Page 5 of A Highland Healer Captured
“Brute?” He gave a low chuckle, deep enough she must have felt it reverberate through his chest. “Ye should thank me, lass. Another minute in that direction, and the river would’ve swallowed ye whole.”
“The mare kens where to go,” she spat his words back to him.
Zander only smirked at that. There was venom in her words, and fire in her eyes. It made the blood in his body course molten hot in his veins. “Aye, as I said. But the way ye were ridin’ her, ye would have been thrown and that would have rendered ye useless to me.”
She stiffened at that. “Useless? What are ye on about?”
He guided the horse onto a higher path, out of the worst of the river’s spray. “Aye. Ye’re Skylar Dunlop. A MacLennan daughter that every crofter whispers about. The lass who can mend what priests cannae and draw fever from a bairn with naught but herbs and will. Ye’ll put those hands to use for me now.”
Her head jerked up, dripping wet hair clinging to her cheeks. “Ye dare detain me for poultices? Ye’ve lost yer damn senses.”
“And a tongue that spit venom, aye. Ye are certainly Skylar Dunlop.”
“Release me at once!”
“Nay. I’m nae interested in yer poultices.” His tone cut clean through her fury, steady and low.
That stilled her. Not entirely. He could still feel the rapid flutter of her breath against his chest, but the fight in her paused, faltered.
“Surely ye’ve heard of me.”
“Aye, I ken yer colors. Ye’re from Strathcairn. Why has yer laird sent a dog to kidnap a healer, then?”
“Dog?”
“Whoever ye are?—”
Zander’s irritation nearly boiled over instantly at her flippant reply, but he did not want to waste the moment. “I’m Zander Harrison the Laird of Strathcairn clan. Ye’ll do well to remember that in how ye address me in future.”
“Och,please!WhatLairdtreats women like this? I daenae believe ye are who ye say ye are. A true laird would have written me faither properly. Nay, he’s sent ye… just another brainless mutt?—”
“I daenae have any time for any more of yer whining! I am who I say I am, lass. That’s that!” he boomed so loudly that the lass winced slightly.
The sight of her fear of him drenched Zander’s red-hot anger just as quickly as it had come. He felt all of the sudden frigid as she assessed him warily, and he cleared his throat. “It’s for me son. He weakens by the day. Fever, fainting spells, lungs that labor like an old man’s though he is but six years old. Nay healer I’ve brought to him has managed aught but prayers and platitudes. I’ll have none of it. I’ll have him live.”
Her voice was quieter now, though sharp still. “Why did ye nae write to me faither, like anormalperson?”
“It’s me heir,” Zander corrected, jaw tight. “Me blood. I couldnae sit and do nothin’ waitin’ for a reply. So aye, I stole ye just now. I’ll steal saints from their altars if that’s what it takes to keep him alive. I have nay time, lass.”
She twisted to glare up at him, defiance rekindled even through the softening he’d glimpsed. “Ye could have asked.Shouldhave. Real men do that, ye ken. Speak plain words instead of snatching women from roads like brigands.”
“Would ye have come if I asked just then?”
Her mouth opened like she had something to fire back, then shut again. Zander caught it all. The battle in her eyes, healer against pride, neither winning. She looked away, rain dripping from her lashes.
“That’s what I thought.” His voice rumbled rougher than he meant, but truth was truth.
The lass went quiet for a beat, breathing hard. When she finally spoke, her voice was laced with frustration. “I wouldnae have said ‘nay’ for the reasons ye think.”
“Sure.”
“Ye think because ye’ve power and strength, ye can take what ye want.”
Zander leaned closer, his mouth near her ear. “Nay. I think because I have a dying son, I will do whatever is needed. Even if that means taking ye.”
She trembled against him, not from fear but fury, and every ragged breath she dragged through clenched teeth only made his own chest swell tighter. He had expected a Dunlop daughter to weep or curse him for a devil. This one burned.
“I am needed elsewhere,” she said, spitting the words like they were arrows meant to pierce his hide. “Me cousin lies fevered, waiting on me. Do ye ken what it means to steal hours from the sick?”
