Page 38 of The Cruel Highlander's Healer
She rolled her eyes. “Aye, ye’re the Laird. We all understand it. But that doesnae mean ye have to go bein’ an arse to everyone ye meet.”
“I am nay bein’ an ass,” he snarled.
She was saved from any further retort as the barmaid returned. She held a wooden tray in her hands, and as she set it on the table, Eliza’s stomach let out another loud grumble.
Two bowls were placed on the table before them, each containing a thick, hearty stew. Hunks of meat and potatoes floated in the soup, the aroma of it making her mouth water.
The girl set a chunk of cheese and half a still warm loaf of bread before them, along with their drinks.
“That’ll be all,” the Laird said before the girl got even a chance to ask if they needed anything else.
The girl let out a small yip of fear before turning on her heel and scuttling away. Eliza scowled at the man across from her once more.
“Do ye want to tell me again that ye arenae bein’ an arse?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he scoffed.
They ate in silence for a few moments, but it didn’t bother her. Not as she lifted the spoon of stew to her mouth and the flavor danced across her tongue.
Maybe it was the fact that she had barely eaten all day. But if anyone were to ask Eliza in that very moment, she would have sworn that it was the best bowl of stew she had ever eaten in her entire life.
“How old were ye, when ye went to live with the Witch of the Wood?”
The question caught Eliza off guard. Almost as much as the fact that it was spoken with no animosity. Her eyes flicked away from her bowl as she chewed another bite.
“Have ye been thinkin’ about that question since our game of chess?” she challenged, but he didn’t answer her.
The Laird was watching her. His dark eyes were still clouded, still shuttered away by whatever wall he’d constructed around himself. But there was something else lingering in the depths of his gaze. Something that Eliza had only seen in him once before – the night they spent in the library.
She hadn’t been able to identify it then. But now she thought it might be curiosity.
She chewed slowly, using the time to think of how she wanted to answer. Did she want to tell him everything? Did she want to open up to the man sitting before her? The one that seemed to bristle at any words he even perceived as a slight?
The man who had kidnapped her?
What do ye have to lose?
With a sigh, Eliza swallowed her bite. She busied herself with cutting off a piece of the bread as she answered.
“I was nine when Marissa found mi,” she explained, not looking at Laird Mackinnon.
“Is that her name then?” he asked around a bite of stew. “The Witch of the Wood is named Marissa?”
Eliza nodded, eyes dipping to look at the contents of her bowl. She swirled her spoon absentmindedly before taking a bite, watching as the carrots and potatoes danced within it.
“Is nine when ye started healin’?” he prompted.
She dipped the piece of bread she was still holding into the bowl, not looking at him.
“It’s when I began learnin’,” she explained, keeping her focus solely on her food. “But I dinnae ken enough to really do any healin’ until I was near thirteen.”
“What took so long?”
A sigh of exasperation fell from her lips. She let go of her spoon, and it clattered down into her bowl.
“What are ye so curious about?” she asked, frustration rising into her voice. “Why are ye suddenly askin’ me all of these questions? Ye could have asked ‘em the other night in the library. If ye were so curious, why did ye go stormin’ off?”
The Laird glared at her, shoulders straightening as his typical scowl returned.
“Is it a crime to ask questions?” he fired back. “Will ye be tryin’ to have me men send me to the gallows next?”
