Page 12 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

“And that’s when Susannah started coughin’ again, because she cannae keep her feet out of the water,” Freya scoffed, much to the delight of the girls, who both burst into giggles.

Freya then wiped her hands on a clean cloth, her attention briefly drifting to the darkened sky outside the window. The room was quiet except for Cody’s soft, uneven breaths. She turned her gaze to the laird, who stood near the bed, his expression still as hard as stone. Seeing him like that, the healer inside of her turned to him.

“Me laird,” she said gently, straightening up. “Ye’ve been on yer feet all day, and it’s grown quite late. Ye should get some rest. I’ll stay here with Cody.”

Michael’s brow furrowed as he turned to her. “I’m nae leavin’ him,” he said firmly.

Freya held his gaze, unyielding but calm. “I’m nae askin’ ye to leave the castle, just to look after yerself. Yer son needs ye healthy and strong—nae collapsin’ from hunger or fatigue. I’m sure ye havenae eaten supper, and neither have me sisters.”

At her words, Michael’s posture stiffened. He glanced at Marissa and Abigail, who were seated quietly at the edge of the room. Abigail yawned, and Marissa’s face was pale with exhaustion from their earlier trek through the forest.

Michael sighed and turned toward the door. “Laila!” he called sharply.

Moments later, the maid appeared, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. “Yes, me laird?”

“Take the girls to their chamber and make sure they’re fed,” he instructed. Then, after a moment’s pause, he added, “Bring somethin’ for the healer and me as well. I’ll eat here.”

Laila nodded quickly, her gaze darting between him and Freya. “Right away, me laird.”

Freya opened her mouth to protest, but Michael cut her off with a glance. “Ye’re nae use to Cody if ye faint from hunger,” he said curtly.

Marissa and Abigail stood, giving Freya small smiles as they followed Laila out of the room. Abigail hesitated at the door, looking back with worry in her wide eyes. Freya offered her a reassuring smile.

“I’ll see ye both in the mornin’,” Freya promised. “Get some rest.”

When the door closed, leaving her and Michael alone, Freya turned back to Cody, brushing a damp curl from his forehead. She couldn’t quite place her feelings about the laird’s presence. It awoke the strangest sensations inside of her. Sometimes, she seemed to yearn for his presence, for his accidental touch, but she had to remind herself that it was all a silly notion, something that could never be.

As she prepared a fresh compress, the laird sat heavily in the chair by the bed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his temples.

“Ye daenae have to stay up all night,” she said softly. “I’ll be here if anythin’ changes.”

He shook his head, his gaze fixed on Cody. “I told ye—I’m nae leavin’ him.”

As Freya arranged the damp cloth on Cody’s forehead, her gaze flickered briefly to the laird seated by the bed. His broad shoulders were slumped ever so slightly, betraying the weariness he refused to voice. The flickering firelight from the hearth danced across his face, highlighting the burn scar on his left cheek.

It was not a fresh wound—its edges had softened with time—but it was striking nonetheless. She wondered briefly where he might have gotten it. A battle, perhaps? He seemed the type—a man who would throw himself into danger without hesitation, strong and valiant. It was easy to imagine him in the heat of combat, wielding a sword to protect his clan.

Freya’s thoughts caught her off guard, and she mentally chastised herself. Rugged charm or not, Michael Hughes was her employer for the time being, nothing more. She had a job to do, and as soon as Cody was well, she would return to her sisters and the peaceful life they’d built.

A soft knock at the door interrupted the stillness. Freya glanced up as Laila entered, balancing a tray laden with steaming bowls, fresh bread, and slices of roasted meat. The maid avoided eye contact as she set the food down on a small table by the hearth.

“Will that be all, me laird?” Laila asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Aye,” the laird said. He didn’t look up from his place by the bed, his hand resting on Cody’s blanket.

Freya offered Laila a small smile as the maid quickly retreated, closing the door behind her. She turned to the table, the warm scents reminding her just how long it had been since she’d last eaten.

“Eat,” he said abruptly, standing and gesturing toward the food.

She hesitated for a moment, not used to being ordered around in such a manner. But there was something about him that simply gripped her, took hold of her, filled her mind with thoughts of him and his coarse voice, only to let go a moment later, with her heart beating wildly and her cheeks lightly flushed. Heat rose up from somewhere inside of her, spreading in the depths of her stomach.

She wanted to tell him that she was not one of his servants. She was there to help Cody, but hunger won out. She moved to the table, taking a seat and serving herself a modest portion. He joined her, settling into the opposite chair with a sigh.

The room was filled with the quiet sounds of utensils against bowls as they ate wordlessly. Freya’s mind wandered back to Cody, his pale face and uneven breaths occupying her thoughts. She was grateful for the meal but found it difficult to focus on anything other than the boy’s condition, all the more so becauseshe had absolutely no idea what was wrong with him. It had never happened before.

Suddenly, it was the laird who broke the silence. “How does a young woman like ye end up becomin’ a healer?”

Freya paused, her spoon hovering over her bowl. She glanced up at him, meeting his steady gaze. The question wasn’t prying, exactly, but it still felt personal.