Page 4 of Healing the Highland Sinner (Tales of the Maxwell Lasses #7)

CHAPTER FOUR

E llair was pushed forward and a wooden staff thrust into his hands. He turned and looked at the woman who’d set this all in motion and flashed her a roguish grin.

“Is this a jest then?” he asked.

The corner of her mouth curled upward, and her eyes glinted dangerously. Not a jest then. The Widow and the rest of her men backed away, giving him and the monster standing before him a wide berth. The big man spun the wooden staff he was holding, demonstrating his dexterity in what Ellair assumed was supposed to be a display of intimidation.

Ellair quickly got his head into the game and prepared himself. The man before him was big and nimble, and he seemed to handle the staff well, telling him he’d had some training. He was skilled and not just a broad shouldered, mindless brute as Ellair had been secretly hoping.

“All right,” he muttered to himself. “I guess we’re daein’ this then.”

“Aye. Damn right we’re doin’ this,” Ciar said. “First tae yield, eh?”

“Then get ready tae yield.”

Ellair took a few steps back and got used to the staff in his hand. It wasn’t a weapon he’d normally choose as he felt more comfortable with a blade, but he understood why the Widow and her men didn’t want him to have one. Not at the moment anyway. He would best her man and prove himself to her. What other choice did he have?

He cut a glance at the Widow, who stood off to the edge of the ring she and the men formed around them, observing him and her man Ciar. He couldn’t get over how beautiful she was. Stunning. She wore boots that came up to her knees and breeches that clung to her long, shapely legs. Her full, round breasts pressed the front of her tunic, adding to her feminine appeal. The woman was lean and willowy but had curves in all the right places and he was having a hard time taking his eyes off her.

The deep, rumbling growl of the man charging him snapped Ellair out of his head and he spun to the side, narrowly avoiding the butt of the hard wooden staff that split the air where his head had been just a moment before. Had he not moved, it surely would have shattered his nose. A soft laugh rang in his ears and when he glanced at the Widow, he saw her hiding a smile behind her black-gloved hand.

“Are ye ready lad? Ye didnae seem ready tae me. Did ye want me tae give ye a few minutes tae limber up and ready yerself? Maybe take a few practice swings with the staff?” Ciar taunted him.

With a snarl on his lips, Ellair launched himself at Ciar, spinning the staff in a dizzying whirl that took the big man by surprise. He drove the butt of his staff at the man’s head, making him duck to the right then followed that up by quickly reversing and swinging the other end of it at him. Ciar was caught off guard but managed to get his own staff up in time. The hard clack of their weapons banging together echoed around the alleyway.

Grinning to himself, Ciar danced a few steps out of reach. “All right then. Looks like we have a fight on our hands then?”

“Did ye need me tae give ye a few moments tae limber up?” Ellair sneered.

Laughter rippled around the small crowd of men watching the fight. The woman looked on, her face betraying her interest, and her full, red lips curled up at the corners. Ellair had to force himself to turn his eyes away. She was pulling his attention away from the man he was battling, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

The man rushed at him again and Ellair let him get close then. Rather than defend against that though, as Ciar had anticipated, Ellair dropped to a knee and drove the butt of his staff into the man’s midsection.

His eyes wide and his lips forming a perfect “O,” Ciar staggered backward with a loud “ooph” as the air was driven from his lungs. Ellair glanced at the Widow and saw she was nodding approvingly to herself. Feeling emboldened, Ellair pressed his advantage and closed the distance between him and Ciar.

“Are ye ready, lad?” Ciar sneered. “Or dae ye want tae yield tae me now?”

“Yield? Because ye got a lucky shot in? Ye must be jestin’.”

His comment drew jeers and snickers from the Widow’s men and seemed to amuse Ciar. Ellair tightened his grip on the staff and tried to keep from wincing too noticeably when he clenched his jaw. No need to give Ciar another laugh at his expense.

His cheeks burned and his stomach clenched painfully. If they wanted a show, Ellair was going to give them one. He darted in, feinting to the left and caught Ciar leaning that way to defend. He immediately came back around to the right though, and with a two-handed grip on the staff, delivered a wicked blow to the man’s ribs.

Ciar grunted in pain and staggered to the side, clutching his wounded ribs and glared at him balefully. He blew out a breath, sounding like a bull before it charged, his eyes narrowed and burning with rage. He raised his staff and pointed it at Ellair.

His staff whirling dizzyingly, Ellair was having a hard time keeping up with him. But he managed to parry and deflect every thrust and swipe, keeping the man from scoring a hit. Ciar was breathing hard, his face red and slicked with a thin sheen of sweat. Ellair wasn’t even winded. He grinned and tipped him a wink.

“Bleedin’ idiot,” Ciar grumbled.

“Did ye want tae take a break, big man?” Ellair teased. “Did ye want tae get some water or maybe sit down and catch yer breath then?”

He could tell Ciar was growing tired and more frustrated at the same time. So, Ellair kept dancing, content to defend and block everything the man threw at him.

As he turned another blow aside, Ellair laughed. He darted in and smacked Ciar on the backside, drawing an outraged yelp from him. The big man rounded on him, his face red and eyes narrowed with rage. Ellair laughed harder. The grin on his face evaporated quickly though, when he hit a slimy puddle and his foot slipped out from beneath him.

Ciar closed on him, his staff held above his head like a club. Ellair knew if he brought it down on him, it was going to hurt. Before he had the chance to, Ellair drove his staff upward with as much force as he could muster, the blunt end of it catching Ciar square in the groin. The big man’s eyes widened, and his face turned green as a low grunt burst from his mouth. His staff hit the cobblestones with a loud clatter and Ciar dropped to his knees, clutching his injured groin.

As Ellair got to his feet, he noticed the alley around him was silent. All the Widow’s men were staring at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, disbelief on all their faces. Ellair put the butt end of his staff against Ciar’s throat and glared down at him triumphantly.

“Dae ye yield, lad?” he asked.

A gurgling, pained grunt passed his lips. Ellair pressed the staff against this throat harder.

“I didnae hear ye? Dae ye yield?”

“Yield,” he croaked, looking as if he might throw up from the pain.

Ellair laughed then held his hand out. Ciar looked at it hatefully for a moment but then his expression softened. He took Ellair’s outstretched hand and let him help him up. As Ciar doubled over with his hands on his knees, Ellair patted him on the back.

“Well fought,” he said. “I thought ye were goin’ tae have me a couple of times there.”

“’Twas a cheap shot,” Ciar croaked.

“Aye. ‘Twas,” he replied. “But combat is never all that clean and honorable, eh?”

Ciar turned his face to him and grinned. “Nay. I suppose it’s nae.”

“Me apologies.”

The tension of the moment faded, so Ellair patted him on the back again then turned and walked over to the Widow, who was staring at him like he’d grown a second head. Ellair stopped in front of her, a crooked grin on his face then leaned forward, standing so close to her, his lips brushed her ear.

“I suppose that means I’m in, eh?” he asked.

She smiled sweetly as he leaned back, but the gleam in her eye sent a cold shiver down Ellair’s spine. He was just about to say something when her knee came up and connected with his groin with such force, he saw stars. The wave of nausea that washed over him was thick and he struggled to keep from throwing up on the cobblestones at her feet.

The sympathetic groans of the men around him ringing in his ears, Ellair fell to his knees, cupping his injured jewels and groaned loudly. The woman leaned down so close her lips brushed his ear this time. Despite the agony that gripped him, the feel of her warm breath caressing his ear and neck still managed to send a shudder of pleasure through him. It was quite the mixed bag of sensations coursing through his body.

“Be at the docks tomorrow mornin’ at dawn and we’ll see if ye’re in or nae,” she said. “Dinnae be late.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked away, her men falling into step behind her, snickering at him as he remained on the ground, hands over his wounded crotch. Ciar stopped beside him and looked down. Ellair turned his face up and groaned. The big man laughed and patted him on the back.

“We’ll see ye at dawn,” he said. “And I’d suggest ye be on time or she may decide tae use that dagger on yer jewels after all.”

Ellair nodded. “Aye. I’ll see ye in the morning.”