Page 34 of Healing the Highland Sinner (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #7)

CHAPTER 34

T he crawl through the tunnels had been tight and uncomfortable, but they finally arrived at the ladder that would lead them up and into the keep. At least, that was what Ellair was hoping. The truth was, he had no idea where this was going to lead them. There was enough room at the access point for them both to stand up, but it meant they were pressed together tightly.

“This is it,” he said.

“Aye. This is it.”

“And where is this ladder goin’ tae go?”

She grimaced. “If I remember right, this one leads intae a storeroom.”

“And if ye dinnae remember right?’

“I… dinnae ken. I’d suggest we both be ready tae fight.”

“Comfortin’.”

She grinned and shook her head. Ellair was keenly aware of the heat coming from her body and her breath, warm and sweet on his neck. He would have preferred that moment last forever, but he could tell she was anxious to get on with it.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll go up first.”

“I can?—”

“I’ll go up first,” he cut her off.

Hand over hand, Ellair ascended the ladder until he reached the top. The lid covering the escape hatch was made of stone and heavy, but he put his back into it and was able to lift it up. Stone scraped against stone as he slid it out of the way—if anybody had been around as he pried it open, he would have been dead already, he was certain. Once there was enough room for him to get out, he scrabbled out of the hole, dagger in hand, ready to fend off an attack.

But an attack never came. Ellair found himself standing in a storeroom, as Rosalind had believed it to be. It was half empty and dusty, stacks of crates and barrels all around. He assumed most of them were filled with goods Rosalind and her people had moved for Sinclair. He leaned over the mouth of the hole.

“’Tis all clear,” he whispered.

Rosalind climbed out of the hole and dusted herself off as she looked around the room. Ellair watched her face fall as she spotted the cargo she’d hauled, the stacks of arms, and all the other accoutrements of war she had supplied for Sinclair. It was as if, for the first time, she was seeing the full scope of what she had given to a man intent on murdering hundreds, if not thousands, in the name of power and greed, and she looked crushed beneath her guilt.

“Me God,” she whispered to herself. “What have I done?”

“Ye did what ye had tae dae,” he replied. “And the best way tae make sure he daesnae use all these is tae cut him off at the knees. Which is what we’re goin’ tae dae.”

Rosalind turned to him, her eyes filled with gratitude, but the guilt still lingered. He reached out and took her hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

“’Tis all right, lass,” he said. “We’re goin’ tae get yer braither and then, with the help of Laird Gunn, we’re goin’ tae destroy that bastard.”

She drew in a deep breath and seemed to be steeling herself as she nodded. The guilt faded from her eyes—mostly. What Ellair saw take its place was a firm resolve and anger, which was good. She was going to need anger for what lay ahead.

“Aye,” she said. “’Tis what we’re goin’ tae dae.”

“Good. Now where would they be keepin’ yer braither?” he asked. “Ye knew this place once. Where would they hold him?”

“The dark cells is me most likely guess.”

“Good. Let’s head there then.”

They crept to the door and Ellair felt his stomach lurch when he heard the sound of heavy footsteps march by. The ring of chain armor was unmistakable. It was the sort of armor most Scots did not have, which opened a pit in his stomach.

“’Tis English armor,” he whispered.

“Daesnae surprise me he’s got hired English swords workin’ fer him.”

The level of danger increased significantly knowing it wasn’t just Sinclair’s men, but English mercenaries patrolling the manor. When the sound of the soldiers had ebbed, Ellair opened the door a crack and glanced into the corridor beyond.

“’Tis clear,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

Moving together, as swiftly and quietly as they could, Ellair followed her through the labyrinth of corridors. They narrowly avoided several groups of Sinclair’s men, having to duck around corners and dive into open rooms to keep from being seen. They had to take so many detours, it felt like the journey through the fortress took hours.

“The dark cells are through that door,” Rosalind whispered.

“All right,” Ellair said. “Stay behind me. There may be guards inside.”

“I can fight?—”

“Stay behind me,” he ordered.

Rosalind bristled but didn’t argue further. She slipped behind him as Ellair stepped to the door and pressed his ear to it. The wood was too thick for him to hear anything though. He turned to Rosalind and gave her a nod. He had to assume there would be guards inside. Drawing the dagger from the sheath on his belt, Ellair reached out and grabbed the door handle, gave himself a silent count of three, then burst inside.

He moved low and fast, quickly assessing the situation as he rushed into the room. Two guards. Both sitting at a table with cups of something in front of them. Both looked up from their cups and belatedly realized Ellair was not one of their men. It was too late. Ellair was on them before they could react, slashing the first man across the throat before turning and driving his dagger into the second man’s chest. The first man slumped back in his chair, clutching his throat while the second fell to the floor, dead before he hit the stone.

“Rosalind—”

She was already coming through the door, dagger in hand, and paled when she saw the bodies on the floor. Ellair wiped his blade on the first man’s cloak and sheathed it.

“Are ye all right?” he asked.

She swallowed hard. “Aye. I’m fine.”

Tearing her eyes away from the bodies, she rushed further into the room, looking in the cells that lined it. Ellair was already pulling the ring of keys from the dead guard when he heard Rosalind gasp. He turned, his hand moving toward his dagger, but he paused when he saw her standing before one of the cells. She turned to him with tears shimmering in her eyes, lips trembling, and a look of grief on her face.

“What is it?” he asked.

“He’s here, Ellair.”

The ring of keys in his hand, he rushed to where she stood and paused. The man curled into a ball on the floor of the cell looked nothing like the defiant man he’d seen in the small outbuilding at Sinclair’s secret compound. The man he was looking at was thin and frail, as if he’d been starved. His face was covered in deep purple and black bruises, both of his eyes swollen, and blood, dried and crusted around his nose and mouth.

“Me God,” Ellair said.

Rosalind ripped the ring out of his hand and started using the keys, fumbling with them as she tried to find the right one to unlock the cell. Tears streamed down her face and her hands shook so wildly, she couldn’t get the keys into the locks. Ellair put his hands over hers and gently took the ring back. He quickly and methodically went through the keys until he found the right one. The lock turned with a hard click and the door swung inward.

Rosalind rushed past him, falling to her knees beside her brother. She put a trembling hand on his head, stroking his crusty, matted hair.

“Blaine,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “It’s me. It’s Rosey.”

The man’s battered, swollen eyes fluttered then opened a crack and a smile touched his lips, immediately making him wince.

“Rosey,” he said, his voice dry and raspy. “Ye came for me.”

“Of course I came for ye. I told ye I would,” she said. “I am so sorry that I am so late, but I was afraid coming here might cost ye yer life. Now, ye have tae get up. We need tae get out of here, Blaine. Can ye stand?”

“I can try,” he croaked.

Ellair slipped into the cell and helped Rosalind get her brother to his feet. Leaning on both of them, they helped him out of the cell and past the bodies on the ground. As they passed, a cruel little smile touched Blaine’s lips as he stared at the bloody corpses. He spat on them. Given his condition, Ellair didn’t blame him.

Helping him move through the halls was difficult and slow going and the longer they were in the open like that, the more Ellair grew nervous.

“We need tae move faster,” Ellair said.

“We’re goin’ as fast as we can,” Rosalind said.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine rasped. “Ye should leave me?—”

“We’re nae leavin’ ye,” she hissed. “Stop that nonsense.”

They kept going, somehow not being spotted. They had managed to avoid Sinclair’s men and as they drew near to the storeroom they’d emerged from, he started to feel a bit better about their situation. Started to think they might actually get out without incident. But when they turned the corner that led to the storeroom, they pulled up short. Six of Sinclair’s men stood between them and the door. It was like they’d been waiting for them.

“Bleedin’ hell,” Ellair muttered.