Page 18 of Healing the Highland Sinner
“Ewan,” she said with a curt nod.
“Me lady Rosalind,” he replied. “Good tae see ye.”
“We’ve got business tae discuss,” she said.
“Aye. We dae,” he said, punctuating his words with a loud burp.
Rosalind frowned in distaste at his disgusting display. As long as she’d known Ewan, she should have been used to it by then, but every time he did something like that—which was every time they met—he never failed to turn her stomach.
“This is yer meetin’,” she said. “What is it ye want?”
“I think it’s time we renegotiate the way we dae things in Thurso,” he replied.
“Is that so?”
“Aye. ‘Tis so,” he replied. “I’m gettin’ tired of havin’ tae rely on ye tae bring in me goods. I can dae it on me own fer less. And with less hassle.”
“Less hassle?”
He offered her a slimy smile. “Given the problems ye’re havin’ right now, what with yer vessels bein’ seized and yer men taken by Laird Gunn, ye’re losin’ half the shipments ye’re bringin’ in. That’s half that never makes it tae port. That means there’s less fer all of us. And less fer all of us means less money in our purses.”
Rosalind waved him off. “Laird Gunn’s efforts are a minor inconvenience?—”
“The lightness of me purse lately is hardly a minor inconvenience.”
“This will pass,” she said. “Once Laird Gunn has somethin’ else he has tae focus on, like a rival laird lookin’ tae seize his lands, he’ll forget all about us. Again. ‘Tis the way things have always been. In times of peace, the lairds turn their eyes our way. Ye’ve been around long enough tae ken this.”
He scoffed. “I dinnae recall things ever bein’ as slim as they’ve been lately.”
Rosalind stared at him, her gaze colder than ice. “I dinnae see ye sufferin’, Ewan,” she said. “Ye seem tae be eatin’ well enough.”
The large man sputtered and huffed as he sat forward, his face flushed, dark eyes narrowed, and an expression of outrage on his face. He jabbed a stubby finger at Rosalind.
“Ye’d better watch yer mouth, lass.”
“Or?”
“Or ye may find yerself missin’ yer pretty little tongue,” he said. “Dinnae think I dinnae ken that Lair Gunn has taken some of yer best fighters. Ye’re weak, Rosalind. Vulnerable. And the vultures are startin’ tae circle. Yer best option tae keep some bit of yerpower and influence on the docks is to align with me. I’ve got the men tae protect ye?—”
“Yer men? Ye’ve got boys. And they’re nae very good in a fight.”
He shrugged. “But I’ve got a lot of them. Twice as many as ye dae. Align with me. Together, we can lock down everythin’ on the docks and set our own terms on everybody.”
“I dinnae need tae align with ye, Ewan. I’ve already got the docks locked down.”
“For the moment. But yer influence is wanin’, Rosalind. Everybody kens it. Ye have kenned since yer husband died and ye had tae take his place, that it is only been a matter of time before somebody comes fer ye,” he said with a feigned casualness. “Who kens? I might even come fer ye meself.”
She felt his presence behind her even before Ewan’s eyes shifted, looking at something over her shoulder. The fact that Ellair was standing behind her annoyed her. The last thing she wanted was to look weak or that she needed a man to step in and fight her battles for her. It only emboldened men like Ewan.
Ewan sat back, his face draining of color and he took a long swallow of his wine. Rosalind took the opportunity to glance up at Ellair. His face was harder than stone, his icy blue eyes fixed on Ewan. He stood with the casual grace of a seasoned fighter, hand on the hilt of his blade, silently letting the man know he was ready to fight at the blink of an eye. As much of a donkey as he was, Rosalind couldn’t deny the man had a presence.
The effect of having somebody like Ellair at her back was immediate. The chair beneath him groaned ominously as he sat back, lowering his gaze, the angry expression on his face melting into something less hostile. He cleared his throat and looked up at her again.
“The tides are changin’, Rosalind,” he said. “Ye need tae learn tae change with them or ye’ll be swallowed up. Somebody will seize that which ye control.”
“Is that a threat?” she asked.
“’Tis a prediction. ‘Tis all,” he replied with a shrug.
