Page 5 of Healing the Highland Sinner
“And what dae we have here?” he growled, his voice low and gruff.
“Just a man out for an evenin’ stroll,” Ellair replied lightly.
“Funny how yer evenin’ stroll has brought ye here, tae the same spot, watchin’ us fer a few nights now, isnae it?”
“Aye. ‘Tis funny indeed.”
The man smirked and motioned to one of his men. The man stepped forward and quickly disarmed Ellair who didn’t put up a fight as an idea occurred to him. This might have been a stroke of luck that could work out better than he’d hoped.
“Who are ye and why are ye spyin’ on us?” the man grumbled.
“The name is Ellair and I was hopin’ tae have a few words with yer employer.”
“A few words about what?”
“About employment.”
“We arenae hirin’.”
“If ‘tis all the same tae ye, I’d like tae hear it from the Widow himself.”
The three men exchanged glances and chuckled darkly. Whatever the joke was, Ellair was missing it.
“Somethin’ funny, lads?” he asked.
“Aye. Somethin’s very funny.”
“And what might that be?”
“Yer bleedin’ assumptions fer one thing.”
The voice behind him was soft and feminine and when Ellair turned around, he had to bite back the gasp that bubbled into his throat. Standing before him was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Wavy chestnut brown hair framed a round, pale face, and plump, bow-shaped lips. Her green eyes sparkled dazzlingly and bore into him ruthlessly. The woman was slender yet curvy, and distinctly feminine in a way that made Ellair’s heart race.
The woman raised her hands and pushed the hood back, giving Ellair a glimpse of the silver links that encircled her wrist. His mouth grew suddenly dry, and his racing heart fell straight into the pit of his stomach.
“Ye’re the Widow,” he said.
“Aye. I am,” she said, stepping forward, the dim light of the alley glinting off the dagger in her hand. “And who in the bleedin’ hell are ye?”
CHAPTER THREE
With a cruel little smirk on her lips, she tightened her grip on the dagger as she stepped forward with the point of it aimed at his crotch. He smirked at her in return.
“Careful, lass,” he said. “I’ve already been pruned down there.”
“With a flick of me wrist, perhaps I’ll take the whole thing.”
He laughed. The man had a dagger aimed at his crotch and helaughed.“Ye may need a broadsword tae dae that, lass.”
“Watch yer bleedin’ tongue, boy,” Ciar growled.
Rosalind fought off the smile that threatened to curl her lips. The man was a rogue. But he wasn’t without a sense of humor, she had to give him that. He had a swagger and arrogance about him that she found intriguing. He was handsome and the sparkle in his eyes as he looked at her made Rosalind’s heart flutterlike hummingbird wings. She did not normally have that sort of reaction to men, and it was confounding her.
The man was tall—just a couple inches shorter than Ciar, who was the tallest man Rosalind had ever met. His hair was so blond it was almost white and fell to his shoulders in waves. His eyes were a shade of blue, almost silver. He had a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a long, patrician nose. He was thick through the chest and broad through the shoulders and had the look of a warrior about him. He was handsome. So handsome, Rosalind had to remind herself he was a potential enemy there to do her harm and to stop gaping at him like a besotted girl.
She caught Ciar looking at her strangely and cleared her throat, tearing her eyes away from the stranger. She raised her chin, adopting a look of defiance—not easy to do when you had to tilt your head up to look at the man. He seemed to notice and the corner of his mouth quirked upward, though he had the good grace to keep himself from laughing at the disparity between them.
“And what is it ye want…”
