Page 4 of Healing the Highland Sinner
“Well… nay. But I kent people who?—”
Ellair waved him off with a chuckle. “’Tis fictions. ‘Tis naethin’ more than fictions.”
“Ye dinnae ken. Ye’re nae from here.”
That much was true. Ellair wasn’t from Thurso, much less Clan Gunn lands, so he couldn’t say with authority what was and was not true. He did, however, know the schemes and machinations of man and knew well that the best way to bend people to your will was to instill fear in them. And the best way to instill fear was to create myths and legends about the most terrible, monstrous things you were capable of. To make people believe you would, say, go around chopping men’s heads off.
Ellair was certain that’s what this was. A myth the Widow had created to scare people and bend them to his will. And he was certain of it because in all these days he had been wandering around Thurso, quietly inquiring, he had yet to come acrossa single person who had actually seen the monstrous deeds everybody believed the Widow was guilty of. It was always second, third, or even fourth-hand information.
But he saw the light of fear shining brightly in Ian’s eyes. Ellair could see it in the tension of the man’s body and the way his feet shifted on the ground, as if he was ready to take flight.
“I just need ye tae point out where the Widow might be. I’m nae askin’ ye fer a formal introduction, lad,” Ellair said. “The Widow will never ken ye were involved. I give ye me word.”
Ellair bounced the small purse in his hand, letting the sound of the coins clinking together ring out and hang in the air between them.
“Ye give me yer word the Widow willnae ever ken me name?”
“Ye’ve got me word.”
“All right then,” he said. “Follow me.”
“Good lad.”
Ellair followed Ian through the warren of dark and shadowy alleyways that cut through the town, but always staying near the docks, judging by the sounds and smells that saturated the air. They emerged from an alleyway, but Ian threw his arm out and ducked back into the shadows.
“There,” he said.
Moving cautiously, Ellair leaned out and spotted a pair of cloaked and hooded figures standing on the end of a dock. They were too far away to hear and the darkness that shrouded them made it impossible to see their faces. But one of the men was massive and well-built, while the other was slighter of figure.
“Are ye certain?” Ellair asked.
Ian nodded and swallowed hard. “Ye see that silver chain around his wrist?”
Ellair strained his eyes and at first, didn’t see anything. But then when the man gestured, he noticed the links of silver that encircled his wrist. Perhaps Ian was more observant than he’d given the man credit for.
“Aye, I see it,” he said.
“’Tis the Widow,” Ian urged. “Now, I’ve done what I said I’d dae?—”
Ellair tossed the purse to the man, who nearly dropped it. The soft clink of coins echoed through the still night air, drawing the attention of the figures on the dock and forcing Ellair to duck back into the shadows.
“Be gone,” Ellair said.
It was, however, not necessary. After securing the purse in his grubby hands, the man was already dashing back down the alley, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the Widow. He frowned. For all he knew, Ian had pointed him to a couple of random people just to get the coin. He was going to have to watch these two and hope he hadn’t been duped. And if he had, he was going to have to find Ian and… express his displeasure.
For three days, Ellair had shadowed the two figures Ian had directed him to. He’d gotten a good look at the large man. His hair was the color of mud, and his eyes were a gold-tinted shade of hazel. He was broad through the chest and shoulders and had a jagged scar that ran along the left side of his jaw. He was a formidable and imposing man, who moved with a grace and fluidity, which told Ellair he was more than capable with a blade in his hand. He never seemed to be out of sight of his employer. Ever. He could be a problem.
The smaller of the two—the Widow—though, had proven far more elusive. The man kept his face hidden in the shadows of his hood at all times, never giving Ellair the barest glimpse. It was frustrating. The only thing he had been able to discern was that the man was small and slight, that he too, moved with a casual grace. But in all the time he’d been watching, the man had not struck Ellair as one capable with a blade. In fact, he had never seen a blade on the Widow at all. It could be hidden beneath his cloak, but he didn’t move as if he was weighted down by one. It was curious.
He walked through the darkness of the alley, heading toward the building he had identified as the Widow’s base of operation. It was a small, two-story wooden structure on the far side of the harbor, set well away from everything else, giving it an unobstructed view of the entire port and making it easily defensible, because it was difficult to sneak up on. But Ellair had found a spot where he could hide within the shadows and observe.
There didn’t seem to be much going on as he studied the building. Lights glowed in the windows and Ellair could see shadows moving behind the curtains.
He had to figure out how to cozy up to the Widow, and he had to do it soon. But it wasn’t like he could knock on the door and ask for a job. That would get him a blade in the belly before he ever got the words out.
As he watched the building, the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end and goosebumps marched across his skin. His body grew taut and the soft scuff of a foot on the cobblestones behind him sent a rush of adrenaline surging through his veins. In one fluid movement, Ellair spun around and pulled his dagger. Three men stood before him, all with swords naked, the edges of their blades glinting in the gloomy light of the alley.
The large man who never left the Widow’s side stood in the center of the trio, the point of his blade pointed straight at Ellair’s throat. A wicked grin crossed his face, making the scar along his jawline crinkle.
