Page 2 of Healing the Highland Sinner
“I need ye tae get close tae the underworld here in Thurso,” he said. “I need ye tae find the key players… the smugglers who are takin’ arms tae the Sinclairs and cozy up tae ‘em. I need ye tae infiltrate their ranks and find out what in the bleedin’ hell is goin’ on, who’s involved, and what exactly it is they’re plannin’.”
“Oh, is that all ye need me tae dae then?”
A wry grin crossed Torrin’s lips, and he chuckled. He raised his cup and took a drink of his ale, his eyes darting around the room, suspicious of everybody around them. His gaze finally settled on Ellair again.
“These bleedin’ smugglers and raiders are cuttin’ me off at the knees,” he said. “They’re capturin’ me ships, takin’ me men prisoners, and cuttin’ off me trade routes. They’re makin’ it impossible tae feed me people and pay me soldiers. They’re cripplin’ me. If I cannae feed me people and keep ‘em safe, they’re goin’ tae revolt. If we cannae shut them down and stop these bleedin’ vermin, they’re goin’ tae kill me clan without raisin’ a blade.”
Ellair took a swallow of his mead and nodded, taking in everything Torrin was telling him. Domhnall had alluded to some of what Torrin was telling him but hadn’t gone into suchdetail. All Ellair knew was that his laird was worried as well. Tor rin looked up and held his gaze, his expression growing stony.
“I dinnae think I need tae tell ye that if me clan falls, it willnae be long before that bastard Sinclair turns his eyes toward yer laird’s clan,” Torrin said grimly.
Ellair nodded. “Aye. I was able tae piece that taegether on me own.”
Torrin chuckled. “Domhnall said ye’re smart and a capable war chief.”
“He’s a halfway decent laird, I suppose.”
The big man across from him chuckled, the deep, rumbling sound of it reminding Ellair of rolling thunder. Torrin was a hard and cynical man, he could tell. Ellair didn’t think the man laughed much and took everything seriously. But he also seemed to have a dry sense of humor. He was a man Ellair could relate to in that way. And despite his brusque, crotchety demeanor, Ellair found that he liked him.
“Are ye sure ‘tis the Sinclairs behin’ the smugglin’ and raidin’?” Ellair asked.
“Aye. I’m all but certain. The bastard’s been eyein’ me lands longer than I can tell ye,” he sneered. “And I’m sure he’s helpin’ arm the smaller clans around him. Likely promisin’ them themoon fer their help. They’ll never get anythin’ though. The man has nay honor and his word’s as good as a pile of dung.”
Ellair frowned. The situation seemed dire. More dire than Domhnall either knew or had told him when he’d asked Ellair to go north to help with Torrin’s situation.
“And let’s nae forget the bleedin’ English,” Torrin said.
“What about them then?”
“Other than Sinclair bein’ rich in English land and titles, they benefit from chaos and discord in Scotland,” he replied. “I’ve nay doubt they’re helpin’ with funds and sowin’ rebellious-minded men tae help bring the discord. They’ll eventually take what they want and kill the man tae dae it. He daesnae understand he’s alignin’ himself with a pack of rabid dogs that are eventually goin’ tae turn on him.”
A heavy silence settled over the table as Ellair took in everything the man had just told him. What he was asking him to do was complicated, a lot more complicated than he’d been anticipating. Not to mention, far more dangerous as well. But Domhnall put his faith in him to do this job. To help Torrin save his clan while helping to protect his own, because he was right--if his clan fell, it was only a matter of time before Sinclair turned his eyes toward Laird MacAulay’s.
“All right, what dae ye need me tae dae?” he asked.
“Most of the smugglin’ in Thurso is controlled by somebody called the Widow,” he replied. “I’ve nay idea who it is exactly. ‘Tis what I need ye tae find out. We cleared a path fer ye tae put yerself as a sword fer hire. We dae ken he’s goin’ tae need capable men. So, I need ye tae find the Widow, get cozy with him, and figure out what they’re doin’ and what the bigger plan is.”
“And if it’s nae Sinclair behind it?”
He frowned. “Then I’m wrong. If I’m wrong, find out who the Widow’s workin’ fer.”
Ellair took it in for a moment then nodded. “All right. I’ll get tae work then.”
“If ye need tae send me a message, talk tae Shumpert. He works in the stable and is me man,” Torrin said. “He’ll be able tae get word tae me.”
“Shumpert.”
“Aye. And Ellair…”
“Aye?”
“Be careful. This nest of vipers has fangs. Sharp ones.”
CHAPTER TWO
Ellair leaned against the side of the building cloaked in the shadows of the alley. A thick fog was rolling in off the sea and the air that enveloped him was cold and carried a heavy aroma of salt. From where he stood between a pair of buildings, he listened to the soft slap of waves splashing onto the legs of the dock and the creak of the boats that bobbed gently in the water. He could see why some people believed the sound of the ocean was soothing as he listened to the gentle rock and sway of the ocean.
He struck a match and lit his pipe, drawing deep on it before quietly blowing a tendril of smoke heavenward. He had been in Thurso for the last four days, posing as a blade for sale, making discreet inquiries about this Widow person. He’d gotten bits and scraps from various people, but it was as if they were either too scared to name him or genuinely didn’t know. For all the legends and stories floating around that he’d heard, the Widow was a mystery.
