Page 10 of The Cruel Highlander's Healer
The Laird just grunted, saying nothing as he turned and strode farther into the castle. Once again, he didn’t turn to see if she followed and a spark of defiance flared within her.
The sooner ye’re able to heal them, the sooner ye can head home.
Eliza used the thought as fuel as she started following Laird MacKinnon.
She filled her mind with reassurances as they walked through the castle. She tried not to get distracted by the opulence surrounding her, but she couldn’t help it.
I’ll never understand why oneLaird needs all this space.
Eliza compared everything she saw with her life in the cottage. She had always thought that finery was wasteful, but this level was something that she simply couldn’t fathom.
The number of people that could be helped with the wealth contained within the halls that surrounded her was astounding. A bitter taste filled her mouth at the thought.
All this waste.
Rich tapestries, paintings so delicate they seemed to jump off the canvas, mounted heads of beasts – all of that and more decorated the walls. Eliza was so disgusted by all the adornment that she didn’t notice when Laird MacKinnon had stopped walking.
Eliza was in the process of staring at a beautiful painting of the countryside as she walked past it when she ran directly into a hulking, massive form. The air left her with a huff, and her steps stuttered to a stop as she glanced up into the face of the Laird.
He smirked down at her, one side of his beard ticked up in a smile.
“If ye wanted to touch me, lass, all ye had to do was ask.” His voice was laced with amusement, and Eliza began to stammer.
“Nae even in yer dreams, ye brute.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Then why havenae ye stepped away yet? Is this one of me dreams?”
It was only then that Eliza realized she was still firmly pressed against him, her hands raised and pressed against his hulking, impressive chest.
She stared at them for the briefest of moments, lost in the way his rippling muscles felt beneath her palms. Then, she shook her head, banishing the thought from her mind.
She took several rapid steps away from him, not stopping until her back touched the corridor wall behind her. The Laird watched her with amusement for a few more moments but thankfully said nothing more before turning his back to her and facing the doors.
Eliza expected him to open them, but he stood there for several seconds. Peeling herself away from the wall, she took a few tentative steps to bring herself beside him.
Peering at him sidelong, she found his brow furrowed as he stared at the doors. His expression was inscrutable, and no matter how hard she searched his face, Eliza found it impossible to read Laird’s expression.
“I had the great hall filled with cots,” he explained, his voice sounding haunted. “I thought that if I brought them here, all together, maybe it would make it easier to help. One of me maids, Kate, has been takin’ care of them. But she’s done all she could. I told her I’d find her a healer…”
Laird MacKinnon turned to glance at her, his face still painted in that expression Eliza couldn’t quite understand.
“When will I meet her?” Eliza asked, thinking it would be nice to have an extra set of hands if she was going to be tending to sick children.
“In just a few seconds, is me guess. Kennin’ her, she’s on the other side of these doors.”
He didn’t elaborate further as he reached forward, grabbing hold of the massive handle on the door and giving it a tug. It opened with a creak, and Eliza peered around his massive form into the hall beyond.
Immediately, her mouth popped open in surprise. She had envisioned many things when Laird MacKinnon had told her of the sick children as she’d tried to wrap her mind around the reality of it. But now that she was standing there, staring at cot after cot topped with a small, slumbering body, a wave of sadness rushed over her.
There are so many of them.
The thought rushed through her, flaring her need to help and causing her to take an involuntary step forward.
The stench of sickness filled the air, floating through the hall to greet them in the corridor beyond. Just as the Laird predicted, a woman flitted through the aisles of ill children.
Eliza studied her. Marissa had taught her to have impossibly high standards when it came to healing. Over the years, it had served her and her patients well. And she would hold this woman to those same standards.
She watched as the other woman dipped over a sick child, washing their brow with a wet rag. The woman murmured something to the child, and they nodded, seemingly soothed by her words.
