Page 72 of Healing the Highland Sinner
“We’ve learned that Sinclair has a compound in the hills northwest of Thurs?—”
Rosalind looked to where Gunn had his finger on the map in front of him. She knew the area well and knew exactly where this compound was. Once upon a time, it had been solid and well-fortified, near impregnable. But over the years, it had fallen to ruin, and she knew many smugglers stored their wares there. She also knew of a system of secret tunnels that ran under the curtain wall and into the compound itself.
That had been long ago though. Now, it was old and abandoned. Not even the smugglers used it anymore. It had never occurred to her that Sinclair might have taken it over and made it his stronghold
Jamison bristled. “Me laird, I’ve got tae once again object tae sharin’ information with?—”
“And I’ve told ye enough already, Jamison,” Gunn said sternly. “Save yer objections and stay yer tongue.”
“Aye, me laird,” Jamison said, abashed. “Beggin’ yer forgiveness.”
“’Tis nae me forgiveness ye need, Jamison. ‘Tis Rosalind’s. Apologize tae her.”
The man cleared his throat and turned to Rosalind, his eyes narrow and a resentful expression on his face. However, he stood up straight and clenched his jaw.
“Beggin’ yer forgiveness, Rosalind,” he said. “I spoke out of turn.”
“’Tis all right,” she said “I ken this arrangement will be difficult on us all. Just ken, we all want the same thing.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“All right, so now that’s sorted,” Gunn said, “we need tae figure out what we’re goin’ tae dae about Laird Sinclair.”
“We need tae write tae the king. Inform him of what’s happenin’,” said Gunn’s other counselor, Ness. “We need tae get his blessin’ before we make any move on Sinclair.”
Jamison nodded. “Aye. It would be better tae have thae king’s blessin’.”
“It will take too much time,” Rosalind argued. “By the time our letter reaches him and he responds, Sinclair may well have taken over all the bleedin’ Highlands.”
“They are right… unfortunately,” Gunn said. “There is a proper way of daein’ things?—”
“Bollocks,” Rosalind said. “We need tae act.”
“Rosalind, ye may well be accustomed tae daein’ what ye want, when ye want, and how ye want, but ‘tis nae the way things are done,” Jamison said. “There’s protocol that must be followed.”
“Bollocks yer bleedin’ protocol,” she roared.
Jamison sighed and turned to Gunn. “Ye see, me laird. ‘Tis why we cannae work with rabble like this woman. She willnae restrain herself.”
Gunn sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. She could see that his patience was starting to wear thin. She did not desire to make an enemy of him. Worse, she knew she needed this alliance as much as he did, which was why he had made the concession he had in agreeing to rescue her brother. He was looking to her to make a concession.
“Fine,” she said. “Send yer letter tae the king.”
Gunn turned to her, an expression of surprise on his face. But he nodded. “Good,” he said. “I am glad we’re in agreement. Jamison, begin draftin’ a letter tae the king.”
“Aye, me laird.”
“All right, ‘tis gettin’ late,” Rosalind said. “There’s an inn nae too far from here. I think we’ll go tae find a bed fer the night.”
“We’ll be stayin’ here,” Gunn said. “But we can reconvene on the morrow. Talk and plan more. Get ourselves in alignment.”
She nodded. “Aye. Sounds good. Let’s dae that.”
“Ye cannae be serious?” Ciar asked.
“Ye heard them,” Rosalind replied. “They want tae send letters and wait fer permission from the bleedin’ king. Dae ye ken how long that will take?”
“They have protocols they have tae follow.”
