Page 13 of The Cruel Highlander’s Healer (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #1)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Y e sure I’m grindin’ it right?” Conall asked, moving the pestle Eliza had given him in a mimicry of the motion she’d tried to teach him.

Eliza watched for a moment, staring over his shoulder. The hairs along the back of Conall’s neck rose on end as he felt her creeping closer. The heat of her tickled against him, making him hyperaware of her presence.

“It’s actually like this,” she murmured, leaning over him to help guide his hands in the correct movement.

The moment her hands came down to touch his, laying atop his palms so that she could move his hand for him, his skin was ignited with the heat of a sun. He wanted to flip over that hand, to run his fingers along the palm of it. He wanted to watch the way she squirmed while he touched her.

He wondered what that hand would look like wrapped around him. He tried to drive the image from his mind, but he was bombarded with another instead.

It was Eliza, brown doe eyes wild and wide the moments after their kiss a few nights prior. Her lips had been swollen, her cheeks flushed with desire.

It was an image that had pervaded many of his waking thoughts since the night it had happened. And once again, he stomped the memory down.

“Ye got it?” Eliza’s voice broke through his wandering mind, a cold balm over his now too hot skin.

Conall nodded. He mimicked her movements once again, and this time, Eliza let out a hum of approval.

“Ye just need to get it so it’s more liquid than paste,” Eliza explained.

Her pale hand came into Conall’s field of vision again as she reached past him, pointing over his shoulder to the vial resting on the side of his workstation.

“We need to be able to pour it in there,” she finished.

The scent of her filled his nostrils, sweet and cloying. He shook his head slightly, trying to banish every bit of her from his senses.

“Are ye alright?” Eliza asked, and when Conall turned to look at her, he found a quizzical look upon her face. “Ye were shakin’.”

Conall turned away from her, not wanting her to be able to read his expression and know what direction his mind had gone.

“I just caught a breeze,” he explained, the lie rising quickly to his lips. “I’ll be alright.”

He didn’t miss the way that Eliza looked around them. She looked at the sky, seeming to take in the quickly warming day. The one where there was no breeze to be found.

Thankfully, she did not comment on it as she returned her eyes to him. She nodded and then bustled away, the swish of her skirt marking her exit from his workstation.

Turning his attention back to the mortar and pestle he was working with, he ground the leaves he’d been given once more. Around and around, he swirled the pestle, pressing with varying pressures until the paste began to turn soupy.

When it had reached the right consistency, Conall poured the mixture into the vial Eliza had indicated, stoppered it, and then gave it a good, hard shake so that all the ingredients could combine.

A self-satisfied smirk tugged up the corner of his lips and he turned, holding the small vial in his hand as he strode toward the center of the town square.

In the hours that had passed, Conall and his men, Councilman Aulds, along with any of the townspeople they could muster, had worked to construct a healing area. Cots and bedrolls had been assembled in rolls, each on donning a coughing or feverish body.

Eliza flicked between the beds, and Conall couldn’t help but get lost in admiring her. There was something different about her when she tended to her patients.

There was a softening around her eyes. The tension in her face and the pursing of her lips that was usually present had melted entirely. Conall felt a stirring in his stomach as he watched her.

He cleared his throat as he approached, and Eliza’s brown eyes flicked to him. Immediately, the softness that had just been on her face left entirely. Her eyes darkened, her mouth pursed and tugged down into a scowl.

And even then, she’s radiant.

The thought ruffled him. Eliza was objectively beautiful; he’d noticed it the moment he and Eliot had walked into her cabin. But the words that had just echoed through his mind somehow felt different. More poignant.

They were more than just an observation. They had accompanied a feeling. One that stirred something within him, making his breath come short and his head feel light. And that feeling was dangerous.

I cannae think of her like that. I cannae offer her nothin’ more than a good beddin’. And I willnae soil her with me desire. I am nay lad. I can control meself.

Conall extended his hand to her, showing her the vial.

“This one is finished,” he explained, and Eliza nodded her head.

The healer’s hand darted out, plucking the vial from his.

“Thank ye,” she said, turning so that she could begin administering the tonic to those lying in the rows around them.

There was silence for a moment, filled only by the sound of the occasional cough or wheeze. Eliza flicked from bed to bed, pouring the tonic Conall had just made into a deep wooden spoon before having the ill drink from it.

He heard her speaking in low murmurs as she cared for them, the sound of her lilting, soothing voice drawing him toward her. Almost of their own accord, Conall’s feet began to move, tugged toward the healer like a moth to a flame.

As he drew closer, Eliza’s words became clearer.

“This will shape ye right up,” she cooed to the man on the cot before her.

His pallor was sickly, a greenish grey tint to his skin. Conall had seen the likes of it only on a corpse. The only difference was that the men and women around him were sweating or groaning. The dead did not groan.

“Ye just need to drink a bit more,” Eliza coaxed, her voice as soft as when she’d tended to the children.

The man winced, a cough wrenching from his lips as she persuaded him to drink more of the liquid she held to his lips. But, despite his difficulty, he managed to get all of it down.

A few moments passed, and slowly, the tonic began working magic. The pain eased from his face slightly as he sank back further into his cot.

“It’s strange,” Eliza murmured, her voice barely reaching him as she spoke in a low, hushed tone.

“What’s strange?” Conall prompted, taking a step closer to her.

She hurled toward him, seeming surprised to find him there and speaking to her. Whether it was because she had been speaking to herself or because she hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud, Conall didn’t know.

He stared at her, unwilling to further explain himself as he waited for her to answer. Eventually, Eliza seemed to gather herself.

“They’re all showing signs of the same poisoning,” Eliza explained, eyes darting back and forth between her patients and Conall. “All arsenic poisoning. It’s why we were able to make the tonic, and it’s working. But what I’m having trouble understanding is how they all were infected.”

“Do ye have any thoughts? Ideas?” Conall prompted.

Eliza sucked her lip in between her teeth, chewing on the skin as she considered his question. It was something he’d noticed her doing before, and Conall was beginning to understand this to mean she was concentrating, lost in her own thoughts as she turned over all the possibilities presented to her.

Seconds passed, eventually turning into minutes. And still, Eliza did not speak.

Suddenly, she sucked in a surprised breath, her eyes going wide.

“Where does everyone get their water?” she asked.

Her head whipped around, gaze flying about frantically as if the answer to her question would appear right before her.

Conall’s brows pulled together.

Why would she be concerned about water?

Despite his confusion, he answered her all the same.

“The lake,” he explained simply, dipping his head to the north, where just beyond the borders of the town, the lake rested. “The one I showed ye just a few days ago.”

Eliza’s lips moved, but no sound reached Conall’s ears. She was talking to herself, working out the possibilities. Her eyes snapped back to his, shining as she seemed to work out everything that had occurred.

“The bairns play in that lake, do they not?” she asked, and when Conall nodded, a satisfied look flickered across her fair features. “That’s it then.”

Eliza began walking, waving her hand to indicate that he should follow. He bristled at the order, but when he noticed her walking directly toward Dougal, he realized he didn’t want to object.

Following after her, he heard it the moment she approached the guard.

“The people are gettin’ poisoned through the lake,” Eliza explained, glancing at Conall before returning her attention to Dougal. “At first, it was only affectin’ the wee ones because they were in it the most. They’re also much smaller than the adults.”

“It would take less poison for them to fall ill,” Conall interjected, the idea occurring to him as Eliza talked excitedly.

She glanced at him, an impressed look flickering across her features as she gave him a quick nod.

“Aye,” she continued. “They only need swallow a few mouthfuls by accident while they were playin’ and then combine that with what they would consume while they ate or drank, and that’s why they fell ill first.”

“Why would it take so long?” Dougal asked, his gaze uncertain as it flickered between Eliza and Conall. “The adults and everyone in the village have been drinkin’ from the lake the entire time. Why have they nae fallin’ ill yet? Why is it only hittin’ ‘em now?”

Conall had been toiling with that very question in his own mind, and he thought he’d worked out the answer. Eliza opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.

“It’s like she just said,” Conall advised. “The bairns are smaller, so it takes less to make ‘em ill. The poison would need time to build up in the system of a full-grown man or woman. Is that right?”

Again, Eliza looked impressed as she nodded.

“Aye,” she confirmed. “That’s a part of it. There’s also the way the bairns were ingestin’ it. It’s nae all the wee ones who fell ill, is it?”

Conall and Dougal shook their heads in unison.

“And the ones that did,” Eliza forged on, “I’m assumin’ the ones that fell ill first are the ones that play in it the most often?”

Conall wasn’t certain. He did not get to spend as much time at the lake as he would have these days. But Dougall did. His guard route often had him riding to and from this very village and when Conall glanced at the guard, he was nodding vigorously.

“Aye,” Dougal’s words left him in a rush. “The first four are the ones whose maithers do the washin’ for the town. The bairns are there near every day.”

Eliza hummed in affirmation, letting them know Dougal had confirmed her thoughts before she began speaking again.

“The bairns likely drank straight from the source,” she explained. “Especially if they were playin’ in it all day. It wouldnae take ‘em long to drink enough of it to make ‘em sick. The wee one’s who werenae there as often would be next, because they were still gettin’ it directly from the water. But the adults, they wouldnae be drinkin’ their water fresh from the lake.”

“Ale.” The word left Conall’s lips on a breath the moment it rose to his mind.

Eliza’s gaze fell on his, that same impressed glint flickering in her soft brown eyes as she nodded.

“Ale,” she repeated. “And stew and fish. A few adults might take a handful from the shores once or twice. But most of their water is used for somethin’ else. So not only would it take longer because they’re larger, but they wouldnae be getting’ as much of it, either.”

“We have to order everyone to stop usin’ it,” Conall said, voice hard and resolute.

His eyes flicked to Dougal. The young guard’s face was pink with indignation, and Conall understood.

Dougal had grown up in the village where they stood. His mother, although she now resided in a small house not far from Conall’s castle, had raised him within these streets.

It was one of the reasons he had chosen Dougal to accompany them. He knew that out of all his guards, Dougal would take the people falling ill the most personally, and he would do whatever was asked with enthusiasm when it came to protecting them.

“I’ll make the rounds,” Dougal answered, his voice low and fervent. “I’ll go house to house if I have to; start warnin’ people off of the lake.”

“Where will they get their water from in the meantime?” Eliza asked, turning her attention to Conall.

“There’s a stream nae too far past the lake,” he explained, his mind working quickly to come up with a solution. “It’s runnin’ water, so it’ll be fresh. It’s a bit more of a hike. But if it means they willnae be poisoned, I cannae imagine they’ll mind.”

“And they cannae play in it anymore,” Eliza said, her words falling quickly. “They cannae use it to wash their clothes, or to cook with. They cannae eat the fish from its depths. Not for quite some time. It will take a while for the arsenic to no longer be in the lake. Quite a long time.”

Dougal nodded, gathering all the information that he could before he began making his rounds. Conall listened intently as well, soaking in all of the instructions Eliza was prattling off.

When they returned to the castle, Conall knew he would need to begin drafting letters. All his parishes and the councilmen that oversaw them would need to know.

He’d need Eliza to walk him through the symptoms, and how to create the tonic should they begin appearing.

Because Conall did not doubt that if it was happening here, there was every possibility that it would be happening elsewhere. Someone was coming for his people, and therefore, someone was coming for him.

Dougal, finally having received the last of the instructions from Eliza, turned to Conall.

“I’ll be visitin’ everyone,” he explained. “I’ll work with Aulds. The whole town will ken what to do by nightfall.”

Conall wished him luck, watching as the young guard turned on his heel and strode across the town with a purpose that Conall hadn’t before seen in him.

Turning his attention back to Eliza, he found the healer watching him with a weary expression.

“What’s on that mind of yers?” she asked.

“I’m thinkin’ ye and I have a lot of work ahead of us,” he explained, his voice gruff. “So we best get to it.”