Chapter 8
Little by little, the color in Leana’s cheeks went from a soft pink to a deep red.
If this man thinks I’m just goin’ to do whatever he wants, he doesnae ken Leana Beaton very well.
Assertive as always, she turned away as she rounded the corner, leaving Kenneth to walk alone. Fortunately, a maid was just heading in her direction, so she beckoned to her.
“I need ye to take me to the surgery,” she ordered.
The maid gasped. “L-Lass?”
“Quickly, please,” Leana pressed. “I need medicine to treat the Laird.”
Her order, coupled with the fact that the Laird was involved, prompted the maid to nod once and set off at a run to get her to the surgery.
Leana heard Kenneth’s voice behind them. He sounded uncertain at first, but then he seemed to issue an order.
Again, she ignored him.
“Ye just keep goin’,” she ordered the maid, who had hesitated when she heard her master shout.
It was not long before they reached a large room where all sorts of supplies and materials were neatly arranged among bookshelves, drawers, and wooden tables.
The room was filled with a strong aroma—a mixture of the many herbs and preparations stored in there. It made Leana feel strangely at home, for her father had a room like this in the castle he served in.
She did not like to visit him there, for she tried to stay away from their Laird whenever she could. Plus, the scent of herbs and medicines clung to her father’s clothes and hands.
Not one to waste time, she began to search the drawers and bookshelves for the supplies she needed to treat Kenneth’s wound.
She packed everything into a wooden box, making a mental list as she went, and then ordered the maid to take it to Kenneth’s chambers.
“T-the Laird must be in his study,” the maid stammered nervously.
“In his study then, or wherever he is, but take me to him. I must see him at once.”
“Aye, Ma’am,” the maid replied, before turning on her heels and leading the way.
Leana mentally rehearsed the steps necessary to remove the arrow from Kenneth’s shoulder and treat the wound, hoping all the while that he would not complain too much.
But as soon as they reached his study, all her thoughts flew out the window.
“Close the door and come here,” Kenneth ordered, as soon as the maid left.
Taking a deep breath, Leana stepped further into the study. His back was turned to her, his gaze fixed on the fire.
When their eyes met, she realized that he was upset. But she didn’t care. She steeled herself, as she had so many times before, and watched as he took a step toward her.
“This will be the last time ye disobey me. Especially in front of me servants,” he warned.
“Nay,” Leana replied, lifting her chin proudly.
It was about time she made the rules clear.
Of course, her refusal only caused the silver in Kenneth’s eye to darken to the color of storm clouds.
“Are ye challengin’ me, lass?”
“It is ye who daenae ken who I am,” she countered, taking a step toward him. “But from now on, ye will treat me with respect and let me do me job as I see fit.”
“Ye cannae order me around,” Kenneth declared, his voice as hard as iron.
“When it comes to medical matters, I can, and I will. I am nae yer faithful dog, Laird MacReid.” The formality stoked his temper.
“Nor am I yer servant. I am the healer ye forced to come here to serve ye. And if ye want me to do me job well, ye will let me do it without the constant pressure of yer demands!”
The words tumbled past her lips with far more seriousness and emotion than she had intended.
For a moment, she thought that he would throw her out of the castle for her insolence, but she didn’t care. Or so she forced herself to believe.
For beyond any feelings she might have for this stubborn, headstrong man, she had a job to do, and she would do it on her own terms.
“Woman, ye are tryin’ me patience,” Kenneth gritted out.
“And what are ye goin’ to do about it? Oust me like the previous healer?” she scoffed.
She had intended to challenge him, but his lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile.
He sighed as he raised his hand and annoyingly massaged his forehead. “Probably nae. Ye’re better to me alive than dead,” he muttered. “But ye and I will have to come to an agreement, lass. Ye cannae defy or disobey me in front of me servants. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Good. Then keep it. But do it away from me.”
Leana quickly closed the distance between them, knocking into his good shoulder. The impact forced Kenneth to sit down, and he found himself staring up at her alluring figure.
The look on his face caused heat to well up inside her and coil in her belly—she felt exposed. But she kept her composure, even though it was difficult. Especially when Kenneth grabbed her wrist and pulled her a little closer to him.
“Will ye stop challengin’ me if I let ye do yer job?” he asked in a thick, rumbling voice.
“Probably nae,” Leana admitted. “But I’ll make sure I only do it when nobody’s watchin’.”
“Good. I daenae mind ye disobeyin’ me orders in private… I can always find a way to convince ye, anyway.”
His words hinted at something, something that quickened her pulse, but she refused to respond.
Yet she couldn’t help swallowing hard, feeling the heat rising to her neck and cheeks.
“I need to treat yer wound. Take off yer shirt,” she instructed.
“Is that an order?” he whispered, his one eye darkening further.
This man is challengin’ me out of pure lust…
“It is.”
“And what if I daenae obey?”
“Ye daenae ken what I’m capable of,” she warned.
“Neither do ye ken what I’m capable of.” Kenneth smirked.
He was clearly enjoying himself.
The hand still holding her wrist grew hotter by the second, making her squirm.
“Then we will have a confrontation, Laird MacReid. But I assure ye, I am nae the one who will lose if ye daenae obey.”
Keeping that smarmy, challenging smirk on his face, Kenneth began to undress from the waist up, unbuttoning his shirt with a disconcerting slowness.
Although she tried not to react, Leana grew hot. The man was as handsome as he was obnoxious, with a muscular build and lightly tanned skin from many days out in the sun.
His body was covered in scars in various stages of healing. Apart from the one on his shoulder, they all looked old, but she was curious to know the stories behind them.
“So, are ye goin’ to treat me, or are ye just goin’ to stand there and admire me?” Kenneth plopped back down into the chair.
He lowered his arms onto the armrests and tilted his head slightly, still watching her.
Leana felt her anger warring with desire.
“Och, stop. I’m just assessin’ the wound.”
“Uh-huh,” he tsked, shaking his head.
Leana was telling the truth—at least in part. She needed to know how serious the wound was, so she assessed it from all angles. Then, she carefully washed her hands and approached him again.
She stepped between his parted thighs and leaned down slightly, resting her weight on her right leg. Then, she placed her hand on his muscular chest for support.
“This will hurt,” she warned, aware that not many men could stand the pain of having an arrow removed without screaming.
“I told ye, I had worse,” Kenneth promised.
Leana grimaced, pursing her lips, but she nodded.
She gripped the arrowhead and took a deep breath before she pulled it out. Kenneth’s face contorted in pain, but it lasted only a moment. His hands flew to her waist when the momentum almost made her lose her balance, and she gasped slightly at the sensation.
The feel of his warm, large, muscular hands on her waist made her heart race even faster, but she had no time to waste, so she immediately pulled away and began to clean the wound.
As she worked, her pulse slowed until she felt she had some control over her emotions again.
“Ye brought me here to take care of yer braither?” she asked as she began suturing the wound with catgut.
“Aye,” Kenneth replied, not taking his eyes off her.
“Tell me what is wrong with him,” she murmured as she slowly moved the bone needle from one point to another.
Kenneth didn’t even seem to be bothered by it.
“Hunter was born sick. The healer gave him a short time to live, but he’s managed to live ten years,” he said proudly.
This time, his lips curled into a different smile. Sweet, fond. The first of its kind that Leana had seen from him.
“He’s yer braither, so nay wonder,” she replied.
Kenneth gave her a look she couldn’t decipher.
“Aye. But his illness hasnae let him lead a quiet life. Sometimes he’s fine for days, even weeks, and then suddenly he comes down with a fever and starts coughin’.”
“Does he suffer from anythin’ other than coughin’ fits?” Leana asked in a calm voice, trying to form a picture of the situation.
Her hands, moving slowly over the Laird's wound. After disinfecting the wound, she began to stitch it with smooth, precise stitches. She had learned to sew at a very early age, and she was able to do it with ease.
“Sometimes he has difficulty breathin’ and is very weak. There are days when he cannae even get out of bed.”
“It must be hard for him…”
“Ye have to heal him,” Kenneth insisted.
Leana sighed as she tightened the final stitch. Then, she straightened up and bandaged his shoulder, looking at him earnestly.
“I’ll do me best,” she promised.
“And ye have to do it without talkin’ to him again. I daenae want him to get close to anyone who’ll nae stay in the castle permanently,” Kenneth added.
Leana shook her head. “Nay. Remember what we talked about—me treatments, me rules. I’m goin’ to talk to Hunter as much as I need to because that’s the only way I’m goin’ to diagnose his illness.
I need to ken what he’s doin’ without yer knowledge.
Only then will I really ken what is affectin’ him and what will make him better. ”
“Isnae there another way?” Kenneth furrowed his brow.
For a moment, Leana was reminded of a petulant child.
“Nae if ye want me to cure him.”