Page 14 of The Cruel Highlander’s Healer (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #1)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“M y back is achin’ somethin’ awful,” Eliza grunted, a painful groan tearing itself from her lips as she stood at full height.

Her lower back spasmed as she turned, and Eliza winced. The Laird was sitting at a makeshift worktable a few feet away, bent over the mortar and pestle that he’d been working with.

For the last few hours, Eliza had been instructing anyone willing on how to make the tonic that would help those that had fallen ill. Then, they’d all put together worktables so they could start making it.

She’d taught them how to administer it, how to store it, and how long it would be good for while they nursed their loved ones back to help.

She peered toward the large tent they’d constructed earlier that day, which held the cots. One of the men who’d only recently fallen ill was already sitting up. Even at a distance, she could see some of the color had returned to his face.

“I think they’ll be alright,” she whispered to Conall, keeping her voice low so the other townspeople in the tent wouldn’t overhear her.

“Do ye?” he asked, his dark gaze flickering to her.

His expression was unreadable, but Eliza thought that she could sense some of the relief that was roiling from him.

“Aye,” she gave a quick nod of her head. “They werenae as sick as the bairns. And thankfully, the tonic works quick.”

He grunted his approval before turning his attention back to his work. Eliza did the same, plucking the vial from in front of her and pouring the pulverized herbs into it.

Shaking it vigorously, she cast her gaze around the tent. A small stockpile of vials sat on the other table, and she raked her eyes over them, counting.

There was more than enough.

“That will be yer last,” she told the Laird, and when his eyes flicked to her in question, she pointed at the vials waiting on the other table.

He nodded and then groaned. Reaching his hands over his head, he began stretching his back, and Eliza could not help but admire the way his muscles moved and flexed as he did.

Her eyes landed on his hands, and suddenly, her mouth went dry. Images of those hands roving over her body and fisting in her hair filled her mind, and she gulped.

The Laird cleared his throat, the sound grabbing her attention. With great reluctance, Eliza moved her eyes from his hands to the Laird’s face.

The mouth was ticked up in a smirk, and the way his eyes danced with feral amusement let her know that he’d caught her admiring him – and that he knew exactly where her thoughts had gone.

“See anythin’ ye fancy?” he asked, voice laced with implication.

Heat rushed into Eliza’s cheeks, but she did not answer him. Instead, she turned her back on the Laird, walking toward the two women who were working on the other corner of the tent.

They had their heads bent together, whispering animatedly as they worked. As Eliza got closer, a snippet of their conversation flitted up to greet her.

“...handsome, he is.” Sheena, the older of the two, was saying.

She had gnarled hands and wizened skin, but Eliza had noted quickly that she also had an easy laugh and quick wit. Her shock of white hair seemed to glow in the dimness of the work tent.

The other woman, a young woman named Louisa, nodded vigorously. Curiosity flickered through Eliza, wondering who they might be talking about. Her question, however, was answered the moment that Louisa opened her mouth to respond.

“Protective, too,” the young woman whispered. “Exactly what ye want in a laird. Do ye see how he jumped in to help us so quickly?”

Her voice was high pitched and dreamy, and a flicker of something dark and nasty shot throughout Eliza’s belly.

She ignored it, burying it somewhere deep inside her where she would remain nice and quiet. Instead, she focused her attention solely on the two women in front of her and cleared her throat.

Immediately, the conversation between the two women died out and their heads swiveled to her.

Eliza forced a smile onto her face, reminding herself that she was grateful for the help of the two women.

Ye cannae go feelin’ jealous over that man.

“We’ve created plenty tonic,” Eliza explained.

Her voice was higher than usual, and she cleared her throat, hoping to banish some of the jealousy clogging it.

“This will get you through the week,” she continued on, happy that her voice had returned to some semblance of normal. “After that, if anyone is still showin’ symptoms, you’ll need to make another batch. Will ye be alright to do that?”

Eagerly the two women nodded. Sheena beamed at her.

“We cannae thank ye enough,” the old woman said, her eyes flickering over her shoulder to what Eliza knew was surely the Laird. “Both of ye.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she found that the Laird had stood. He was closer than he had been before she’d crossed the tent, and Eliza started at his proximity.

The Laird’s eyes did not leave Eliza, not as he just nodded at Sheena’s words in acceptance of our gratitude.

“If ye will excuse us,” he said to the women, gaze still fixed on Eliza. “We’ve both had quite a day. So we’ll be goin’ to get some supper. If ye need us, we’ll be at the Thistlewood.”

Sheena and Louisa chattered their thanks to them until Eliza and the Laird had exited the tent. She glanced toward the opening of the other tent again, noting Isabel flickering to and fro as she administered the next round of tonic.

She was a girl. Not yet even sixteen years of age. But Eliza had noted immediately as she’d instructed her earlier in the day that the girl had a natural talent for healing.

Eliza had been much younger than Isabel when Marissa took her in. And, as she and the Laird strode away, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, after all this was said and done, she should return to the village and train the girl.

“We’ll be stayin’ at the Thistlewood this evenin’ and ride out at first light.”

The Laird’s voice broke through Eliza’s thoughts as her head whipped in his direction.

“Stayin’?” she asked, her voice rising an octave in shock. “We’re nae leavin’ for the castle tonight?”

The Laird shook his head. “Too late. And we’ve all been workin’ all day. It’ll do us all some good to get some rest.”

Eliza wanted to protest, but in the few days since she’d been kidnapped by this man, she had learned enough about him to know that it was futile. If she argued back with him, all he’d do is glower at her and then they’d argue. And truthfully, she was too tired to deal with any of it.

It was only about a block before Eliza spotted a sign with the words Thistlewood Inn in a lovely, delicate script. The building itself was quaint. Three stories and made of wood, with large windows that she could only imagine would light the building up in the morning sun.

Wooden boxes filled with bright, purple blooms were under many of the windows. And, as they got closer and saw the spiky, spiny buds just beneath them, she couldn’t help but chuckle.

The Laird shot her a quick look, eyebrows raising in question and Eliza pointed to the blooms on the front of the building.

“They’re thistle,” she said, humor still lighting her words. “And the building is made of wood. Thistle and Wood. It’s just clever, is all.”

He simply stared at her, clearly not finding the decorations and witty naming as humorous as she did. The smile fell from her face.

He opened the door wordlessly, stepping to the side so that Eliza could walk past him. Stepping into the inn, a low murmur rose up to greet her.

The space was wide and open, filled with tables and chairs. People occupied many of them, lost in conversation as they ate their supper.

The scent of bread and meat filled the air, and Eliza’s stomach gave a loud grumble. It was only then that she’d realized she hadn’t eaten more than a nibble of cheese and a bit of ale at lunch time.

Glancing beside her, she saw the Laird making a quick pace for the long wooden counter at the far end of the room. She trotted along after him, eyes still taking in all of her surroundings.

“I need a room,” the Laird ordered as he approached the bar maid. “Two beds.”

The girl was pretty, with soft rosy cheeks and bright yellow hair. Her blue eyes widened as she looked up at the Laird, clearly intimidated by his hulking presence.

“I apologize, me laird,” the girl stammered, her eyes darting down to the counter before her. “But we only have a room with one bed. All of our doubles have been rented for the night.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but Eliza couldn’t make it out before he began speaking directly to the barmaid once more.

“That’s alright then,” he growled. “A room with one bed will have to do.”

Eliza’s mouth popped open in surprise.

“Surely ye daenae mean for us to share a room,” she protested, eyes fixed on his face.

He didn’t look at her, not as he reached into the coin purse attached to the side of his kilt.

“I do mean for that, aye.” His tone was low, almost patronizing, and Eliza bristled.

“Why can we nay get two rooms?” she asked.

The girl behind the counter was staring at them both wide eyed, her gaze darting back and forth between the two of them so fast Eliza wasn’t sure how she was seeing anything clearly. But she didn’t say anything at all as Laird MacKinnon placed two bronze coins on the counter.

“We will be sleepin’ in one room,” the Laird said through gritted teeth, “because ye cannae be stayin’ alone. Not in an unsecured location like this. Until everyone is healed, ye’re too valuable.”

“Surely I have taught enough people by now that harmin’ me wouldnae serve anyone’s cause!” Her voice was high, nearly petulant, but Eliza didn’t have it in her to care. “What will these men be doin’? Roundin’ up everyone I taught today? Will they be ridin’ off to the castle next to abduct Kate after they make light work out of me?”

The barmaid placed a key on the counter without a word, clearly sensing the tension of the moment before she turned and hustled away. From the corner of her eye, Eliza saw her begin to help another customer, but she did not turn her attention away from the Laird.

His gaze turned to her slowly, anger simmering in the depths of his deep, dark eyes. His jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth at her.

“We will be stayin’ in one room,” he glowered. “We will make do with the room they’ve provided us. And I will nae be argued with and condescended to in front of me people. Do ye understand?”

His voice was tense, and Eliza was viscerally reminded that this was, in fact, the Beast of the MacKinnons.

Memories of the stories she’d heard about him came flooding back, the rumors of the carnage this man had caused.

I’ve seen him try to heal with the same hands in which he’s slain men with. I cannae forget that.

She gulped, a flicker of fear washing through her. But she refused to let it show.

Gritting her teeth, she nodded.

“Aye,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Ye willnae be gettin’ any more arguments from me.”

They glowered at each other for a few more seconds, Laird MacKinnon seeming to wait to see if she’d argue with him again. But Eliza did not.

After an indeterminable amount of time, he let out a long sigh.

“We’ll eat before heading to our room, then.” He did not turn to look at her before he began walking to a table.

With the promise of food hanging over her, Eliza was not inclined to object. She followed him, settling into the chair directly across from him at the table that he’d chosen.

The same barmaid as before approached them, smiling tentatively as she approached the table.

“What can we get for ye tonight?” she asked, the cheery smile plastered across her lips.

Eliza could feel the nerves rolling off the girl. And it wasn’t made any better as the Beast of the MacKinnons all but barked at her.

“Ye can give us some stew, bread and cheese,” he ordered. “And two mugs of ale.”

The girl nodded and turned away quickly, rushing toward the kitchen at the back of the inn. The Laird turned his attention back to Eliza, and she couldn’t help but scoff.

“Did ye have to frighten the girl like that?” she asked, shaking her head in disapproval.

He scowled at her. “What are ye yappin’ about? I was only tellin’ her what we want to eat.”

“And she was terrified of ye.”

Laird MacKinnon shrugged. “Mayhaps she should be.”

She rolled her eyes. “Aye, ye’re the Laird. We all understand it. But that doesnae mean ye have to go bein’ an arse to everyone ye meet.”

“I am nay bein’ an ass,” he snarled.

She was saved from any further retort as the barmaid returned. She held a wooden tray in her hands, and as she set it on the table, Eliza’s stomach let out another loud grumble.

Two bowls were placed on the table before them, each containing a thick, hearty stew. Hunks of meat and potatoes floated in the soup, the aroma of it making her mouth water.

The girl set a chunk of cheese and half a still warm loaf of bread before them, along with their drinks.

“That’ll be all,” the Laird said before the girl got even a chance to ask if they needed anything else.

The girl let out a small yip of fear before turning on her heel and scuttling away. Eliza scowled at the man across from her once more.

“Do ye want to tell me again that ye arenae bein’ an arse?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he scoffed.

They ate in silence for a few moments, but it didn’t bother her. Not as she lifted the spoon of stew to her mouth and the flavor danced across her tongue.

Maybe it was the fact that she had barely eaten all day. But if anyone were to ask Eliza in that very moment, she would have sworn that it was the best bowl of stew she had ever eaten in her entire life.

“How old were ye, when ye went to live with the Witch of the Wood?”

The question caught Eliza off guard. Almost as much as the fact that it was spoken with no animosity. Her eyes flicked away from her bowl as she chewed another bite.

“Have ye been thinkin’ about that question since our game of chess?” she challenged, but he didn’t answer her.

The Laird was watching her. His dark eyes were still clouded, still shuttered away by whatever wall he’d constructed around himself. But there was something else lingering in the depths of his gaze. Something that Eliza had only seen in him once before – the night they spent in the library.

She hadn’t been able to identify it then. But now she thought it might be curiosity.

She chewed slowly, using the time to think of how she wanted to answer. Did she want to tell him everything? Did she want to open up to the man sitting before her? The one that seemed to bristle at any words he even perceived as a slight?

The man who had kidnapped her?

What do ye have to lose?

With a sigh, Eliza swallowed her bite. She busied herself with cutting off a piece of the bread as she answered.

“I was nine when Marissa found mi,” she explained, not looking at Laird Mackinnon.

“Is that her name then?” he asked around a bite of stew. “The Witch of the Wood is named Marissa?”

Eliza nodded, eyes dipping to look at the contents of her bowl. She swirled her spoon absentmindedly before taking a bite, watching as the carrots and potatoes danced within it.

“Is nine when ye started healin’?” he prompted.

She dipped the piece of bread she was still holding into the bowl, not looking at him.

“It’s when I began learnin’,” she explained, keeping her focus solely on her food. “But I dinnae ken enough to really do any healin’ until I was near thirteen.”

“What took so long?”

A sigh of exasperation fell from her lips. She let go of her spoon, and it clattered down into her bowl.

“What are ye so curious about?” she asked, frustration rising into her voice. “Why are ye suddenly askin’ me all of these questions? Ye could have asked ‘em the other night in the library. If ye were so curious, why did ye go stormin’ off?”

The Laird glared at her, shoulders straightening as his typical scowl returned.

“Is it a crime to ask questions?” he fired back. “Will ye be tryin’ to have me men send me to the gallows next?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Nay, but it is a crime to kidnap people. One of yer men let ye get away with that, so I doubt they’d be of much help anyway.”

“Ye truly willnae leave that be, will ye?” He shook his head, pausing only to take a bite of his food before he continued. “Aye, I kidnapped ye. But now ye’re gettin’ paid more coin than ye or the Witch of the Wood ever could have possibly made for the rest of yer lives. So I think it’s workin’ out pretty well for ye, would ye agree?”

Eliza glowered at him, but even she had to admit it was a fair point.

She would be able to help more people than ever. She and Marissa would be able to do things they’d only ever dreamed of before.

Mayhaps it’s worth it to answer his questions. Get to know him a little bit so the rest of the time ye’re helpin’ him, it’s nay a fight. Would it be so bad, tryin’ to at least be friendly with the Beast of the MacKinnons?

Some of the fight left her body as the thought flickered through her mind.

“I helped Marissa from the time she got me,” Eliza explained, hoping that he took her answering his question as the olive branch that it was. “Whenever she would get called away or would go into town to help someone, I would go with her. But for a long time I would just watch.”

“Then, as she saw that I was gettin’ truly curious,” she continued. “She started lettin’ me help. I would make the tinctures, and she would watch. She instructed every one of my moves, telling me about each ingredient that I was working with. It took me near four years before she was confident to let me work on me own.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Ye were healin’ people entirely by yerself?” Eliza nodded, and he continued with his questioning. “I thought ye just meant ye would help her while she observed. Not that ye were doin’ it all on yer own. How could someone let a lass that age be a healer? Is it nae dangerous?”

Eliza shrugged one shoulder.

“There are a lot of people in the world,” she explained. “And a lot of them need healin’. It was worth the risk, to make sure that the people that need help could get it.”

The Laird looked at her, something in his expression shifting as he did. Was the Beast of the MacKinnons… impressed?

Eliza cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable with the way the man across from her was regarding her. She needed to change the topic of the conversation.

“How old were ye when ye became Laird?” she asked around a bite of cheese. “Rumor is that ye were young as well.”

“Eighteen.”

The answer was quick and terse, clearly a touchy subject. But that made Eliza want to talk about it all the more.

“That is quite young to be responsible for that many people,” Eliza pressed.

She reached forward, grabbing her mug of beer from the table and pressing it to her lips. She took a long, languid drink, staring at him over the rim of the glass.

He watched her, dark eyes roving over her face. Her cheeks heated under the weight of his gaze, but she did not shy away. Not this time.

The mug clunked back onto the table as she set it down. She stared at him expectantly, arching a brow as she waited for him to elaborate further.

Laird MacKinnon cleared his throat, buying some time as he drank his own mug of beer. He drained half the glass in one large gulp and then wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“I wasnae the youngest,” was all that he offered.

Eliza snorted a laugh. The barmaid, seeming to have sensed that their drinks were about to run low, brought two more glasses of ale and set them on the table wordlessly.

The Laird nodded at her in thanks, which Eliza guessed was better than him growling at her like he’d done earlier.

“So let me understand,” she said with a smirk. “Ye wanted me to answer all kinds of questions, but ye will only barely answer one?”

“Isnae a question worth answerin’.”

“What about if I asked ye why ye became a Laird so young, would ye answer me then?”

He stared at her, pausing to take another drink of his beer. She did the same, draining her glass before reaching for her second.

Eliza’s head was beginning to feel a bit fuzzy, the alcohol starting to make her face and body feel warm and languid.

I should slow down.

“I became a Laird how all Lairds do,” he grunted finally. “Me faither died.”

Eliza snorted a laugh again. “Aye, I could have pieced that together for meself. Care to explain any further?”

He didn’t answer right away, but Eliza sensed that it wasn’t an outright dismissal. She remembered moments ago when she had the internal battle with herself, wondering if she should entertain his interrogation.

She got the feeling that he was doing the same.

Apparently, after a moment or two, the Laird arrived at the same decision she had. Because after he took another large drink of ale, he began to speak.

“He was killed on his way home from a neighboring territory,” he explained. “I was shocked. It was nae somethin’ I was prepared for. Me faither, he was someone I looked up to. He was an incredible Laird. Cared for his people and was viciously protective of his family.”

“Sounds a bit like ye,” she said, the words spilling from her lips before she’d even had time to consider them.

His brow ticked up in amusement. “Was that a compliment?”

She chuckled. “I think it was. But it had to be the ale talking. Nae somethin’ ye should be gettin’ used to.”

His smirk widened, the only reward she would get for her joke. She drank again.

“What about yer maither?”

She had noticed the woman’s absence. And, over the years, she’d heard more than a few people talk about how the Lady of MacKinnon castle had not been seen by anyone since her husband’s death.

Eliza had always dismissed the rumors. The last time she had been seen by the public was during the Laird’s wake, at least that’s what the gossipers said. She’d been certain that the woman had just holed up in the castle, not wanting the world to admonish in her grief.

She’d assumed the Lady preferred a quiet life after her husband’s death. But Eliza’s time in the castle had changed all that.

In her days in MacKinnon castle, there had been no sign of the woman. Not just that she hadn’t physically seen her, no. But Eliza hadn’t spotted a single portrait of her. She hadn’t heard staff whispering about having to serve her. She had not heard so much of a whisper of where her chambers even were.

It was something that had been nagging at her. And now that she and the Laird were speaking so openly, it seemed like the opportune moment to get her curiosity satiated.

Laird MacKinnon stared at her, his gaze hardening.

“She is in the dungeons,” he explained simply, the words stilted as they crossed the space between them.

Eliza’s brows shot up in surprise. Of all the possible answers, that was one she had not expected. She opened her mouth to probe further, but he cut her off.

“She was imprisoned after me faither’s death,” he explained, his words clipped as he seemed to rush to get them out. “And me sister, she was sent to a convent. For her own safety.”

Eliza’s heart gave a lurch as she thought what that must have been like. She wanted to know more, wanted to press him for more details. But she didn’t.

Laird MacKinnon’s posture had stiffened, his shoulders and spine straight as he stared her down. Bringing all of this up, it had ruffled him. She didn’t need to know him well to be able to see that.

“I’m an orphan,” she blurted.

She hadn’t meant to say the words. She’d been casting about in her mind for something to say that would break through the hardening exterior that was falling over him. And it had been the only thing that had come to mind.

A shocked look passed across the features. Apparently, the Laird hadn’t been expecting that omission either.

She hid her embarrassment at having spoken so candidly behind another deep swig of her beer. The alcohol had fully reached her now, and she registered that she likely needed to eat more.

Ripping off another hunk of bread, she took a bite and chewed it, allowing the revelation to settle between them.

“Do ye care to provide any more detail?” he asked, and Eliza couldn’t tell if he was amused or confused by her current state.

Perhaps a little of both.

“It’s how I came to live with Marissa,” she explained, still chewing the bite of bread. “I was wanderin’ in the woods when she found me. Ran away from me village when me parents were murdered. I dinnae want to go to an orphanage. I thought I would fare better in the trees.”

“And the Witch of the Wood found you.”

He didn’t pose it as a question, but Eliza nodded anyways.

“She did,” Eliza continued. “If it wasnae for her, I’m certain I would have died out there. I was just a lass. Thought I was the smartest person in the world, until I got lost in the forest. By the time she found me…”

Her words died off. Memories of those few days she’d spent in the woods rising to her mind.

She had been so scared. By the time night had fallen on her first day in the woods, she’d known for certain that she’d made a mistake.

Eliza had tried to backtrack. But before then she had never spent much time in the forest. She didn’t know the tells of how to track. Didn’t know for certain how to retrace her steps to lead her back to her village.

She had spent three days in the woods on her own before Marissa had found her. She’d eaten nothing but a few berries that she’d only been kind of certain were safe and had gnawed on tree bark to curb the hunger.

“I’m glad she found ye,” the Laird said, breaking through the haze of Eliza’s memories.

Her eyes flicked to him, and his eyes were softer than she’d seen them. There was still a hardness to him. His mouth still drawn down at the corners in a perpetual scowl.

But he seemed to be regarding her with a bit more respect than he had since he’d first swung her onto his shoulders.

“Thank ye, Laird,” she answered, her cheeks flushing.

Was it the drink that was making her blush? Or was it the way his eyes simmered?

“Ye can call me Conall,” he advised. “Ye daenae need to keep callin’ me Laird.”

“Conall.”

It was the first time she had spoken his name, and she liked the way that it felt on her lips.

A loud, beautiful noise filled the air, drowning all thought from her mind. She whirled, finding that across the restaurant, someone had pulled out a bagpipe. A moment later, the lilting strum of a lyre filled the air, and Eliza turned to see a man two seats away strumming the instrument.

At the sound of the music, people began to stand. Almost as quickly as Eliza could blink, chairs were pushed back and tables moved to clear a space for dancing.

Women and men stood, turning each other about as their feet moved in a blur. The rhythm of the music seeped into her chest, mixing with the warmth of the beer as she watched the revelers.

An idea popped into her mind, one that she could not push down.

“We should dance!” she exclaimed, eyes finding Conall’s once more.

His scowl ticked up in one corner, pulling into a smirk. But he shook his head.

“I’ll nae be dancin’,” he said pointing to the dance floor. “But ye can dance. I’m certain there will be plenty that will want to dance with ye.”

A dare sparkled in his eyes, and Eliza felt a flare of defiance. He didn’t think she’d do it. He didn’t think that she’d rise and dance on her own. Nor did he think that she’d dance with another man right there in front of him.

The challenge in his gaze sent a thrill rushing through her.

Conall was about to find out how very, very wrong he was.