Page 12 of The Cruel Highlander’s Healer (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #1)

CHAPTER TWELVE

“C limb up, lass. I told ye I willnae be waitin’ all day for ye."

Eliza stared up at the massive stallion. She was sure that it was the same one she and the Laird had ridden a few days prior. But she couldn’t be sure.

Either way, despite the beast’s impressive girth, she didn’t think it had enough room to seat them both.

“Will I nae be gettin’ me own horse?” she asked.

“Ye willnae,” the Laird grunted, his voice sounding much closer to her than it had a moment before.

Eliza whirled and found him standing only a few steps behind her. She jumped back in shock.

She had not heard him approach. There had been no telltale crunch of gravel as the Laird had crept in. And now he was closer than he had been to her in two whole days.

Having him this close to her had heat rising into her cheeks. Eliza had done her best to ignore him ever since that moment in the study. Their game in the library had been a fluke, an accidental run-in in the middle of the night.

Thankfully, the day before had been easier. She and Kate had been busy tending to the bairns. Some of them had started to wake, becoming more lucid and, therefore, requiring even more care.

She’d done a good job over the last day keeping her thoughts of him to a minimum. But now, visions danced in her mind.

An image of his face moments before their lips had crashed together. How his eyes had glinted in the flickering lantern light as he’d considered his next chest move. She felt the ghost of a touch, the memory of his hands fisting in her hair. The feel of his body melding to hers as she pressed her chest against him.

“Are ye goin’ to climb up on the horse or nae?”

The Laird’s voice dragged Eliza out of her fantasy, her vision clearing as her attention returned to the present. She blinked rapidly, clearing the last of her memory, and her eyes latched onto the man before her.

His brown eyes sparkled as he stared at her, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a knowing grin.

He kenned exactly where me thoughts had wandered.

Heat rushed into Eliza’s face as embarrassment washed over her. She turned back towards the horse, hoping that he wouldn’t see the color now painting her cheeks. But the glimpse of his widening smile right before she turned completely told her he hadn’t missed a thing.

“I daenae ken why I cannae get me own horse,” she complained, but it didn’t stop her from climbing onto the horse anyway.

The beast was tall, and she had to stretch to reach the pommel of the saddle. Gravel crunched behind her, followed by heat warming her back the split second before strong hands gripped either side.

“I can do it meself,” Eliza protested, freeing one of her hands to swat at the Laird.

He paid her no more mind than he would a fly, and she felt his muscles ripple as he flexed, lifting her up onto the saddle with ease. Her already heated cheeks flared further, and she refused to glance in his direction.

In one swift motion, the Laird climbed atop the saddle behind her. He settled in, his massive body shifting with ease as he righted himself.

“Ye daenae get yer own because I need ye to be safe,” the Laird explained.

His chest was pressed to her back, the warmth of his body threatening to overwhelm her entirely. His breath danced over her skin, stirring a tendril of blonde hair that had come loose from one of the plaits she’d pinned at the nape of her neck.

“I can be safe while ridin’ on me own,” Eliza scoffed.

“Aye,” the Laird’s voice was laced with sarcasm, and she could all but hear the roll of his eyes. “And what happens when someone rides up next to ye and tries to abduct ye? If Councilman Auld’s village needs help, perhaps there’s more. Maybe there’s a whole kingdom in need of savin’ and word has gotten out that ye ken how to help ‘em. Do ye think I’m the only one opposed to snatchin’ ye for me own needs?”

He paused in his lament, clicking his heels into the horse’s side and guiding it to a slow, steady trot. He was waiting for her to respond; Eliza could sense it. But she did not want to.

Now that the beast beneath them was moving, so was his body. With every shift and sway of the horse, the Laird’s hips moved in time. As did hers.

And she felt every inch of movement down to her very core. Eliza knew that if she spoke now, her voice would shake. And she would not be giving him the satisfaction.

Keeping her eyes focused on the road ahead of them, she tightened her grip on the pommel. Her knuckles were white as she fought against her body’s reaction to the man hovering so closely behind her.

Eventually, he understood that she would not be answering. He let out another sigh that she felt dancing along her neck, the hair on her body rising on end as it caressed her.

“I daenae mind admittin’ that I’m not,” he continued eventually. “There are many men, not all of them as nice as me, that would snatch ye in a minute. And they wouldnae think twice about nae allowin’ ye to go back home. Once ye healed their people, they’d keep usin’ ye for whatever it is their mind cooked up. So for as long as I see fit, we’ll be ridin’ on the same horse.”

Christ, will there ever be any escapin’ him?

“Ye plan on keepin’ me safe all by yerself?” Eliza quipped, finally deciding that speaking might serve to distract her addled mind. “Where’s Eliot? Why is he nae guardin’ me like ye ordered?”

The Laird grunted. “Eliot is stayin’ behind. Someone needs to protect Kate and the bairns and make sure no one else tries to poison ‘em further. And as for bein’ by meself…”

As if on cue, the sound of hooves fast approaching filled the air. Against her better judgement, Eliza shifted in the saddle. The movement pushed her up against him further, and she felt his length pressing into her backside.

The flush in her cheeks flared, the heat of it spreading down to her jaw and further around her neck. She felt the Laird’s chest vibrate with a deep chuckle, causing her stomach to start tying itself in knots.

She did not look at him, though. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder.

Two guards were riding toward them, the MacKinnon crest emblazoned on the sashes across their chest. They pulled up beside Eliza and the Laird before tugging on the reins, guiding their steeds to a speed that matched their own.

“I willnae be protectin’ ye on me own,” the Laird finished, smirking when her eyes finally flickered to his face.

“I can see that for meself,” Eliza grumbled, turning back so she faced the road ahead.

The morning sun had fully crested the horizon, brightening everything around them. Eliza squinted against it, trying to take in the scenery.

The Laird chatted with the guards, and Eliza turned her ears to take in some of their conversation.

“Is Eliot settled with the bairns?” MacKinnon asked, his deep voice vibrating through his chest.

“Aye,” one of the men answered. “A few of ‘em were stirrin’. The tonic they’ve been givin’ them seems to be helpin’. It’s the most awake I’ve seen some of them in weeks.”

Eliza’s head whirled. She no longer noticed the press of the Laird’s body into hers, or the feeling of the hardness beneath his kilt.Not as her gaze locked on the guard who had just spoken.

“Which ones were awake?” she asked, voice coming out shrill in her excitement.

The guard’s eyes widened. He was a large man, though not as big as either Laird MacKinnon or Eliot. His face was boyish though, giving a more genteel impression than either of the other two men.

“I daenae for certain,” he answered. “But I heard Kate talkin’ to Eliot right as I left. Said that one of them had been one of the first ones to fall ill. I daenae think he’s been conscious in near a week.”

Eliza’s heart began to flutter at the news. She hadn’t gone to check on the children that morning, certain that the Laird would not be happy to be kept waiting. But now she wished she would have risked his ire.

“Thank ye for tellin’ me…” her words trailed off a she realized she did not know the man’s name.

Her eyebrows lifted, staring at the man pointedly as she waited for him to tell her his name. But although Eliza was staring at the guard, it was Laird MacKinnon who answered.

“That is Dougal,” he said, his deep voice bringing Eliza’s attention back to him.

He pointed at the guard she’d just been speaking to and the man dipped his head to her in acknowledgement. The Laird then pointed to the guard riding a few paces behind Dougal, and Eliza’s eyes raked over him.

“That is Alistair,” the Laird explained.

He was not as imposing as any of the other guards that she’d encountered. Eliza sensed that he would be quite tall if he stood up straight, but his shoulders had been stooped by what she assumed was the weight of age.

Beady eyes regarded her, and even at a distance she could make out his pocked and wrinkled skin.

He smiled at her, revealing a row of crooked, yellowing teeth.

“Nice to meet ye both,” Eliza said, directing it mostly toward Dougal.

She wasn’t entirely sure what it was about Alistair, but something about him made her hair stand on end.

Turning back toward the road, she focused on it, allowing her mind to wander. Images of the bairns beginning to wake, the sheen of sweat leaving their foreheads filled her mind’s eye, lifting her hopes higher than they’d been in days.

This will work for Councilman Auld’s people, too. I ken it.

Eliza was unsure where the Councilman’s village was, and as such she had no idea how long to prepare herself to be riding. Time seemed to drag on, filled with nothing more than the clopping of horse hooves and marked by the sun’s path across the sky.

She tries everything she can think of to distract herself from the press of the Laird’s body against her own. She recites a list of all the symptoms of the worst illnesses she can think of, trying to conjure images of boils and warts that might drive the feel of the Laird from her mind.

For what felt like the thousandth time in the hours that they’d been riding, Eliza readjusted herself. Once again, the Laird had grown hard beneath his kilt, and she felt every press of it against her.

Her mouth had long since gone dry, but she gulped anyways. She swirled her hips, desperate to create more space between their tightly pressed bodies. But the only thing it served to do was to grind her backside further against his bulge.

“Would ye stop movin’?”

The Laird’s voice came unexpectedly, deep and strained as he growled into her ear. The rumble of his chest reverberated through her and Eliza had to fight the urge to lean into him.

“I cannae stop movin’ if the horse is movin’,” Eliza argued back.

Sure enough, the horse’s body swayed once more as it walked, causing Eliza’s hips to move as he did so. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she found Laird MacKinnon’s jaw flexing from gritting his teeth.

His dark brown eyes bore into her.

“If ye daenae stop movin’,” he ground out, eyes flashing with both desire and aggravation. “I’m goin’ to think ye want somethin’ to happen. Do ye want a repeat of what happened in the study?”

Eliza blanched. She threw a hurried glance to Dougal and Alistair; certain she’d find their eyes locked on her and the Laird after a statement like that.

But both guard’s gazes were fixed ahead. Either Laird MacKinnon had spoken too softly for them to hear him, or they were very good at minding their own business.

She had a sneaking suspicion that it was the latter.

“I daenae ken what ye mean.” Eliza worked to keep her voice light, attempting an air of aloofness that she wasn’t quite sure she achieved.

“Would ye like me to remind ye?” The Beast of the MacKinnons pressed his body flush against hers.

If Eliza thought the feel of him had been oppressive before, it was nothing compared to now. Every rippling muscle of his torso pressed into her back, flexing as the Laird shifted with the horse.

“Would ye like me to remind ye of how it felt to have ‘em hands in yer hair?” His voice was low enough there was no chance of it carrying to the other two men.

But it also meant he had to bring his mouth even closer to her ear. He was so close that Eliza could feel his lips move, brushing gently against her ear with each word.

“Because I can do that,” he murmured.

Eliza shivered, scooting herself up as far as the saddle would allow so that she could create just a little distance.

“No,” she said forcefully, and she did not miss the low, dark chuckle that Conall let out. “I daenae want nothin’ from ye.”

“Then I suggest ye stop shovin’ yer backside up against me.”

His voice was little more than a growl. Eliza opened her mouth to argue, but the moment she did, they crested their final hill. The village sprawled out before them, nestled in a shallow valley between the rolling foothills of the highlands.

Smoke poured from chimneys, chickens clucked, and roosters crowed. There was even the sound of a donkey braying as they rode into the town center.

But for a place of its size, there were not near as many people as Elizan would have expected. Her eyes darted back and forth, trying to take in the scene before them.

Typically, she would expect there to be men and women bustling about. Eliza would expect old women to be hunched over washing basins, gnarled hands clawing at garments as they scrubbed them clean. But there was hardly any of that.

Of the few people that were out walking around, their heads were hunched and shoulders bowed. They scurried through the street, clearly not wanting to dawdle as they made their way to their destination.

“Somethin’ isnae right,” the Laird mused, low enough that she knew he was speaking only for himself. But that didn’t stop her from answering.

“Are that many of them sick? Or do ye think they’re afraid?” Eliza’s brows knit together with concern, but the laird nor his guards responded to her.

They rode into the town square. On their way through the winding roads of the town, only one person had been brave enough to meet their eye.

He’d dipped his head to his Laird in acknowledgement, as close to a bow as anyone had gotten. He muttered something that Eliza could only assume was a greeting, before rushing off around a corner to wherever he was heading.

The Laird behind her pulled on the reins of their horse, forcing it to stop.

“Dismount,” he ordered. “We’ll tie off the horses, and I will go find Aulds.”

The guards nodded, and for once, Eliza did not argue before doing as she was told. The moment her boots hit the ground; the Laird was sliding off the back of the horse beside her.

She blinked up at him. “Do ye want me to come with ye?”

He shook his head, brown eyes flicking to his guards.

“Alistair and Dougal will stay with ye,” he said, and Eliza did not miss the pointed glare he gave to the two men as the order fell from his lips. “They willnae let ye out of their sight, and ye will be safe with them.”

Eliza’s head turned to the guards, finding them nodding. Dougal’s boyish face was serious, his eyes shifting back and forth as he surveyed the town. Alistair was simply staring at her, an unreadable emotion in the depths of his gaze.

A breeze fluttered through the air, causing Eliza to shiver. Despite the spring day, there was a chill in the air, and she wrapped her arms around herself to try to warm herself.

I was plenty warm with the Laird right behind me.

Her cheeks flared with heat as the thought wound its way through her. Shaking her head, Eliza banished the words from her mind. She tried to distract herself by pacing back and forth, always within view of the two guards who were looking out for her.

The Laird returned, his steps confident as he strode across the town square back towards them. Councilman Aulds walked at his side, and the two were caught in a conversation she could not hear as they approached.

Eliza watched the Laird as he approached, studying his face and the way emotion flickered across it as he spoke with the Councilman. His scar was stark on his cheek, stretching taut across his skin as his mouth moved.

There was something primal about it. Something feral. Her fingertips tingled with the desire to trail across it, imagining the smoothness of it beneath her skin.

Enough of that.

She shook her head, banishing the thoughts as the Laird and the Councilman grew near. Their conversation died out once they were within earshot, their attention diverted from one another to Eliza.

She raised her brows.

“How many more have fallen ill?” she asked.

The Councilman’s one word answer sent chills down her spine.

“Many.”

“And the symptoms?” Eliza prodded. “All the same.”

The councilman nodded, not going into any further detail before The Laird began speaking.

“I’ve instructed the Councilman that we’ll set up in the square,” he said, his voice calm and in control.

She nodded, her own sense of calm washing over her.

“We’ll have them bring out cots and begin movin’ the sick,” the Laird continued. “And ye said ye have a tent?”

The councilman grunted his agreement. “Aye, a few large ones. They should all fit in the square. It’ll hold ‘em.”

The Laird considered this, pausing for a moment as he looked around the space. Then he whirled on them, immediately barking out orders to Alistair and Dougal, pointing and instructing on exactly where everything was to be set up.

A few of the village men who had not yet fallen ill came to help them, the large men making quick work of clearing the square so they could get set up.

If the symptoms are the same, could they have been poisoned too?

She didn’t voice the thought to anyone else, not as she spun on her heel and looked around her.

Eliza’s mind worked, each thought stumbling over the next one as she tried to analyze every single possibility. She was caught off guard when the Laird whirled on her, brown eyes flashing.

“I’d start makin’ that tonic, lass,” he growled. “Ye’re in for a very long day.”