Page 4 of The Cruel Highlander’s Healer (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #1)
CHAPTER FOUR
“P ut me down!”
Small hands beat at his back as Conall walked through the small cottage and out the door. The woman fought like a wildcat as he made his way across the porch and down the stairs, but he paid her no mind.
She pounded against his shoulder blades, hollering the whole way until he stopped before his and Eliot’s horses. He turned to glance at his man-at-arms, who stood a few paces back.
“Will ye be yellin’ at me too?” Conall asked gruffly, knowing that his plan would be the same no matter his friend’s answer.
“Nay,” Eliot answered with a shake of his head. “I think she’s doin’ enough fightin’ for the both of us.”
Conall let out a small sigh of relief, glad that at the very least he wouldn’t have to argue with Eliot while dealing with the healer.
He heaved her off his shoulder, plopping her down in front of him. Immediately she made a move like she was going to sprint away from him, but he grabbed hold of her arms and held her firmly in place.
“Now listen, lass,” he growled.
“I’m nae a lass!” she protested, still throwing her weight back and forth trying to break Conall’s grip.
“I daenae care!” he bellowed, almost losing his temper entirely.
The two horses whinnied at the sudden noise, and Conall heard Eliot curse as he fought to keep them calm. The Laird took a deep breath, trying to get his anger under control.
“Listen to me,” Conall continued, spewing the words through gritted teeth. “Ye’re comin’ with us. Ye havenae a choice. Ye’re goin’ to help us heal our bairns. That’s it. Then, ye’re free to come back to this cabin and do whatever it is the Witch of the Woods does. Give us a fortnight. If they’re nae better by then, I’ll bring ye back.”
She scoffed, turning to glare at him as she finally stopped throwing her weight around. “I’ve done told ye! I’m nae the Witch of the Woods!”
“What do ye want me to call ye, then?” Conall asked. “What’s yer name?”
Her narrowed eyes bore into him, and he was certain that if she truly was a witch she’d have set him on fire with her stare alone. She didn’t answer immediately.
A bubble of frustration welled up within him, and he wanted to shake her until she told him her name. But even he knew that would be a terrible idea.
So, he waited. Much longer than he normally would without throttling the person before him.
I should just throw her on me horse and be done with it. I daenae need to ken her name for her to help the bairns.
Right as he was about to give up and do exactly that, name be damned, her shoulders slumped as she let out a resigned sigh.
“Eliza,” she murmured, low enough that, at first, Conall barely registered the name at all.
“Eliza,” he finally repeated, more for Eliot’s benefit than his own.
She started to nod, but he didn’t care. He’d gotten what he wanted out of her.
Conall stooped down, scooping her up. He smirked as she let out another squeal of surprise when her feet left the ground.
He made quick work of swinging her onto the back of the horse. And the moment her arse hit the saddle, he climbed up behind her. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he took too long, Eliza would start fighting like a banshee again. And the sun was already about to disappear beneath the horizon, and he wanted to be done with all this and get home.
His arms came to rest on either side of her as he bent forward to grip the reins.
“Yer hands go here,” he instructed, pointing to the protruding knob of the saddle in front of her.
“I ken where to put me hands,” she argued back, slender fingers gripping tightly to the horn. “I’ve ridden a horse before.”
“I’m just tryin’ to help ye,” he grumbled.
Eliza arched an eyebrow at him. “Help me by kidnappin’ me? I daenae ken how to thank ye.”
“Watch it, lass,” Conall warned, his voice low.
Thankfully, she didn’t argue any further. But he did wonder what he’d gotten himself into as he clicked his heels lightly into the side of his stallion. Immediately, the well-trained steed began to walk forward, and Conall guided it through the woods.
If it helps save the wee ones, she could be sent by the devil himself, and it’d still be worth it.
The thought was comforting as they made their way back toward his home. The sound of the horse’s hooves clopping against the well-trodden earth was the only sound that filled the air, and he tried to focus solely on that.
Impatient, Conall clicked his heels again, guiding his horse into a steady trot. He heard Eliot do the same, but the thought of home was immediately driven out of his mind.
With the increased speed of the horse, Eliza’s body now swayed to and fro. She was pressed so firmly against him that Conall felt every tantalizing movement.
Her sweet, musky scent filled his nostrils as the tendrils of her hair floated up to dance under his nose on a breeze.
Christ, she smells as bonnie as she looks.
The thought rose in his mind completely of its own accord, and he had to stop himself from shaking his head to banish it.
A stiffening beneath his kilt drew Conall’s attention, and he shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. Flexing his thighs, he tried to push himself back, increasing the distance between them, but there was nowhere for him to go.
The rest of the ride was silent and uncomfortable. Silently, Conall sent up prayers that the woman before him couldn’t feel what was happening between his thighs.
When the castle finally came into view, the windows flickering with firelight against the now entirely darkened sky, he exhaled a sigh of relief.
Never in his life had Conall been this affected by the presence of lass. Not one that he couldn’t immediately sneak away and ravish, and definitely not one that he had just stolen out of her own home.
He exhaled a deep, steadying breath, focusing all his considerable will on softening the stiffness beneath his kilt. All the while, there was only one thought filling Conall’s mind.
Maybe the lass had actually been sent by the devil, himself, it’s the only thin’ that would explain this torture.