Page 55 of Healing the Highland Sinner
“I didnae ken ye had a compound just outside of town.”
“Because ‘tis nae yer business tae ken,” he said, his voice icy.
She turned to Ellair, questions in her eyes. He swallowed hard and would not return her gaze. Instead, he stared at Sinclair like he wanted to run him through right then and there.
“I suppose ‘tis nae all a bad thing,” Sinclair went on, his tone haughty and arrogant. “At least he can confirm fer ye that yer braither still lives.”
His words drove the air from her lungs, and she felt like her legs were ready to give out beneath her. She turned to Ellair and saw a flicker of something in his eyes—shame? Regret? What was it? There was a story there, she was sure. And it was a story she would have. But Rosalind wasn’t so foolish that she couldn’t seewhat Sinclair was trying to do. He was trying to drive a wedge between them. He was creating a rift and trying to exploit it.
She knew Ellair to be many things—secretive chief among them. She knew he was more than he purported to be. But the one thing she no longer questioned about him was his loyalty. He might not tell her anything about himself—the things she truly wanted to know—but she knew without a doubt that he would never betray her. He had his reasons for doing what he’d done in scouting Sinclair’s apparently hidden compound and for not telling her that Blaine still lived.
She couldn’t fathom what those reasons were at the moment, but she trusted him. And she would find out what he was thinking if she had to torture it out of him herself. The one thing she would not do though, was give in to Sinclair’s naked manipulations. She would not let him drive the wedge he sought to between them.
“I am pleased tae ken me braither still lives,” she said. “It seems as if ye’re nae the lyin’ scoundrel I’ve always taken ye fer.”
A small smile flickered across his thin lips. “’Tis a situation that can be remedied, I assure ye. But if ye dae what I say?—”
“I have done what ye’ve told me tae dae since the day ye took Blaine,” she growled.
“’Tis not what I’m here fer,” he said. “I’m here fer yer man. His transgressions cannae go unpunished, lady Rosalind. Ye kenthis. Hand him over tae me, and we’ll forget this ever happened, and yer braither will continue breathin’.”
Rosalind swallowed hard. He was asking her to choose between her brother and Ellair—a choice she was not going to make. She cut a glance at Ciar and her gave her a small nod, silently letting her know he was with her. Licking her lips, she turned back to Sinclair.
“I’ll nae be daein’ that,” she said.
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Nay? So, ye want me tae send yer braither’s head tae ye in a box then, dae ye?”
“Ye’ll nae be daein’ that either.”
“And why nae?”
“Ye forced me intae this bleedin’ arrangement because ye ken I’m the best at what I dae. That I can get places nay other smuggler in Thurso can,” she said. “And if ye kill me braither, I’ve got nay reason tae work fer ye anymore. That’s why ye’ll nae harm me braither and we both ken it. So, let’s stop foolin’ about and walk away from this?—”
“Smugglers are nae in short supply in Thurso, lady Widow.”
“But they dinnae dae such a good job. And ye ken that.”
“I’ll be takin’ yer man with me whether ye give him tae me or nae.”
“Nay. Ye willnae.”
Sinclair scowled at her, his eyes filled with disbelief at her defiance. With a subtle gesture, his men launched themselves forward like a steel and armored wave of humanity with an enraged, murderous cry. Their blades rang against those of her men who’d stepped forward to meet the charge. Ciar pulled her back and stepped in front of her, swinging his sword with vicious intent.
Screams shook the air and blood flowed onto the packed earth of the compound as men battled, took wounds, and were struck down. Several of Sinclair’s men crumpled to the ground in bloody heaps, followed by several of hers. Rosalind’s heart fell into the pit of her stomach when she saw Ellair getting wounded. He staggered but stayed on his feet and fought on, felling one of Sinclair’s men with a ragged snarl.
Sinclair himself dispatched one of Rosalind’s men with a vicious slash across his neck, sending a crimson spray high into the air. But he seemed to know the fight was lost when the rest of her men pushed forward, driving Sinclair’s men back.
“Fall back,” Sinclair called, then turned to Rosalind, his eyes burning with rage. “This is nae over, lady Widow. Nae by a long shot. Ye best pray I’m nae still in a foul mood when I return tae me compound and dinnae decide tae take yer braither’s head.”
Sinclair and his men poured through the open gate and disappeared into the darkness. Her hand pressed to her belly, Rosalind sank to her knees. The sight of her men bloodied, some dead, and the thought of what might become of Blaine when Sinclair returned to his compound churned darkly and greasily in her belly. She lurched forward and vomited.
Ciar fell to a knee beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder protectively as he helped get Rosalind back on her feet.
“Easy, lass,” he said.
She nodded. “Thank ye, Ciar. Please see tae the men, eh? Bring the most injured intae the house so I can work on them.”
“Aye.”
