Page 15 of The Cruel Highlander's Healer
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.
