Page 78 of Healing the Highland Sinner
She grimaced. “If I remember right, this one leads intae a storeroom.”
“And if ye dinnae remember right?’
“I… dinnae ken. I’d suggest we both be ready tae fight.”
“Comfortin’.”
She grinned and shook her head. Ellair was keenly aware of the heat coming from her body and her breath, warm and sweet on his neck. He would have preferred that moment last forever, but he could tell she was anxious to get on with it.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll go up first.”
“I can?—”
“I’ll go up first,” he cut her off.
Hand over hand, Ellair ascended the ladder until he reached the top. The lid covering the escape hatch was made of stone and heavy, but he put his back into it and was able to lift it up. Stone scraped against stone as he slid it out of the way—if anybody had been around as he pried it open, he would have been dead already, he was certain. Once there was enough room for him to get out, he scrabbled out of the hole, dagger in hand, ready to fend off an attack.
But an attack never came. Ellair found himself standing in a storeroom, as Rosalind had believed it to be. It was half empty and dusty, stacks of crates and barrels all around. He assumed most of them were filled with goods Rosalind and her people had moved for Sinclair. He leaned over the mouth of the hole.
“’Tis all clear,” he whispered.
Rosalind climbed out of the hole and dusted herself off as she looked around the room. Ellair watched her face fall as she spotted the cargo she’d hauled, the stacks of arms, and all the other accoutrements of war she had supplied for Sinclair. It was as if, for the first time, she was seeing the full scope of what she had given to a man intent on murdering hundreds, if not thousands, in the name of power and greed, and she looked crushed beneath her guilt.
“Me God,” she whispered to herself. “What have I done?”
“Ye did what ye had tae dae,” he replied. “And the best way tae make sure he daesnae use all these is tae cut him off at the knees. Which is what we’re goin’ tae dae.”
Rosalind turned to him, her eyes filled with gratitude, but the guilt still lingered. He reached out and took her hand, giving it a firm squeeze.
“’Tis all right, lass,” he said. “We’re goin’ tae get yer braither and then, with the help of Laird Gunn, we’re goin’ tae destroy that bastard.”
She drew in a deep breath and seemed to be steeling herself as she nodded. The guilt faded from her eyes—mostly. What Ellair saw take its place was a firm resolve and anger, which was good. She was going to need anger for what lay ahead.
“Aye,” she said. “’Tis what we’re goin’ tae dae.”
“Good. Now where would they be keepin’ yer braither?” he asked. “Ye knew this place once. Where would they hold him?”
“The dark cells is me most likely guess.”
“Good. Let’s head there then.”
They crept to the door and Ellair felt his stomach lurch when he heard the sound of heavy footsteps march by. The ring of chain armor was unmistakable. It was the sort of armor most Scots did not have, which opened a pit in his stomach.
“’Tis English armor,” he whispered.
“Daesnae surprise me he’s got hired English swords workin’ fer him.”
The level of danger increased significantly knowing it wasn’t just Sinclair’s men, but English mercenaries patrolling the manor. When the sound of the soldiers had ebbed, Ellair opened the door a crack and glanced into the corridor beyond.
“’Tis clear,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”
Moving together, as swiftly and quietly as they could, Ellair followed her through the labyrinth of corridors. They narrowly avoided several groups of Sinclair’s men, having to duck aroundcorners and dive into open rooms to keep from being seen. They had to take so many detours, it felt like the journey through the fortress took hours.
“The dark cells are through that door,” Rosalind whispered.
“All right,” Ellair said. “Stay behind me. There may be guards inside.”
“I can fight?—”
