Page 37 of Healing the Highland Sinner
“That shirt stinks worse than anything I’m about tae put on ye.”
“I doubt that,” he replied.
“We should burn it in anyway. It smells… terribly,” she said. “Any enemy will smell ye comin’ long before ye ever arrive.”
He laughed and shook his head. Rosalind dunked a cloth into the basin of water, then wrung it out before turning and cleaning his torso, which was crisscrossed with shallow wounds and deep, dark bruises. He winced as her hands moved tenderly over his body.
“Me God. They really worked ye over,” she said sadly.
He chuckled then grimaced. “’Twas nae me best day.”
“I have a feeling the next few days, as ye heal, are goin’ tae be worse,” she said. “The days after sufferin’ a wound always hurt more.”
Once she had him clean, she picked through her jars and pots, then nodded to herself when she found the small brown pot she apparently wanted. She uncapped it then dipped her fingers into the thick, greasy substance. Leaning forward, she began carefully applying the ointment to the cuts that lined his torso with such gentleness, he almost didn’t feel it. Almost. The lightest touch couldn’t take the sting out of all his wounds.
But even the small flashes of pain that surged through his body couldn’t detract from the warmth that spread through him at the feel of her hands on his body. Her fingertips trailed over his torso, leaving furrows of fire in their wake. As her green eyes bore into his and he focused on her full, pillowy lips so close to his, Ellair felt his heart spinning madly in his chest and the fires down below growing ever warmer. Once again, he was struggling to contain his arousal.
“Ye should’ve been a healer instead of a smuggler,” he said. “Ye’ve nae only got an obvious talent fer it, it’s a far less hazardous line of work.”
She laughed softly. “Once upon a time, I did want tae be a healer.”
“What happened?”
“Life happened.”
“How dae ye mean?”
She shrugged. “I just mean that I had talent and was trainin’ with a healer, but then… I had tae switch me vocation. I had tae dae somethin’ else.”
“I understand that. But what happened?”
She wiped her hands on a rag, then capped her small pot and put it back into the basket. Her eyes filled with emotion, brimming with tears, and Ellair had to fight the urge boiling inside of him to take her into his arms and comfort her.
“I was married once,” she said. “Did I tell yet that?”
He shook his head. “Nay. Ye didnae tell me that.”
“Well, I was. He was a good man, and I was trainin’ tae be the village’s healer,” she said. “But then the raiders came and wiped out me village. Everybody was put tae the sword. Including me husband. Just… gone.”
“I’m so sorry, lass.”
“I was out in the forest collectin’ herbs… makin’ medicines. And when I returned, it was all over,” she said. “The raiders were gone and so was me village. Me people… all gone.”
“And that’s when ye learned the smugglin’ trade?”
She nodded. “Aye. I was needed. Me husband had a lot of work and well… Some people didnae want tae let his business die. So, I was somewhat forced tae step in. ‘Twas easy at first because nobody even looked me way. Nobody ever suspected a woman could be a smuggler?—”
“Let alone the infamous Widow.”
She giggled. “Aye. Exactly. ‘Tis gotten harder over the years. Thurso… the people here are just so different. Most of ‘em will cut yer throat fer lookin’ at ye the wrong way.”
“Aye. I noticed that.”
“But this is where the money is tae be made.”
“And Sinclair?” he asked. “How’d ye fall in with that bastard?”
At the mention of Sinclair’s name, Rosalind’s entire demeanor changed. Her face fell, her eyes grew dim, and her body grew tauter than a bowstring. Ellair could tell he’d hit a nerve and that she was shutting down. It told him that whatever leverage they had over her was deeply personal to her. It piqued his curiosity but also made him think that whatever it was, he could use it to buy her some goodwill with Laird Gunn. Maybe he would see that none of this was her doing. That they were using her personal tragedies to force her into working for them.
