Page 22 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

She was the last person he had expected to completely disarm him in the way she did. She wore a soft, deep green gown that somehow made her look more radiant, more striking than he ever thought possible. It was simple, yet elegant, and itaccentuated her graceful figure in a way that left him feeling unexpectedly unsettled.

Freya had always been a healer, a woman of strength, but tonight, she looked... different. She looked beautiful. No—she looked extraordinary, like a nymph in the woods, utterly enchanting and magical. He suddenly felt a desire to grab her into his arms and shower her lips with deep kisses, tasting every inch of her.

She wasn’t just some woman he’d hired to tend to his son. No. She was someone else entirely in this moment.

He cursed himself for being so affected, but there was no denying the pull.

He cleared his throat, his usual gruff exterior falling back into place, but it was hard—damn hard—to keep the sharpness in his voice. His earlier coldness was a shield, one that barely held together in the face of her presence.

“Apologies for the delay,” Michael muttered curtly, his voice rougher than he intended as he waited for the end of the story, making it seem as if he had just come down.

“Yer lairdship,” both Abigail and Marissa stood up and curtsied before him, something he had come to be amused by greatly since they had arrived there.

The presence of girls was not something he was used to. Even with his wife, there was no curtsying, no sweet, gentle smiles, no deep gratitude. These girls showed all of it with only their smiles, and he thought how wonderful it was to have them around his son.

“Me laird,” Freya chose a slightly different greeting.

Me laird.He loved how she said that, so seductively, almost purring.

He sat down across from her, his eyes briefly meeting hers before she quickly looked away. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on the way his heart had skipped a beat when he saw her. Yet, no matter how gruff he tried to be, it was hard to ignore the way his body reacted when she was near.

“Da, I was just tellin’ them the story when I fell down the tree!” Cody exclaimed gleefully and evidently proud of his endeavor, which made Michael smile slightly.

“Aye, that was quite a day, lad.”

Michael took his seat, his gaze flicking between the others at the table, but his attention inevitably wandered back to her. She wasn’t looking at him directly now, but her presence seemed to fill the entire room. It was all he could do to focus on the conversation, on what was happening in front of him, rather than the woman who had so carelessly stolen his thoughts.

“Freya,” Cody chirped eagerly, his bright eyes sparkling. “What’s yer favorite color? I like blue, like the sky, but what about ye?”

Freya’s smile softened as she looked at him, her voice gentle. “I’d say green,” she replied, her tone warm and thoughtful. “Like the hills in the sprin’, when the grass is soft and the flowers bloom bright.”

“I like blue too!” Abigail piped up, her face animated. “It’s the color of the sea near our village.”

“And it’s the color of me maither’s favorite shawl,” Marissa added quietly, looking down at her lap for a moment before meeting Cody’s eyes with a soft smile.

“Maybe one day, when I’m strong enough, we could go to the sea together. Ye can show me what it looks like up close.”

Marissa’s eyes softened at the thought. “I’d like that, Cody.”

Cody’s smile widened as he looked around at the girls. “It will be the best adventure!”

Michael watched this exchange from across the table, his heart tight. How easily Cody could find joy in such simple moments, despite everything that had happened to him.

He is lucky.

Lucky to have these girls, and lucky to have Freya looking after him.

He snapped himself out of his thoughts as he realized he’d been staring, his attention lingering far too long on Freya and her gentle interactions with the children. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to refocus on the conversation at hand.

As if sensing his discomfort, Freya finally turned her head to him, her smile faltering as their eyes met briefly. He felt a flicker of something in her gaze, but it was gone before he could place it.

Marissa spoke up, breaking the silence that had stretched between them. “So, me laird, what’s yer favorite color?” she asked with a teasing grin.

Michael blinked, caught off guard by the question. He smirked, thinking about the question.

“I suppose I’d have to say black,” he replied. “It’s practical. And it doesnae stand out too much.”

“That’s borin’!” Cody exclaimed, his eyes wide. “It’s nae a happy color.”