“Ye are certain she isnae a spy?” He clenched his jaw, looking from Eleanor to Fiona.
The healer seemed tired as she dipped her head and ran her fingers through her hair. “Those are fightin’ words, me Laird, and ye are nae a healthy man. Men without stitches and wounds get to ask all the questions and keep their names hidden. Now, sit.” She lifted her head and nodded toward the chair on the opposite side of the table.
As if her words had reminded him of his pain, Callum winced and lifted a hand to his ribs, gently covering the bandages.
“It is like I said, me Laird, sit,” Fiona said more firmly with a sharpness in her voice.
He muttered a profanity under his breath and did as he was told, scowling at the healer as he sat.
“Ye can bring us the tea that ye were brewin’.” The healer spoke to her, sitting back in her chair with a contented smile.
Eleanor eyed Callum suspiciously, still unsure of who he was or if he would threaten her again. She took a deep breath, sidling toward the hearth as she kept an eye on the man.
“He willnae bite ye,” Fiona chuckled under her breath, seemingly enjoying the situation.
“That depends on what she plans to do next,” Callum grumbled, making Eleanor turn away from him sharply.
What is wrong with the man?
Anger coursed through her veins as she glared at him. He was constantly grumbling instead of speaking politely.
“The tea should be strong enough, lass,” Fiona called to her.
Quickly composing herself, Eleanor took a deep breath and reached for the cloth beside the hearth, lifting the kettle from the hook above the fire. She carefully crossed the room, placing the pot on a wooden round in the center of the table.
Fiona nodded her approval and gestured to the set of cups beside the plank. “You may pour our tea. Laird Fraser here will fill ye in on who he is,” she said calmly.
He glared at the healer, but she simply shrugged. “The lass dragged ye half-dead to me door, me Laird. If she wanted ye dead, she would have left ye out there in the storm.”
Laird Fraser.
Eleanor froze with the kettle poised above the cups. Was this brute of a man truly Laird Callum Fraser? The man her brother had risked his life to warn. But if it was him, where was her brother? Her heart went cold as a single breath escaped her lips.
Please be safe.
She almost mouthed the words, but quickly shook off the feeling of dread and poured their tea. Once everyone was served, she chose the chair beside the healer and waited.
Callum spoke first, glaring at them both as he rubbed the tips of his rough fingers against his palms. “Ye have heard. I am Laird Callum Fraser, now who are ye?” He raised an eyebrow.
Feeling her heart drop to the pit of her stomach, Eleanor focused her gaze on her own cup of tea. “Me… Me brother was lookin’ into matters that he ought not to have been lookin’ into.” Her voice was stiff as she fought back her fears.
If the Laird he had been trying to protect had been in such a bloodied state, what could possibly happen to Andrew if he met the wrong men?
The Laird held her gaze as she looked up, unflinching as he waited for her to continue.
She heaved a sigh and lightly shook her head. “He was lookin’ into land deeds. Transfers that made nay sense and names that seemed to repeat themselves. He had been lookin’ into the matter for quite some time, that was until ye went missin’, me Laird.”
Something in his gaze shifted as if he understood what she was saying.
It must be him.
The pit of her stomach knotted with dread as she gulped down the bitter tea, hoping that it would help her compose herself before looking up again. “If ye are who ye say ye are, then mebrother was tryin’ to warn ye. He left a week ago when the news of yer disappearance reached us in Edinburgh.” Her fingers began to tremble slightly as her corset suddenly felt too tight.
“Ye still have nae given me yer name, lass,” he said quietly, all hints of anger and resentment gone.
“Eleanor Whitacker, me Laird. Me brother is Andrew Whitacker. We took over the family business when me father fell ill. Ye should ken his name.” She tested him, watching carefully to see if he was truly who he claimed to be. Trust was a luxury that neither of them could afford, and she was not about to take any chances just because the healer had vouched for the man.
His eyes bore into hers as he clenched his jaw. “Yer father and brother handle all of the deeds for Clan Fraser. I ken the name Whitacker very well.” He seemed almost sympathetic. “If yer brother truly was tryin’ to warn me, then he was a brave man.”
