Page 26 of Healing the Highland Sinner (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #7)

CHAPTER 26

T he sun was bright, the sky clear, and despite what had happened at Rosalind’s compound the night before and the aches and pains that gripped his body, Ellair was in a good mood. He’d given thought to slipping out in the middle of the night to meet Laird Gunn, but he couldn’t risk Rosalind noticing. He didn’t particularly care for the idea of making Laird Gunn wait for him, but he knew the man would. The mission was too critical.

Besides, he had enjoyed sleeping the night through with Rosalind’s warm, soft body pressed to his. It made him feel whole in ways he never knew he could feel. Without even trying, she showed him pieces within his heart and soul that had been missing. Never in his wildest dreams, or craziest, ale-soaked imaginings did Ellair ever think he could feel for somebody the way he felt for Rosalind.

If he was being honest with himself, he had to admit that it was both disconcerting and exhilarating. The thought that he had allowed himself to care for somebody was terrifying. He had long ago vowed to never open his heart to anybody. To never take anything too seriously as life and relationships were all temporary, fleeting things. But he felt like he’d found a place with Rosalind he had never imagined existed. Home.

When he woke that morning and found her s looking back at him, her full, soft lips curled up in a smile, he knew that he was no longer lost. He’d been found. After a quick but passionate lovemaking session, he told her that he had to go meet his contact, to see if there was a way they could get out from under their entanglements with Laird Sinclair and she had agreed to let him go. She’d told him to seek whatever help they could get for themselves, but most especially for Blaine.

To that end, he’d come into town and immediately found a man who’d been supplying him with information. Gesturing to him subtly, the man met him in a gloomy alley a few streets off the main harbor. Though daylight reigned over the town, the shadowy figures still had eyes and ears all over and Ellair didn’t wish to have this man spotted talking to him.

“I ken what ye’re goin’ tae ask,” he said.

“Dae ye now?”

He nodded, his movements quick and birdlike. “Aye. ‘Tis all anybody’s talkin’ about—in quiet tones, of course,” he said. “Ye ventured where ye shouldnae have gone. What were ye thinkin’ slippin’ intae Laird Sinclair’s compound? Have ye gone mad?”

Ellair rubbed his jaw. “’Tis possible.”

“Ye’re lucky he didnae kill ye out at the Widow’s place last night.”

“Nae fer lack of tryin’.”

The man scoffed. “He wasnae tryin’ tae kill ye. If he had wanted ye dead, ye’d be dead. Ye can count on that,” he said. “He wants ye alive. Put a bounty on yer head, he did.”

A wry grin twisted Ellair’s lips. “And ye’ve nae turned me in yerself?”

“Thought about it,” he replied with a chuckle. “But ye pay better. Ye’re also nae an arse tae deal with. Besides, I dinnae trust that man tae actually pay up if I brought ye tae him.”

“’Tis good tae ken. I appreciate yer trust in me.”

“’Tis nae ye I trust. ‘Tis them gold coins ye give me I trust.”

Ellair laughed. “Fair enough. What else have ye heard?”

“The lad ye went tae Sinclair’s compound lookin’ fer… he’s gone.”

Ellair felt the bottom of his stomach fall out as his throat grew dry. “Gone? As in?—”

“Nay. Moved elsewhere,” he said. “Way I hear it, Sinclair has some use fer him. Dinnae ken what it is, but ‘tis keepin’ thae lad alive. Fer now, anyway.”

Ellair nodded as a feeling of relief swept over him. Rosalind had been right about Blaine being more valuable alive than dead to Sinclair and that he would continue to leverage her against her brother’s fate to keep her under his thumb. At least until he found somebody who was as good at smuggling his cargo as she was.

“Hear anythin’ else?” Ellair asked.

“Other than Sinclair wants yer head? Nah.”

“All right. Thanks,” Ellair said as he pulled a couple of coins from his purse and handed them over. “Ye’ll let me ken if ye hear anythin’ more, eh?”

“Dinnae I always?”

The man tucked the coins away then turned and bounded off, leaving Ellair standing alone in the alley thinking about what he’d just heard. The good news was that Blaine was still alive. The bad news was that he might not be much longer. With a bounty on his head, every man with a blade and a need for coin would be looking for him.

But that was a problem for another day. He pulled his cloak up, hiding his face in the shadows of the hood, and made for the even less seemly part of Thurso. A brisk ten-minute walk brought him to the door of the Seafarer, one of the seemingly endless roster of inns and taverns in the port town. He pushed through the door and stepped into the dimly lit common room. There were only half a dozen men seated at tables, most of them with shoulders slumped and vacant eyes staring into their cups. Nobody paid him any mind as he walked in.

The fireplace was cold and unlit, though the smell of last night’s fire still lingered in the air, blending with the smell of pipe smoke and a host of other, less pleasant aromas. Ellair spotted Laird Gunn seated in the far corner of the room, back to the wall, his eyes fixed on him. He walked over and took a seat. The barmaid bustled over and set a pair of cups down in front of them.

Ellair gave her a nod and slipped a couple of coins onto her tray. She gave him a grateful smile then turned and hustled away. Ellair raised his cup to Laird Gunn then took a long swallow of the ale. The other man didn’t move. He remained sitting, frozen like a statue, staring at him. He finally let out a breath and picked up his cup.

“I hear ye had some trouble last night,” Gunn said.

“Aye. Naethin’ we couldnae handle.”

“The bruises on yer face and the way ye’re movin’ say ye took quite a beatin’.”

Ellair shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“And now there’s a bounty on yer head.”

Ellair chuckled. “Ye dae have yer ear tae tae ground here, dinnae ye?”

“When ye’re a laird, ye need eyes and ears everywhere.”

“And yet, yer eyes and ears dinnae tell ye that Sinclair has a secret compound just outside of town, on the border with the MacKays.”

Gunns’ eyes widened. “Are ye certain of this?”

“Barely escaped from there with me life. So, aye, I’m certain.”

“Bleedin’ hell,” he muttered.

Gunn sat back and seemed to mull over the information for a moment, draining half his cup of ale in the process. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic and sat forward.

“What else have ye learned?” he asked.

“I’ve learned that Sinclair is indeed usin’ Thurso’s smugglers tae move English arms and coin intae the Highlands. He’s armin’ yer enemies with an eye on makin’ a move,” Ellair said. “He’s usin’ this town as a center fer his operations, I’m guessin’. That secret compound he’s got is filled with soldiers and more are on the way.”

Gunn ran a hand over his face but nodded. “’Tis what I expected.”

“I also need ye tae ken that Rosalind—the Widow—is bein’ made tae work fer Sinclair against her will,” he said. “He’s holdin’ her braither, threatenin’ him with death if she daesnae dae as he orders her tae dae.”

“I see. So the Widow is a she… interesting.”

“Daes that make a difference?”

“Nay, I’m just surprised. ‘Tis a tough world to work in, although we ken she daes her job well enough. But she’s aidin’ the enemy?—”

“She’s got nae bleedin’ choice, Torrin,” he cut him off with a harsh whisper. “Did ye nae hear me tell ye he’s got her braither.”

“She’s makin’ a choice.”

“Would ye nae make the same choice if yer kin, the only person ye had in the world, was bein’ held at the point of a blade?”

Gunn sat back, his eyes searching Ellair’s face. After a long, silent moment, something akin to understanding blossomed on his face.

“Ye’ve come tae care fer the woman,” he said.

Ellair shifted in his seat. “I just ask that ye give her quarter. That ye understand what she daes it nae because she’s lookin’ tae harm ye. She’s doin’ it tae save her braither.”

“Have ye fallen in love with her?” Gunn asked him bluntly.

Ellair cleared his throat then took a long swallow of ale, trying to wash down the lump that had suddenly formed. There was no use lying to the man since he saw right through him anyway. But perhaps, if he was honest and upfront with him, he might take mercy on Rosalind when he formed his response to Sinclair’s aggression. He wanted to make sure he knew she was not responsible for what was happening.

He sighed. “Laird Gunn—Torrin—I cannae keep daein’ this. I cannae keep lyin’ tae Rosalind,” he said. “I’ve gotten proof that she’s nae responsible fer what Sinclair is up tae. She’s bein’ forced tae help him.”

“I understand what ye’re sayin’. I hear ye, Ellair,” he said. “And if ye feel the need tae tell her who ye are and what ye’re about, ‘tis yer business. All I’m goin’ tae say is that she may view what ye did as a betrayal. And from what I understand, she’s a woman who values loyalty. She may nae easily forgive.”

“I already ken that.”

“Love, if she in fact loves ye back, may nae be enough tae overcome that sense of betrayal she’s goin’ tae feel when ye tell her what ye’ve been daein’.”

Ellair sighed and drained the last of his ale, letting Gunn’s words rattle around in his brain. It was nothing Ellair hadn’t already thought of—nothing he didn’t already know—he still clung to that spark of hope that Rosalind’s feelings would overpower the bitter sense of betrayal she was going to feel. He had been lying to her, thus anger and hurt were going to be inevitable. But he knew she felt for him the way he felt for her and he had to hope it would be enough.

“Dae what ye need tae dae, lad,” Gunn said. “Just be aware there may be unforeseen consequences. Things may nae go as ye want.”

“I’m aware.”

“All right then,” he said. “So, what are we tae dae about Sinclair?”

“Right now, we need fer him tae make the next move. After our trouble last night, we’re nae yet sure what he’s goin’ tae dae,” he replied. “I’ve just spoken tae another contact of mine and it seems like he may be willin’ tae continue tae work with Rosalind.”

“If she gives him yer head.”

“’Tis a possibility,” Ellair admitted. “But we’ll ken more soon, I reckon.”

“All right. Keep me in the loop,” he said. “Now that we ken what we’re up against, the time fer us tae make a move is comin’. And if yer Widow is as unwillin’ a partner as ye claim she is, she may be able tae help us take Sinclair down once and fer all.”

“She’ll dae whatever it takes—so long as we can get her braither back alive.”

Gunn nodded. “Aye. Then be in touch and let me ken what the disposition of her relationship with Sinclair is.”

“I’ll dae that.”

Ellair got to his feet and walked out of the tavern, his mind spinning with the threads of all the plots tangling in his mind. He turned a corner and was several streets away from the tavern when he became aware of the presence behind him. Whoever was shadowing him had the skill to move quietly. They were no doubt looking to sneak up on him and take his head before he had a chance to react, then cash in on Sinclair’s bounty.

He turned a corner, then quickly drew his dagger and pressed himself against the side of the building. The soft scuff of a boot on the cobblestones of the street told him his pursuer was close—just about to turn the corner. His body tauter than a bowstring, Ellair jumped at the first flicker of movement and had his blade to the throat of his pursuer then paused.

“Bleedin’ hell,” he said.

Ciar stared down at him, his eyes cold and hard. The fact that he looked at him that way without saying a word told Ellair the big man had been shadowing him for some time and had very likely seen him meeting with Gunn.

“Aye,” Ciar said. “I ken who ye were meetin’ with.”

Ellair slipped the dagger into the sheath on his belt and frowned. He’d been careless. He’d been so focused on Rosalind, his feelings for her, and the desperate need to tell her who he really was, he somehow hadn’t spotted Ciar following him. He licked his lips and nodded.

“Have ye been playin’ her this whole time? Tryin’ tae get close tae kill her?” Ciar asked.

Ellair shook his head. “Nay. Quite the opposite in fact.”

“She needs tae ken who ye are and what ye’re about,” he said. “She deserves the truth.”

He had fully expected that Ciar would not believe him. The fact that he was being civil about catching him in his deception thoroughly surprised Ellair. There was no accusation or anger in Ciar’s voice. He was simply speaking the truth.

“Aye,” he said. “She daes deserve it.”

“She put her trust in ye. Findin’ out ye’ve been lyin’ tae her this whole time is goin’ tae break her heart. Ye ken that, dinnae ye?”

“I’m hopin’ nae.”

Ciar studied him for a long moment, his lips curled downward in a frown. “Ye need tae tell her, Ellair. Ye need tae tell her or I will.”

And with that, the big man turned and strode away, leaving Ellair standing there cloaked in his guilt and his fear that once he told Rosalind the truth, he would lose her forever. The thought cut sharper than any blade. But the big man was right. And he knew what he had to do.

She deserved the truth.