’ arrangement because ye ken I’m the best at what I dae. That I can get places nay other smuggler in Thurso can,” she said. “And if ye kill me braither, I’ve got nay reason tae work fer ye anymore. That’s why ye’ll nae harm me braither and we both ken it. So, let’s stop foolin’ about and walk away from this?—”
“Smugglers are nae in short supply in Thurso, lady Widow.”
“But they dinnae dae such a good job. And ye ken that.”
“I’ll be takin’ yer man with me whether ye give him tae me or nae.”
“Nay. Ye willnae.”
Sinclair scowled at her, his eyes filled with disbelief at her defiance. With a subtle gesture, his men launched themselves forward like a steel and armored wave of humanity with an enraged, murderous cry. Their blades rang against those of her men who’d stepped forward to meet the charge. Ciar pulled her back and stepped in front of her, swinging his sword with vicious intent.
Screams shook the air and blood flowed onto the packed earth of the compound as men battled, took wounds, and were struck down. Several of Sinclair’s men crumpled to the ground in bloody heaps, followed by several of hers. Rosalind’s heart fell into the pit of her stomach when she saw Ellair getting wounded. He staggered but stayed on his feet and fought on, felling one of Sinclair’s men with a ragged snarl.
Sinclair himself dispatched one of Rosalind’s men with a vicious slash across his neck, sending a crimson spray high into the air. But he seemed to know the fight was lost when the rest of her men pushed forward, driving Sinclair’s men back.
“Fall back,” Sinclair called, then turned to Rosalind, his eyes burning with rage. “This is nae over, lady Widow. Nae by a long shot. Ye best pray I’m nae still in a foul mood when I return tae me compound and dinnae decide tae take yer braither’s head.”
Sinclair and his men poured through the open gate and disappeared into the darkness. Her hand pressed to her belly, Rosalind sank to her knees. The sight of her men bloodied, some dead, and the thought of what might become of Blaine when Sinclair returned to his compound churned darkly and greasily in her belly. She lurched forward and vomited.
Ciar fell to a knee beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder protectively as he helped get Rosalind back on her feet.
“Easy, lass,” he said.
She nodded. “Thank ye, Ciar. Please see tae the men, eh? Bring the most injured intae the house so I can work on them.”
“Aye.”
She turned to find Ellair, his breath ragged, his face bloody, standing there. Anger burned like fire through her veins as she narrowed her eyes and glared balefully at him. Her rage warred with the worry she felt at seeing him injured and grimacing in pain. She tried to swallow it all down, but the anger lingered.
“We need tae talk, ye and I,” she growled.
“Aye. I suppose we dae.”