Page 35 of Healing the Highland Sinner (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #7)

CHAPTER 36

“ G o,” Ellair said. “Get yer braither out another way.”

“Ye cannae fight all these men on yer own.”

“I cannae fight them if I’m worried about ye,” he snapped.

“Ellair—”

“The corridor will nullify their numbers,” he said. “Now go.”

Rosalind was torn, not wanting to leave Ellair, but she was desperate to get her brother to safety. If anybody could emerge from a fight against six men, it would be Ellair. His arm around her shoulder, she turned Blaine around and started moving him away from the fight. He winced and groaned in agony, and it tore her heart from her chest. Sinclair and his men had done terrible things to Blaine, and it filled her at once with both sorrow and rage.

As the ring of steel on steel echoed in the corridor around them, Rosalind tried to hurry her brother along. But he was so weak and wounded, the going was slow. She listened to the sound of men screaming, dying, and said a silent prayer Ellair was not among them. Her heart raced and her head pounded with fear. They weren’t moving fast enough. They needed to put some distance between themselves and the battle raging in the corridor behind them.

Her eyes stung with tears as she hurried Blaine along, her chest filled with terror as she pictured Ellair falling in a bloody heap on the corridor floor. The mere image of that floating through her mind caused Rosalind to choke back a sob and she nearly stumbled. Blaine groaned miserably but somehow managed to stay on his feet. He turned to her

“Ye’re worried about him, eh?” he asked.

She nodded. “Aye.”

“Ye love him,” he said, a statement, not a question. “I can see it on yer face, sister.”

“Stop focusin’ on me and focus on yerself,” she said. “We need tae get out of here.”

She led Blaine around a corner and paused. Her mind was such a jumbled mess with thoughts of Ellair falling, her fear and grief, that she’d lost track of where they were. She hadn’t been in the place in quite some time and had forgotten parts of the layout. It was easy to get lost in such a big building, especially when your attention was divided, as Rosalind’s was.

“What is it then?” Blaine asked.

“Just tryin’ tae get me bearings.”

She looked left then right, trying to recall the corridor she was in and where it led to. The sound of heavy footsteps pounding up the hallway behind her rang in Rosalind’s ears and sent a rush of white-hot terror through her. She’d run out of time. They were coming. Still supporting Blaine with one hand, she pulled her dagger with the other and turned around. If this was the end, she wasn’t going out without a fight.

Relief flooded her instantly when Ellair came around the corner. He was limping and gasping for breath, bleeding from a myriad of wounds, but he was alive. She almost dropped Blaine to rush to him but forced herself to stand still and continue supporting her brother.

“Ye’re alive,” she said, doing her best to sound casual.

“Aye. ‘Twas a close thing though,” he wheezed and grimaced, his breath ragged. “How dae we get out of here?”

“I—I’m nae sure.”

“Rosalind, there are more men comin’,” Ellair said.

Teetering on the edge of panic, she looked both ways along the corridor before her eyes settled on the door in front of her. Scraps of memories drifted through her mind like motes of dust, small and impossible to catch in her frenzied state.

“Rosalind—”

Her gaze turned back to the door in front of her and memories came pouring back into her mind. She pointed at the door and nodded.

“Through there,” she said. “’Tis the main hall. There’s a door on the far wall that will lead us back outside.”

From deeper in the fortress, the sound of raised voices echoed along with a clashing of steel. Soldiers were coming.

“Are ye certain?” Ellair asked.

“Aye. I’m certain.”

Ellair dashed across the corridor and threw the door open. Rosalind led Blaine through it and pulled up, a gasp bursting from her mouth.

“Bollocks,” she whispered.

Laird Hugh Sinclair, flanked by four men in English chain armor, turned as they stormed into the hall. With a dark glimmer in his eye, a wolfish smile stretched his lips.

“Well, look who we have here, lads,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly.

Ellair stepped in front of her, his sword raised. A current of fear rippled through her. Wounded as he was, there was no way Ellair was going to survive a fight with Sinclair’s men. But they couldn’t go back either. The sound of heavy bootsteps on the stone floor was growing louder. Moving as quickly as they dared, Rosalind set Blaine down against the wall and slammed the door shut, quickly locking it. She didn’t think it would hold for very long, but it would at least buy them a few minutes.

She rushed over to stand beside Ellair, drawing her dagger and taking the fighting stance he’d taught her. He turned to her, eyes wide and filled with worry. In that moment, she knew they were probably going to lose this fight. That they were probably going to die. But she would not stand back and not try to fight to protect her brother. To fight alongside and likely fall with the man she had come to love so much.

Ellair had deceived her. He had betrayed her. But as she and Blaine had limped through the shadowy corridors of the manor, she had realized Ellair had been doing his duty, loyal to those he cared about, the same as she was. Everything she had done, everything she’d stolen, every lie she’d told, and every deception she’d engaged in herself had been in service to her duty—her duty to her brother. Her loved one. Realizing that made it easier for her to understand the things Ellair had done. Easier to accept.

Easier to forgive.

“If we’re goin’ tae survive this, we need tae stand taegether,” she said. “Ye cannae dae this on yer own all cut up as ye are.”

A grin quirked the corner of his mouth up but he didn’t argue with her. Instead, they turned back to Sinclair who looked at them with a smile on his face, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“Well, isnae this sweet,” he said. “I kent ye fancied each other. I just didnae ken ye were willin’ tae die fer each other. But… that affection I kent was there made ye both easy tae control. ‘Tis like a leash around each other’s necks fer me tae hold on tae. Easier tae choke ye both with. Even easier fer ye, lass, since I had yer braither and all. ‘Twas like two leashes on ye really. Made everythin’ else so much easier.”

“Everythin’ else?” Ellair asked.

“All me plans are comin’ tae fruition. With yer lady’s help there, we’ve got the arms, gold, and supplies we need tae take the Highlands. Tae wipe out me rivals,” he said. “And once that’s done, well, then we’ll take the rest of the country and perhaps even England itself.”

“Yer ambition makes ye blind,” Ellair said. “Ye’ll never conquer England.”

He shrugged. “It may take some time and the help of fools like yerselves, but I can dae it,” he said. “’Tis too bad ye’ll nae be around tae help me though, lass. First rate smugglers like ye arenae easy tae come by. I could’ve used ye.”

“Are ye goin’ tae keep talkin’ or are we goin’ tae get tae fightin’?” Rosalind hissed.

“In such a hurry tae die?” Sinclair asked.

“In more of a hurry tae kill ye.”

He laughed and clapped his hands like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “I admire yer spirit, lass. Ye’ve got that fire in ye that I like.”

He motioned to his men, and they all rushed forward, swords bared, maniacal grins on their faces. Two broke toward Ellair while the other two came running at her. Her heart hammering in her chest, nervous sweat dotting her brow, Rosalind stood her ground. The two men charging her stopped and glanced at each other, smarmy smirks on both their faces.

“Hardly seems fair, eh?” said the man on her left in his crisp English accent. “Leavin’ us to pick on a lassie like this.”

“I’ve heard these Scotswomen are ferocious. Best be careful, mate.”

The two men laughed and nudged each other, finding great amusement in Rosalind. Liquid fire flowed through her veins, and she ground her teeth so hard, she could have shattered stone. Among the many things Ellair had taught her, it was to strike first, before your opponent was ready to fight and catch them unawares. Some might think that dishonorable, but something else Ellair had taught her was that there was no cheating when it came to a battle for one’s life. The only dishonor was in losing the fight.

Rosalind leaped forward, moving with such speed, the two English mercenaries were caught off guard. With a savage cry, she leaned on another practical lesson Ellair had given her—strike where the armor is not. Rosalind drove the point of her dagger down into the man’s neck and ripped it out again, sending a fount of crimson into the air. The man’s eyes widened as he grasped his neck, blood flowing from between his fingers in a torrent and a wet, burbling gasp bursting from his mouth. He turned to Rosalind, who smiled ferally at him as his blood, thick and crimson, dripped from the end of her blade.

The man fell to his knees, bleeding out rapidly, as the second man recovered quickly and launched himself at her. Balanced on the balls of her feet, Rosalind spun as the man lunged at her, the point of his sword whistling by her neck. He was skilled though and threw his elbow backward, catching her flush in the nose. Pain exploded in Rosalind’s face and her mouth filled with the coppery taste of her own blood as thick, viscous rivulets streamed from her nose.

Knowing if she stopped moving, she’d be dead, Rosalind bit back the pain and spun around. The man was already charging at her again though, the point of his sword leading the way. She skipped backward clumsily, nearly being disemboweled in the process, but managed to avoid the worst of the man’s thrust. The edge of his blade though, slid along her side, opening a shallow wound. Rosalind drew in a sharp breath and grimaced, feeling the blood spilling down her side.

As he rushed by her, the man stumbled over his fallen comrade and lost his balance. He stumbled forward and Rosalind seized the advantage. She dashed toward him and thrust her dagger forward, driving it straight into the man’s throat.

A choked gasp and thick red bubble bursting from his mouth, the man’s eyes grew wide, and he reached for her, still managing to stare at her hatefully as he died. Rosalind put a hand to her belly, feeling a queasy churning.

So caught up was she in her own fight, she hadn’t even noticed the sound of heavy fists banging on the door to the hall. She glanced at her brother who sat where he’d left her. Blaine gave her a weak smile and a nod of approval. From deeper in the fortress though, she heard something strange—it sounded like a full-scale battle had erupted. Men were shouting and through the thick door and walls of the hall, she heard what sounded like steel ringing on steel.

She gave herself a shake and turned back to see a wounded, limping, and gasping Ellair dispatch the second of the two men who’d launched themselves at him. Blood and sweat slicked his face and he fell to a knee, entirely spent. He’d accumulated more injuries, though from where she stood, none of them looked mortal.

Her face paled though, as she watched Sinclair stride toward Ellair, his face etched with menace and hate, his sword up and ready to strike. Ellair didn’t have the strength left to fight back. He knelt on the stone floor, his exhausted gaze on Sinclair and his coming demise. That queasy feeling in her belly morphed into outright nausea as Rosalind realized that if she did nothing, she was going to watch the man she loved be run through.

With a shriek of rage, Rosalind dashed forward, stooping long enough to pick up one of the blades of the men she’d felled and launched herself at Sinclair. He must have spotted her coming from the corner of his eye because he turned at the last moment. His face registered his surprise as he spotted Rosalind coming in hard and fast. She turned away his blade as Ellair had taught her to do and drove forward.

A loud grunt burst from Sinclair’s lips as the point of her borrowed sword slipped into his chest. Pushing with all her strength, Rosalind surged forward, driving her blade into him, not stopping until the crossguard was flush with his chest. Sinclair stood rigidly straight for a moment, his eyes shifting from her to the blade sprouting out of his body, and back to her again. A look of surprise mixed with a lack of comprehension crossed his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe she had done that to him.

Sinclair fell to his knees, struggling to talk, unable to breathe. He slumped forward then fell to his side, his eyes wide and fixed on the next world as blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. Rosalind rushed forward and helped get Ellair to his feet.

“Are ye all right?” she asked.

“I’ll live,” he replied. “Thanks tae ye.”

Her cheeks flushed and she looked away for a moment, her heart swelling ten sizes too big for her chest as she realized it was over. She had saved the man she loved, and she was out from beneath Sinclair’s thumb. Forever.

“’Tis really over,” she whispered.

“Almost,” he replied. “We still need tae get out of here. And we need tae dae it quickly because it smells like this place is on fire.”

“Who attacked?” she asked.

A crooked grin touched his lips. “I’m goin’ tae put me money on Ciar. The man never daes follow orders all that well.”

She hadn’t considered the possibility that Ciar might have disobeyed her and rallied Laird Gunn and his men to his side to launch an attack on Sinclair’s stronghold. But it made sense.

“Come. We must be away,” Ellair said.

“Aye.”

She moved to help him, but he waved her off. “Nay. Help yer braither instead. I’ll be all right on me own.”

She nodded and moved to help Blaine to his feet. As they both moved to the door that led to the outside, Rosalind looked back at the body of Hugh Sinclair. She had done that. She had killed him. She had personally ended his control over her, her brother, and the Highlands. His reign of terror and oppression was over.

As they stepped into the cool night air, the smell of smoke was strong and the flickering orange glow from the burning building reflected off the tress all around. As Ellair had thought, Ciar strode over to them, bloodied and bruised, but otherwise unharmed. He had a couple of men come take Blaine to tend to his wounds before he embraced Rosalind gently. He looked down at her for a moment, relief washing over his features, then he turned and gripped Ellair’s forearm in the traditional warrior’s grip.

“Ye did it,” Ciar said. “Ye saved her.”

Ellair shook his head. “Nay. She saved me.”

Her cheeks flushed and a smile filled with pride crossed her lips. Ciar stood between them, one of his massive hands on each of their shoulders, and a wide smile on his face. He nodded.

“It sounds like there’s a story here tae tell,” he said.

“Aye. I believe there is,” Ellair said. “But first I’d like tae stop bleedin’.”

“I think we can help with that,” Ciar said. “Laird Gunn brought some of his most capable surgeons along.”

“How did ye convince him tae come?” Rosalind asked.

“I simply didnae give the man a choice. He’s very agreeable, I must say.”

They listened to the sound of the battle around them waning as Gunn’s men cleaned up the remaining Sinclair loyalists. Rosalind turned and looked at the men beside her and once again, her heart swelled up and she was overcome by such a wave of emotion, she had trouble speaking. As if sensing a sudden shift in their moods, Ciar looked down at them, favoring Rosalind with a fond, almost fatherly, smile.

“I’m goin’ tae go get me last few licks in,” he said. “Excuse me.”

As the big man trotted off, Rosalind turned to Ellair. Something had shifted inside of her. The anger and resentment she’d held for his deception had melted away, replaced by the feeling of love and affection she’d had for him all along. The fire cast alternating shadow and light on the hard angles of his face, making him look equal parts tougher and softer in turn. It somehow made him even more handsome and Rosalind felt her breath catch in her throat.

And as she stared at him, a profound realization settled over her. She took a moment to think about what it meant. And as she turned it over in her mind again and again, she realized she knew and that she was not only fine with it, she wanted it with the whole of her being.

“I’m done with this life,” she said.

Ellair smiled. “Aye?”

She nodded. “Aye. There’s naethin’ more fer me in it now that I’ve got me braither back.”

“Sounds like a wise decision.”

“I hope so,” she replied. “I dinnae ken where I’ll find an occupation that pays as well or gives me as much freedom as me former one did.

“Tell ye what,” Ellair said. “Why dinnae ye come home with me and we can figure it out. Taegether?”

She stared at him for a long moment, the full weight of his words sinking in. And as they did, a smile crossed her face, and she bit her lower lip.

“Aye? Ye’d have me come home with ye?”

“It’d be the single greatest honor of me life,” he said.

Rosalind hesitated for a moment then nodded. “Aye. I’ll come home with ye.”

Ellair pulled her into a tight embrace then winced as a wave of pain overtook him. He laughed and shook his head.

“We may have tae wait until I heal up tae dae that again,” he said.

“I’ll wait,” she replied softly but meaningfully.

Arms around each other’s waists, Rosalind and Ellair turned and watched Sinclair’s stronghold burn to the ground. It seemed a fitting end for a man like that. A fitting end indeed.