Page 3 of The Cruel Highlander’s Healer (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #1)
CHAPTER THREE
“W itch?” Eliza snorted, eyes flicking between the two menaces standing on her doorstep. “Ye believe that I am the Witch of the Wood?”
Doubt crossed the faces of the two men, and they spared a moment to glance at each other. One of the fire embers gave a loud pop behind her, the only sound filling the air around them as the trespassers turned their attention back to her.
“Ye’re nae the Witch of the Wood?” One of the men, the more brutish one with a scar running down his face, asked.
His dark eyebrows were pressed firmly together, confusion in every line of his expression. She shook her head.
“Nay,” she answered with a chuckle. “If ye’ve come lookin’ for her, ye’ve found yerself the wrong woman.”
It was the other man who spoke next.
“But ye’re a healer?”
Eliza turned to regard him. He was smaller than the other one, although that was still not saying much, since the brutish man with the scar was so large she was certain he’d tower over most men.
“Why do ye want to ken?” she placed a still soapy hand on her hip, narrowing her eyes at the two men again.
The scarred-faced brute smirked. “I think that’s an aye, lassie.”
The two men shared a quick glance, but no words passed between them before they pushed past her and into her cottage beyond.
“And what do ye think ye’re doin’?” The words poured out of her as she turned and rushed after them.
They didn’t turn to look at her, not as both of them began casting wild glances around the cottage Eliza had called home since she was nine years old.
She watched as the scarred man grabbed one of her healer’s bags, opening it and prodding at some supplies.
“We think ye’re comin’ to help us,” he grunted. “So we’re helpin’ ye pack.”
He snapped the healer’s bag shut, looking around the cottage once more. Immediately, she glanced toward the window. The sun was halfway set, streaks of orange and red filling the sky as it gave way to night.
Marissa will be home soon.
The thought filled her with dread. If these men truly were looking for the Witch of the Woods, the last thing she wanted was for Marissa to come home while they were still here.
“I’ll nae be goin’ anywhere with the likes of ye,” she argued back, desperation filling her as she rushed forward.
She grabbed the healer’s bag from the large hand of the scarred man. Her action must have caught him off guard because she wrenched it out of his grip without much difficulty.
His dark eyes flashed with surprise, and she got the feeling that not many people stood up to him.
Serves him right.
He glanced at the other man, the smaller one. A silent conversation passed between the two of them in a split second before the scarred one nodded his head. Immediately, the smaller man stepped forward, his facial features softening into a mask that was almost kind.
The brute is the leader, then.
“Our bairns are sick,” he explained. “They’ve been sick for weeks. Nay healers will help us. So we came here to find the Witch of the Wood. To find ye. ”
The man said the last word almost pleadingly, and Eliza’s heart stuttered.
Sick bairns?
The thought wasn’t a comfortable one. Not as images of wee bodies filled her mind, causing her chest to ache. She’d seen enough sick wee ones in her line of work, making the desperation of the two men in front of her make a bit more sense.
People tend not to act rationally when it’s children at stake.
“I already told ye I’m nae the Witch of the Wood,” Eliza said calmly, eyes boring into the men as she stared at them pointedly.
She needed them to believe her, needed them to hear her words and to leave. She did not want to imagine how they would behave if Marissa arrived home in the middle of all this. It wasn’t hard for Eliza to picture the brutishness of these two if they were to actually find the so-called Witch of the Woods.
“The Witch of the Wood is nae here, and I cannae help ye.”
The big one stepped forward. “But ye’re a healer.”
It wasn’t a question, but she responded as if it were one anyway.
“Aye.” Eliza nodded. “But that changes nothin'. I still cannae help ye.”
A growl came from the large man’s chest, and Eliza narrowed her eyes at him. He glared at her, dark eyes narrowing, and her shoulders began to tense.
If it came down to it, she didn’t believe that she could outrun them. But Eliza knew she would try regardless.
I ken this house and these woods better than they do, though. All I need is to get far enough away to lose them and then hide until they leave.
The thought brought her a small bit of comfort as the scarred man continued to glare at her. The smaller, kinder man glanced between the two of them, a nervous expression on his face. He stepped forward, drawing Eliza’s full attention.
“Me name is Eliot,” he said, giving the brutish one a pointed glance. “This is Laird MacKinnon.”
Eliza’s eyebrows ticked up in surprise as she was introduced to the two men before them. She glanced at the large man, eyes widening in recognition.
The Beast of the MacKinnons.
The title fit the man before her. Tales of him ran deep, and she knew that many of them were true. She’d been the one to patch up plenty of men who had come to blows with the man, after all.
Laird MacKinnon glared back at her, not shrinking back behind her scrutiny. Instead, the opposite appeared to happen. As the seconds ticked by and Eliza did not look away, he somehow seemed to make himself even larger.
She watched as his chest expanded, his spine pulling straight. The muscles in his arms bulged, as did the legs that were visible beneath his kilt.
Eliza’s eyes flicked to the man’s hands, finding them balled into fists at his sides. Even at a distance, she could see that they were pockmarked with scars. One of the knuckles was raised and swollen, and all of them were darkened with bruising.
He’s likely been in a fight recently. Beast, indeed.
The thought stirred fear deep in her belly, but she did not give in to it.
“I daenae care who ye are,” she said, proud that none of her doubt had leached into her voice. “I still cannae help ye.”
“It wouldnae be for us, but for the bairns,” the Laird explained. “We’ve gone to every other healer we could, and they all said they wouldnae help us. Ye’re their last shot, lass. Without ye, the wee ones will die.”
His gaze held hers. His expression was hard, entirely unreadable. Everything in her wanted to deny him again – wanted to march him straight to the door and kick him out of her cabin onto his arse.
But images of the sick bairns she’d helped in the past filled her mind’s eye, softening her heart. They’d have died if she had not helped them, too. Slowly, she felt herself begin to soften.
Do I have it in me to punish wee ones because their Laird is a beast?
The answer that rang out within her was a loud and resounding ‘ nay ’.
Before she could open her mouth to say anything, though, the Laird let out an impatient growl. It was the only warning he gave before bringing his hulking body closer to hers.
She retreated until her back pressed into the wooden wall and she could go no further. But he matched her, step for step. Eliza shrank back further, pressing as hard as she could into the wood at her back and glared up at the man before her.
They were close. Nearly chest to chest. She could feel the oppressive heat of his body rolling off of him.
“Ye’re helpin’ us,” he said, his voice so low it seemed to rumble through her.
Small bumps of fear skittered across Eliza’s flesh, and she turned her gaze upward, looking into the Beast of the MacKinnons' face.
Nothing had changed about him, not in any way she could identify. But his brown eyes had darkened to the point of appearing black. His posture had become rigid. The way his eyes roamed over her, filled with an ice-cold rage that dared her to try to defy him, instilled a fear in her that cut down to her very bones.
I will nae be afraid in me own home.
Eliza snarled, pushing against his massive arms with all her might. She threw her body weight back and forth, wriggling between his arms, but not once did his grip lessen.
A cry of frustration tore itself from her throat as panic started bubbling inside her. She thrashed again, but his grasp on her was so strong that she might as well have been fighting against still.
“Ye’re helpin’ us,” he repeated, “the choice isnae up to ye.”
Laird MacKinnon didn’t say anything else as he hoisted her up, easy as if she was the weight of a feather and tossed her over his shoulder. Eliza fought like mad, yelling and screaming and bringing her fists down on his back. But the Beast of the MacKinnons didn’t stop. He just strode forward, carrying Eliza out of her home and away from the only safety she had ever truly known.