Page 7 of The Cruel Highlander’s Healer (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

E verythin’ is too damned hot.

Eliza threw the blanket off her and rolled onto her side for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

The wind whistled by the windows, filling her chambers with an eerie sound. Its whispers became the calling of ghosts – people whom Eliza had failed to save.

A wandering breeze came through the window, causing her lantern to stutter. The shadows of her room were now transformed into reaching, grasping hands.

“Nay more from ye devils,” Eliza said, the words being spoken aloud breaking through her wandering, terrifying imagination.

She threw her legs over the side of the bed; the stone of her chambers were cold beneath her feet, and the shock helped to clear some of the frustration from her mind.

Glancing at the clock on the mantle of the unlit fireplace, she found the time to be near two in the morning.

Seems I willnae be gettin’ sleep tonight .

She couldn’t take another moment locked within the confines of her room.

Glancing at the door, Eliza sent up a quick, hurried prayer.

Please daenae let Eliot be on the other side of that door.

Stepping lightly across the stone floor, Eliza let out a sigh of relief when she pulled it open and found the corridor beyond empty.

She walked through the hallway, she found herself once again entranced by the items decorating the wall. Without thinking about it, Eliza allowed her fingertips to trail across the stone, humming slightly to herself as she did so.

“I doubt the laird even kens some of these paintings exist” she said to herself, observing everything around her.

She stopped to stare into the eyes of stuffed beasts in between her admiration of the art, wondering what their deadened eyes might have seen.

I wonder how many of ye were killed by the laird. Was it fittin’, for a Beast to end a beast?

Eliza didn’t know how long she had walked for. She was so lost in her thoughts of the art and the finery around her that time had begun to lose its meaning.

It was only when she turned a corner and a light flickering from a door left ajar that finally, her attention was taken away from the art decorating the castle walls.

She crept forward on silent feet, peering through the door's crack. A small, startled gasp escaped her when she saw what was on the other side of it.

It seemed to be a drawing room, with plush couches and chairs decorating the space. A fire crackling in the hearth on the far side of the room was immediately identifiable as the source of the light that had first grabbed her attention.

In the center of the room was a large easel, a canvas placed upon it. And while all those things were quite beautiful and worthy of attention on their own, it was the person in front of the canvas that caused her gasp of surprise.

Laird MacKinnon sat on a stool in the center of the room, broad shoulders bent as he swiped a brush across a slowly filling canvas. Even at a distance, it wasn’t hard for Eliza to make out the details of what he was creating.

It was a lovely landscape depicting a lake, children splashing within the water’s depths as they laughed. Mothers walked along the shores, dipping their toes into the water as their bairns rejoiced.

Even unfinished, the painting was beautiful. There was also something familiar in the style of it, the way that the brushstrokes danced amongst the paint nagging at the back of her mind.

He painted the art on the walls.

The thought flickered through her mind lightning quick, but now that it had planted itself within her, Eliza couldn’t shake the truth of it. She could see the similarities in some of the paintings that she’d been admiring recently, especially the landscapes that she had found so breathtaking.

Eliza took an involuntary step forward, wanting to see more of what he’d been painting. As she did, her shoulder brushed against the door, causing it to creak loudly, announcing her presence.

Laird MacKinnon didn’t turn to look at her; he didn’t even pause as he swiped his brush across the canvas. He did, however, speak to her.

“Ye might as well come in if ye’re goin’ to linger.”

Eliza considered his words for a moment, wondering if it might be better to just turn and try to find her way back to her rooms. But she didn’t want to.

Now that she had moved forward a little bit, she could see more of the room. And if she had been awestruck a moment before, it was nothing compared to what Eliza felt in that moment as she took a little bit more of it in.

The canvas the Laird was currently working on wasn’t the only one in the room. There were too many to count, all of them in various stages of finished.

The one thing they all had in common, though, was that each one was absolutely stunning in its own right.

“Who would have thought the Beast of the MacKinnons would paint so beautifully?”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken the words out loud until Laird MacKinnon responded.

“I’ve painted me whole life,” he explained, large shoulders still firmly turned away from her.

Eliza crept closer, watching from behind him as his large hands swept across the canvas with a skill and delicacy that she couldn’t quite believe he possessed.

“Before me faither passed, I used to do it all the time,” he continued, seemingly unbothered by Eliza’s nearness. “Since I became Laird, I daenae get the chance to do it as much. But it still helps calm me thoughts. So I try to do it when I can, even if the only time I can find these days is in the middle of the night.”

Eliza didn’t know what to say to that, so she decided not to say anything at all. Silence fell over them, filled only by the sound of the brush scraping across the canvas.

The scene by the lake was brought to life in an entirely different way with each carefully placed brush stroke. A quick swipe of white and yellow became a sunbeam, glinting off the lock of a bairn’s hair. A dot of red became a flower, pushing up and blooming for the first time in the spring.

“It takes a lot of talent to create somethin’ quite like that,” Eliza said, hating that she was giving the Laird a compliment for anything, even if it was true. “Ye should be proud of yerself.”

“Why did ye call me that?” The Laird’s question caught her off guard, since it didn’t seem to really belong with what she’d just said.

Quickly, Eliza raked through her mind as she tried to figure out what he’d been replying to. But she couldn’t recall calling him anything recently other than talented.

“Call ye what?” she asked, allowing her confusion to color the question.

“A beast.”

For the first time since entering the room, Laird MacKinnon stopped painting. He delicately placed the brush down on the paint palette resting across his thick thighs before turning to look at her over his shoulder.

His dark eyes held nothing. She searched his face, trying to read what he was feeling, but the Laird was betraying nothing.

“Is that nae what people call ye?” She arched an eyebrow at him, her mouth tugging up in a teasing smile.

The Laird made a sound low in his throat, but it betrayed nothing of what he thought.

Slowly, Laird MacKinnon moved the paints from his lap and placed it on a small table that sat next to him. With a sigh, he pushed himself to standing.

Eliza hadn’t realized how close she’d been standing to him as she’d peered over his shoulder. But now that he had pulled himself up to his full height, the Laird towered over her.

Dark eyes regarded her with an unreadable expression. He was close enough that she could feel the body heat rolling off of him, and his proximity sent a chill racing through her.

The Laird chuckled darkly, seeming to realize just how much his nearness was affecting her.

He took another step closer, the distance between them now minimal. If Eliza shifted so much as an inch, they would be touching.

“Aye, it is what people call me,” he continued. Disdain was leached into each and every word, though whether it was for the title or for Eliza herself, she did not know. “It would be best for ye if you daenae forget it. Daenae go creepin’ around me castle at night, puttin’ yer nose into things that arenae for ye to be meddlin’ with.”

He was so tall that Eliza had to crane her neck to look at him. Dark eyes held her gaze, and warmth pulled low in her belly.

“Damn right ye’re a beast,” she hissed, satisfied when a quick glimmer of shock flickered across his features.

It was the first true emotion he’d shown since she’d walked into the drawing room, and she wanted a moment to revel in it. This man had stolen her from her home, he had demanded that she help him, even if she didn’t want to. He had given her no idea on when, or even if, he would take her back to the only place she’d ever felt safe. She was not going to shrink away from him. Eliza would never shrink away from anyone.

“Ye kidnapped me,” she continued, the words flying from her in a rush. “Ye dinnae even give me a chance to speak for meself before throwin’ me over yer shoulder like I was yers to take.”

“Everythin’ is mine to take.”

His words had been hushed, but she felt the threat in them all the same.

“Ye’re toein’ a dangerous line, lass,” he growled as his dark eyes swept over her.

From boot to brow, they traveled, and though he did not lift a finger, she felt the weight of his gaze as it moved across her skin.

The Laird should scare her. On some logical level, she knew that. Especially when the Laird’s breaths started to come a little more quickly and he continued to glare at her. But Eliza had faced much worse than him. Try as he might, she would not be afraid of him.

“Nay,” Eliza answered, and her words were lit with a righteous indignation that she felt all the way in her soul. “I daenae care who ye are, people arenae yers to take. Ye cannae go snatchin’ people from their homes and expect them to help ye, nay matter how many sick bairns ye dangle in front of their noses.”

His eyes flashed. “So ye willnae help them then?”

Eliza didn’t answer. Instead, she held her chin high, defiance radiating from every ounce of her.

Even though she wanted to hurt him, she could not bring herself to lie. Could not bring herself to say that she wouldn’t help them. Instead, she let him draw his own conclusions.

His face flushed with rage.

“Get out,” the Laird growled, pointing toward the door.

But Eliza didn’t move.

“If ye want me to leave,” she hissed, keeping her narrowed eyes focused on the man’s face, “then take me back to me cottage.”

He snarled at her. “I cannae. Ye’ve seen the bairns. Ye’ve seen how sick they are, and ye ken that they’ll die without ye.”

“I told ye what was wrong with them,” Eliza pressed, wondering how far she could push the man before her. “Surely Kate could take over from here, if I told her what to do.”

The Laird began shaking his head, eyes still smoldering with the fury that bubbled just below the surface.

“Two weeks,” he said, taking one large step away from Eliza so he wasn’t towering over her anymore. “Ye said ye’d give me two weeks. Help them. Help Kate. If they’re healed before then, I’ll take ye home, ye have me word.”

An idea popped into Eliza’s mind, finding its way to the tip of her tongue before she could second-guess it.

“Ye want me to stay?” she asked, her eyebrow ticking up in interest. When he nodded, she pressed on. “Pay me, then.”

The words fell in the air between them, thick and heavy. Laird MacKinnon stared at her, considering what she’d just said.

Eliza’s heart began to race as he took the time to think.

If he agrees, I could change mine and Marissa’s lives entirely. I could change me patients' lives entirely. I could save so many.

A bright flicker of hope whipped through her at the thought. Immediately, images of all the things she could do with a bit of coin danced before her eyes.

They could finally fix up some of the broken or worn parts of the cottage. They could fill their medicine stores. And most importantly – they could help more people.

She stood still as a spooked deer, not wanting to let the excitement vibrating through her to show on his face. Now that the idea had planted itself in her mind, Eliza couldn’t imagine what it would be like if he said no.

“How much do ye want?” the Laird asked.

Immediately, a sum came to mind. It was a staggering amount, more than she or Marissa would ever need. For the briefest second, she thought that she should lower the request, but then another thought whispered to her.

The Beast will haggle with ye. May as well start high, so he thinks he’s gettin’ a bargain.

She named the first amount.

“It’s yers.”

Laird MacKinnon answered without hesitation, and Eliza felt the shock of those words all the way in her bones.

“Really?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking, suddenly suspicious.

“The bairns are the future of Clan MacKinnon,” the Laird explained, and a trickle of guilt washed over her. “Heal them, heal every last one of them, and it’s all yers. I will give ye the money, and I’ll take ye home. And ye’ll find yerself forever marked as a friend to me clan.”

Eliza scrutinized his face, looking for any sign that he was lying. But as she studied his face, his frustration and anger of moments before now entirely faded, she noticed something that she hadn’t before.

The skin around his eyes was tight. His lips, although partially obscured by his beard, were pursed. And the corner of his jaw ticked as he clenched and then unclenched his teeth. A vein protruded from the side of his neck, and she watched it, studying how it betrayed his racing heart.

Laird MacKinnon was not lying to her. No. She felt the truth of it deeply.

Can I do this? Can I take advantage of a man so desperate to help his people?

As soon as the thought flickered through her, her mind conjured up images of previous patients. Ones that she could not help because they couldn’t access the ingredients for a tonic they needed, or they hadn’t been able to pay one of the village healers and had arrived at Eliza and Marissa too late.

No, the Laird could more than afford to pay her. And she would be able to save more people if he did.

“Alright,” she said, chin still held high as she kept her gaze fixed up at him.

Relief at what she’d be able to accomplish with the money. Relief that she wouldn’t have to argue with him about helping the bairns. All of that and more flooded every bit of her.

She sighed. “I already told ye I’d help ye. And I daenae go back on me word.”

The Laird opened his mouth to speak, but Eliza raised her hand. She had half expected the gesture to not work. But when his mouth snapped shut, a smug satisfaction rolled through her.

He truly is a man who will do anythin’ for his clan.

“The poison that’s been used on ‘em,” Eliza explained, “I ken the tonic for it. I’ll need the things to make it. The sooner the better.”

He nodded.

“What do ye need?” he asked. “I can send out a maid in the mornin’ to the apothecary.”

Elza shook her head. “I daenae trust anyone else, and I get me herbs fresh. We’ll have to forage them from the forest.”

The Laird took a moment to consider this, then nodded.

“Aye,” he said. “We’ll get ye whatever ye need.”

There was a pregnant pause, his jaw still working back and forth as he clenched it. Eliza could sense there was more that he wanted to say, was sure there was a question lingering on the tip of his tongue. So she waited, giving him the time he needed to sort through his thoughts.

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, and asked, “How long do ye think they have?”

Eliza’s stomach plummeted, knowing that she had to answer him honestly.

“A week,” she said. “Ten days at most. If we daenae get the antidote to them within the next couple of days, though, I fear some of the damage might be too much to return from.”

The words hung in the air between them. Whatever Laird MacKinnon thought of the revelation, though, he didn’t let it show. Outside of his clenching jaw, nothing in his expression changed.

“Then we’ll have to get started at first light,” he said after a brief pause.

“First light,” she repeated, eyes still fixed on the Laird’s face.

He didn’t move, and neither did she. He’d backed away a few paces from her, but it had done nothing to quelch the heat building inside of her.

Eliza’s lips parted, a breath panting between them as she stared up at him. She could not tell if she wanted to reach up and touch him, or if she wanted to spin on her heel and run out the door.

A smirk ticked up the corner of the Laird’s mouth, but he said nothing. He pushed past her, the side of his arm brushing against her shoulder as he moved toward the door.

The Laird disappeared from sight, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the stone corridor until they became too faint to hear. And still, Eliza stood still, staring after him.

With a shaking hand, she reached up and brushed her fingertips across the spot that his arm had just touched. A spot that was tingling, like she could still feel the brief pressure of his skin against hers.

What have I gotten meself into?