Page 27 of Healing the Highland Sinner
“Is that so?” Rosalind asked.
“Aye. ‘Tis so.”
The four men moved as one, rushing straight toward them, the weak light from the lanterns glinting coldly off their blades. A sharp squeak burst from Rosalind’s mouth as Ellair pushed her to the ground. She hit the hard packed floor with a grunt, feeling her bones rattling inside of her. But she watched as Ellair waded in and engaged all four men, none of whom seemed to be paying her the least bit of mind.
When the first sharp ring of steel upon steel echoed through the cavernous chamber, Rosalind’s heart leapt into her throat. The odds of Ellair taking on four skilled swordsmen and coming out of it alive seemed slim, at best. But she watched as he whirled and spun, deflecting blows, and redirecting thrusts meant to disembowel him. He moved with the grace of a dancer and the ferocity of a lion.
When she saw him wince as a blade sliced along his arm, Rosalind clamped her hands over her mouth. Every fear inside of her that something would happen to him was coming to life and her heart dropped into her belly. Ellair though, didn’t let up. He continued to spin and dance, somehow managing to get out from the middle of the circle the men had formed around him and stood facing them. Blood soaked the sleeve of his tunic, but a crooked grin touched his lips as he stared his attackers down.
“Let’s go then, lads,” Ellair said. “Let’s dance.”
Moving as one, the men rushed him again. Sparks flew as the blades connected, briefly lighting up the shadows around them,and the constant ring of steel on steel reverberated in Rosalind’s ears. She remained where Ellair had pushed her—on her butt in the middle of the warehouse floor—and felt utterly useless. She desperately wanted to fight and yanked the dagger from her belt, but it shook wildly in her hand.
Meanwhile, Ellair continued flowing through an elegant and deadly dance, somehow taking on all four men at once. An agonized shriek pierced the air and when Rosalind saw a fount of crimson blood in the air. The man whose neck had been sliced open fell to the hard packed ground, dead before he hit, a thick, scarlet pool spreading out beneath him.
Getting to her feet, Rosalind gripped her dagger in her fist then forced herself to relax and hold it the way Ellair had taught her. With a savage cry, she rushed forward, bringing the dagger up, over her head, then brought it down on one of the men. The man shrieked when the blade pierced the flesh between his shoulder blades. Blood immediately began to flow down his back, and he dropped his sword, clawing at the dagger but was unable to reach it.
The man spun around and delivered a vicious backhand that rocked Rosalind’s head to the side. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth as she staggered to her right. The force of the blow sent her reeling and her legs, already shaking, gave out beneath her and she toppled to the ground once more. The man she’d stabbed fell to his knees, still crying out in agony, desperately reaching for the dagger in his back.
It was all in vain though. The man pitched forward and landed face-first onto the warehouse floor. Rosalind watched the man in horror as he gasped and wheezed. Her eyes widened and a moment later, she watched him draw his final, shuddering breath, and then he was still. She had never taken a life before. And although she was justified—he would have killed her if she hadn’t acted first—the idea that she had killed somebody felt like her very soul had been stained.
With two men dead and out of the fight, she watched Ellair as he danced and spun, deflecting every thrust and parry the remaining two men threw at him with a grin on his face. The donkey seemed to be enjoying himself. He feinted to the right and both men lunged that way. When Ellair spun back to the left, they realized their mistake. Too late. He slashed with the edge of his blade viciously, and both men let out a wet, gurgling cry as more blood than Rosalind had ever seen, splashed onto the ground beneath them. They both fell, as dead as their companions.
“Are ye all right?” Ellair asked, his eyes wide and filled with worry.
He knelt beside Rosalind, using the sleeve of his tattered tunic to gently wipe the blood from her mouth. Their eyes lingered on each other for a moment, sparks of lighting passing between them in that silence. Rosalind’s heart both swelled and slowed, the excitement she felt whenever she was near him warring with the sense of peace he instilled in her. Her eyes traveled down to his full, bow-shaped lips and for a moment, the urge to lean forward and kiss him overwhelmed her. She wanted—no, sheneeded—to feel his lips upon hers.
But he smiled at her and winced when he dabbed her split lip once more, breaking the spell of the moment they’d been wrapped in. Gently sliding an arm around her shoulder, his touch making her body tingle from head to toe, he helped her to her feet.
“Ye still need tae work on yer grip,” he said lightly.
The door crashed inward and Ellair stepped in front of her, blade raised. He relaxed when Ciar came into view, his own blade up and ready.
“We need tae go,” Ciar said, looking at the scene in front of him. “There’s more men comin’ this way, all of them armed and armored.”
“Is there somewhere we can hide?” Ellair asked.
Rosalind nodded. “Aye. Come with me.”
As they moved, Ellair ripped her dagger from the back of the man on the ground with a wet, tearing sound that made her stomach quiver again. But she couldn’t worry about that. Her only focus was getting them to safety.
CHAPTER 12
“Let me look at yer wound,” she said.
Ellair winced but offered her a shrug. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”
“Let her tend tae yer wound, lad,” Ciar said. “If ye dinnae, she’ll nag at ye until she wears ye down. Better tae just get it over with.”
Rosalind gave him a look and a frown but laughed anyway. She pushed him down into the chair behind him. After they’d fled the warehouse, Rosalind had led them through the winding warren of streets through town. It felt like they had been running for hours when she finally stopped them at a small, discreet house tucked away among others.
House was probably too generous of a description. It was a trio of small, windowless rooms beneath an apothecary. The smell of the herbs from above was pleasant, but every now and then, Ellair caught a whiff of some of the noxious brews the healer upstairs was making. Still, it was a good place to hide since they knew Ewan and his men were scouring all of Thurso for them.
“I’ll be right back. I need tae fetch me supplies,” she said.
As she walked away, Ciar stepped over to him and clapped him on the shoulder. Ellair turned his face up and saw a look of respect, and perhaps even a touch of admiration upon the big man’s face. He nodded to Ellair.
“Four of the bastards,” he said. “Ye did well.”
