Page 41 of The Cruel Highlander's Healer
“And the Witch of the Wood found you.”
He didn’t pose it as a question, but Eliza nodded anyways.
“She did,” Eliza continued. “If it wasnae for her, I’m certain I would have died out there. I was just a lass. Thought I was the smartest person in the world, until I got lost in the forest. By the time she found me…”
Her words died off. Memories of those few days she’d spent in the woods rising to her mind.
She had been so scared. By the time night had fallen on her first day in the woods, she’d known for certain that she’d made a mistake.
Eliza had tried to backtrack. But before then she had never spent much time in the forest. She didn’t know the tells of how to track. Didn’t know for certain how to retrace her steps to lead her back to her village.
She had spent three days in the woods on her own before Marissa had found her. She’d eaten nothing but a few berries that she’d only been kind of certain were safe and had gnawed on tree bark to curb the hunger.
“I’m glad she found ye,” the Laird said, breaking through the haze of Eliza’s memories.
Her eyes flicked to him, and his eyes were softer than she’d seen them. There was still a hardness to him. His mouth still drawn down at the corners in a perpetual scowl.
But he seemed to be regarding her with a bit more respect than he had since he’d first swung her onto his shoulders.
“Thank ye, Laird,” she answered, her cheeks flushing.
Was it the drink that was making her blush? Or was it the way his eyes simmered?
“Ye can call me Conall,” he advised. “Ye daenae need to keep callin’ me Laird.”
“Conall.”
It was the first time she had spoken his name, and she liked the way that it felt on her lips.
A loud, beautiful noise filled the air, drowning all thought from her mind. She whirled, finding that across the restaurant, someone had pulled out a bagpipe. A moment later, the lilting strum of a lyre filled the air, and Eliza turned to see a man two seats away strumming the instrument.
At the sound of the music, people began to stand. Almost as quickly as Eliza could blink, chairs were pushed back and tables moved to clear a space for dancing.
Women and men stood, turning each other about as their feet moved in a blur. The rhythm of the music seeped into her chest, mixing with the warmth of the beer as she watched the revelers.
An idea popped into her mind, one that she could not push down.
“We should dance!” she exclaimed, eyes finding Conall’s once more.
His scowl ticked up in one corner, pulling into a smirk. But he shook his head.
“I’ll nae be dancin’,” he said pointing to the dance floor. “But ye can dance. I’m certain there will be plenty that will want to dance with ye.”
A dare sparkled in his eyes, and Eliza felt a flare of defiance. He didn’t think she’d do it. He didn’t think that she’d rise and dance on her own. Nor did he think that she’d dance with another man right there in front of him.
The challenge in his gaze sent a thrill rushing through her.
Conall was about to find out how very, very wrong he was.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
That should be ye.
The jealous, ugly thought rang through Conall’s mind, as it had many times that night as he’d watched Eliza dance. He was watching her now, half jealous and half aroused as her hips swayed.
The old man she was dancing with raised a hand to spin her, and she let out a loud cackle of a laugh. She’d been smiling all night; her face having come alive at the sound of the music.
And all Conall had been able to do was watch.
