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

CHAPTER SEVEN

S word in hand, Ellair bound down the stairs behind and slid to a stop in the common room, expecting to find enemy soldiers filling the space. Instead, he found Ciar sitting at the table with Rosalind standing next to him. Blood poured from a gash in the big man’s hand, seeping out from beneath the cloth he had pressed to the wound.

“Get some water and put it ontae the hearth tae boil,” she snapped.

Ellair stood there rooted to his spot, looking around for the assailant who had attacked Ciar. But other than the three of them, the room was empty.

“Ellair,” Rosalind snapped. “Fetch some water and put it on tae boil. Now.”

“Aye,” he said, still not sure how the man had been wounded. “Aye. Of course.”

Still carrying his blade, his eyes darting left and right, Ellair grabbed a pail and dashed to the well outside, quickly filling it. Wary and watchful, he ran back inside and poured the water into a bowl then set it onto the grate in the heart the let it boil. Rosalind was sitting beside Ciar, who was grimacing as she poked and prodded at the wound with a wet cloth, trying her best to wash around the wicked gash in the palm of his hand.

“What in the bleedin’ hell happened?” Ellair finally asked. “Who attacked ye?”

Rosalind raised her gaze and rolled her eyes. “The only thing that attacked him was his empty, rumblin’ belly.”

Ellair cocked his head and looked at them, trying to understand. Ciar gave him a grin and his chuckle rolled like thunder out of his chest. He pointed to the knife on the ground in the kitchen area and the large hunk of salted meat on the cutting board.

“There’s yer attacker,” Ciar teased. “Can ye slay it fer me, oh champion of mine?”

Comprehension finally dawned on Ellair and he chuckled, feeling the fool for not putting it together sooner. The threat over, or rather, nonexistent, he slid his sword back into his sheath and leaned it against the wall. Grabbing a cloth, he took the pot of steaming water out of the heart and set it down on the table beside Rosalind. After that, he rummaged around in the small kitchen area and found some clean cloths, which he brought out to the table.

“Thank ye,” Rosalind muttered.

He sat down on the other side of the table and watched as she used the clean cloths, dunked in the hot water, to continue cleaning Ciar’s wounds. Ellair knew from his own experience that even wounds that seemed small and inconsequential had the power to kill. Shallow wounds were as prone to infection as deep gashes and if an infection took hold of a man, there was a mere fifty-fifty chance that he would survive.

“Go intae me room and grab the small silver pot sittin’ on top of me dresser,” Rosalind said. “’Tis the one with the black lid.”

Ellair got to his feet then paused. “Which one is yer room?”

“The one across from yers.”

“Right.”

He ran up the stairs again then strode down the hallway. The door squealed softly as he pushed it inward and when he crossed the threshold and into Rosalind’s room, he felt his stomach clench and his heart begin to race. The air was dusted with the light fragrance of flowers—roses, maybe—as well as the sea that floated in through the window, which was open slightly, making the curtains flutter in the soft breeze that drifted through.

Everything in her room was clean and tidy. She was obviously a woman who craved order. Several books stood on the table beside her bed and all her clothes hung neatly in a closet. He was surprised to see a number of beautifully crafted dresses mixed in with the rough spun wool tunics and cloaks. Several pairs of boots sat at the bottom of the closet and a trunk beside those was open, revealing several pairs of breeches.

The one thing he noticed about all her clothing was that it was all nondescript. Neutral in color and without anything remarkable about them. They were plain and muted. It seemed perfect for the woman who did not want to stand out. Clothing so drab and unremarkable likely made it easier for her to slip in and around the crowds down in the harbor. She could move about almost as if she was invisible.

“Let’s go, Ellair!” Rosalind’s voice drifted up from downstairs. “Bring me the bleedin’ ointment already!”

Without giving thought to what he was doing, Ellair crossed the room and picked up Rosalind’s pillow. He held it to his nose and inhaled deeply, savoring the floral scent on the fabric. It was definitely roses, but with some other underlying note that was light and appealing. He remembered too well the scent he’d caught a whiff of when he’d leaned close to her the previous night—right before she’d clocked him in the jewels.

Knowing he could not tarry any longer, Ellair dropped the pillow then found the small pot she had sent him to retrieve. Holding onto it tightly, he left her room and made his way back downstairs to find them both looking at him.

“What did ye dae lad, stop and smell her clothing?” Ciar asked.

“What? Nay,” Ellair responded. “Why would ye even say such a bleedin’ stupid thing then, eh?”

Rosalind looked at him with a curious but amused expression on her face, then shook her head as she took the small pot from him. Ellair sat back down and watched as she spread some of the foul-smelling ointment onto Ciar’s hand. He grimaced and sucked in a breath as the salve penetrated the wound.

“Stop bein’ such a bairn,” Rosalind said.

“It bleedin’ stings, it daes.”

“Then ye should’ve been more careful with that knife then, eh?”

Ciar grumbled like a chastised child, drawing a soft laugh from Ellair—which earned him a dark scowl. Ellair just grinned. It wasn’t hard for him to see the bond of affection between the two. They behaved like a big brother and sister. It made him think of his own brother, his twin Cormac, whom he’d had to leave behind to go on this mission. He missed him fiercely.

For so long, Cormac was all he’d had in the world. After their parents had died, they had both been wounded in battle and taken captive. Ellair had hovered near the brink of death until Cormac had made a deal with Laird John MacAulay, serving as his assassin and saboteur in exchange for the medical care that had brought Ellair back to life. If not for his brother’s sacrifice, Ellair knew he would be long dead. It was a debt he could never repay.

Eventually, Cormac had tired of being MacAulay ’s hired sword and had turned on him. He’d killed the former Laird, paving the way for John’s son, Domhnall, to become the new Laird. Domhnall was kind where John was cruel, and he had seen something in Ellair. They had become friends. Good friends. After Cormac married and moved away, Domhnall had been as a brother to him and eventually named him his war chief.

That was how Ellair had come to find himself sitting in a common room with a large man with a bloody hand and a woman who was beautiful and mysterious. A woman who intrigued him in ways no other woman had. It was dangerous, of course. Mooning over her like a lovesick bairn was playing with fire and tempting fate. And yet, she drew his gaze anyway, whenever she entered the room.

“Ellair!”

Ciar’s deep, booming voice pulled him out of his head and snapped him back to the moment. He found the big man and Rosalind both looking at him incredulously. He blinked stupidly and offered them a grin.

“Aye?”

“Serve the meal while I finish bandagin’ this donkey’s hand,” Rosalind said.

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat. “Of course.”

As she worked, Ellair moved the bit pot from the hearth to the table then dished out the rich, brown stew inside. He spotted large chunks of fish in the broth and inhaled the savory aroma. After that, he cut hunks of bread from the loaf and put them down on the plates then grabbed the small pot with the butter in it and set it down in the middle of the table. The aroma of the stew filled the air, making his mouth water and his stomach rumble. He was hungry.

“’Tis nae much,” Rosalind said. “And I’m nae much of a cook.”

“She’s really nae,” Ciar said, then yelped in pain as she squeezed his wound.

“Hold yer tongue or ye’ll go hungry,” she grumbled, earning a laugh from the big man.

“It smells better than anythin’ I’ve eaten in a long while,” Ellair offered.

Rosalind quickly rinsed off her hands in the pot of water he’d brought in then dropped all the bloodied cloths into it and moved it close to the door.

“Ye can take that out when we’re done eatin’,” she said.

Ellair nodded. “Aye. I’ll dae that.”

“Good. Then let’s eat.”

They tucked into their meals and Ellair groaned gratefully as the broth hit his tongue. He tore a piece of his bread off and dunked it into his bowl, savoring the taste of it all. It was not the best he’d had, but it really was better than anything he’d eaten in a while. The road from Castle MacAulay to Thurso had been long and the fare in the inns he’d stopped in along the way had been meager and flavorless. This was a bounty as far as he was concerned.

“Ye need tae go see the surgeon tomorrow,” Rosalind said. “Ye need tae have that?—”

“Nay,” Ciar grumbled. “Ye’ve got the meetin’ tomorrow and I dinnae aim tae miss that.”

“Ye’ll be nay good tae me with that hand.”

“I’ll make dae.”

“And if ye catch an infection?” she responded. “What then? If ye take a fever, ye may have tae have that arm cut off. Maybe worse. And then what?”

“I cannae let ye go intae that nest of vipers alone. I willnae,” he said.

“I’ve done what I can but ye need tae see the apothecary and the surgeon tomorrow.”

“Rosey—”

“’Tis nae a request. ‘Tis an order,” she snapped. “I’ll be fine on me own. Vipers or nae, they dinnae scare me, Ciar.”

“Aye. ‘Tis what scares me the most though.”

Ellair listened to the exchange with curiosity and fascination. They spoke as if they’d forgotten he was even there. And when he finally spoke, they turned to him with surprised expressions on their faces. They actually had forgotten he was there.

“I’ll go with ye, me lady,” he said. “I can watch yer back.”

“Absolutely nae,” Ciar said. “We dinnae even ken ye.”

“Aye. But I think I’ve proven meself.”

“Ye think so, eh?”

“Aye. I dae. I passed yer loyalty test, didnae I?”

“Daesnae mean ye’re in, lad. It means ye’ve been given a chance tae prove yerself.”

“Look, ye’re out of commission after yer battle with the salted meat. She needs somebody tae watch her back. How else am I goin’ tae prove meself if I’m nae given a chance then?”

Ciar frowned but fell silent while Rosalind looked at him uneasily, but curiously. She turned to Ciar and gave him a half-shrug.

“He’s right. How can we ken if we can trust him unless we give him the chance tae earn our trust then?” she asked.

“I dinnae disagree. But this? This is too important?—”

“I need ye tae see the apothecary and the surgeon tomorrow,” she said. “I need ye tae get yerself well. For me sake. I’ll take Ellair with me and he can watch me back.”

Ciar’s face darkened but his expression softened. His lips were a tight line across his face, and he finally nodded. But then he turned to Ellair and fixed him with a stare that turned the blood in his veins to ice.

“Aye. Ye watch her back,” he said. “If anythin’ happens tae her, if she’s got a single hair out of place, I’m goin’ tae blame ye. And then I’m goin’ tae kill ye.”

Ellair flashed him his biggest, brightest smile. “Dinnae worry, friend. If anybody steps too close tae the lady, I’ll attack them with the ferocity of a slab of salted meat.”

Ciar looked down at his hand then glowered at him. Rosalind though, laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

“I am nae yet friend ,” Ciar muttered.