Page 32 of The Cruel Highlander's Healer
It was an image that had pervaded many of his waking thoughts since the night it had happened. And once again, he stomped the memory down.
“Ye got it?” Eliza’s voice broke through his wandering mind, a cold balm over his now too hot skin.
Conall nodded. He mimicked her movements once again, and this time, Eliza let out a hum of approval.
“Ye just need to get it so it’s more liquid than paste,” Eliza explained.
Her pale hand came into Conall’s field of vision again as she reached past him, pointing over his shoulder to the vial resting on the side of his workstation.
“We need to be able to pour it in there,” she finished.
The scent of her filled his nostrils, sweet and cloying. He shook his head slightly, trying to banish every bit of her from his senses.
“Are ye alright?” Eliza asked, and when Conall turned to look at her, he found a quizzical look upon her face. “Ye were shakin’.”
Conall turned away from her, not wanting her to be able to read his expression and know what direction his mind had gone.
“I just caught a breeze,” he explained, the lie rising quickly to his lips. “I’ll be alright.”
He didn’t miss the way that Eliza looked around them. She looked at the sky, seeming to take in the quickly warming day. The one where there was no breeze to be found.
Thankfully, she did not comment on it as she returned her eyes to him. She nodded and then bustled away, the swish of her skirt marking her exit from his workstation.
Turning his attention back to the mortar and pestle he was working with, he ground the leaves he’d been given once more. Around and around, he swirled the pestle, pressing with varying pressures until the paste began to turn soupy.
When it had reached the right consistency, Conall poured the mixture into the vial Eliza had indicated, stoppered it, and then gave it a good, hard shake so that all the ingredients could combine.
A self-satisfied smirk tugged up the corner of his lips and he turned, holding the small vial in his hand as he strode toward the center of the town square.
In the hours that had passed, Conall and his men, Councilman Aulds, along with any of the townspeople they could muster, had worked to construct a healing area. Cots and bedrolls had been assembled in rolls, each on donning a coughing or feverish body.
Eliza flicked between the beds, and Conall couldn’t help but get lost in admiring her. There was something different about her when she tended to her patients.
There was a softening around her eyes. The tension in her face and the pursing of her lips that was usually present had melted entirely. Conall felt a stirring in his stomach as he watched her.
He cleared his throat as he approached, and Eliza’s brown eyes flicked to him. Immediately, the softness that had just been on her face left entirely. Her eyes darkened, her mouth pursed and tugged down into a scowl.
And even then, she’s radiant.
The thought ruffled him. Eliza was objectively beautiful; he’d noticed it the moment he and Eliot had walked into her cabin. But the words that had just echoed through his mind somehow felt different. More poignant.
They were more than just an observation. They had accompanied a feeling. One that stirred something within him, making his breath come short and his head feel light. And that feeling was dangerous.
I cannae think of her like that. I cannae offer her nothin’ more than a good beddin’. And I willnae soil her with me desire. I am nay lad. I can control meself.
Conall extended his hand to her, showing her the vial.
“This one is finished,” he explained, and Eliza nodded her head.
The healer’s hand darted out, plucking the vial from his.
“Thank ye,” she said, turning so that she could begin administering the tonic to those lying in the rows around them.
There was silence for a moment, filled only by the sound of the occasional cough or wheeze. Eliza flicked from bed to bed, pouring the tonic Conall had just made into a deep wooden spoon before having the ill drink from it.
He heard her speaking in low murmurs as she cared for them, the sound of her lilting, soothing voice drawing him toward her. Almost of their own accord, Conall’s feet began to move, tugged toward the healer like a moth to a flame.
As he drew closer, Eliza’s words became clearer.
