Page 25 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

A flicker of something akin to amusement passed over his face. “Some books daenae ask for permission to be read. They demand it.”

She dared one more question. “And that one? Did it demand ye to read it?”

This time, he grinned. “Perhaps… but daenae ask me if I enjoyed it.”

He was still grinning when he lowered his gaze and focused on his books once more. His lips would occasionally move, as if he were reading silently to himself. That kiss had set something ablaze within her, something she hadn’t even realized was there. It made her want—not just him, but the way he’d made her feel.

Alive. Seen. Desired.

And all of it was a path to no return.

Suddenly, a knock on the door sounded and after being called in, Michael was urged by one of the guards to come to the stables. Michael sighed, nodding.

“It would seem that ye will be left to read in peace, after all,” he said, although now, that was the last thing she wanted.

Freya was just starting to force her thoughts back to the book in her lap when she heard the faint creak of the library door. She looked up, surprised to see Marissa step into the room this time.

Marissa’s expression was unusually serious, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Freya sat straighter, setting her book aside. “Marissa,” she said, softening her tone. “What is it, love? Why are ye nae sleepin’?”

Marissa stepped closer, pausing near Freya’s chair. “Can I talk to ye?” she asked, her voice soft but serious.

Freya smiled warmly, patting the seat next to her. “Of course ye can. Ye’ve always got me ear, lass.”

Marissa hesitated, then sat down, smoothing her skirts nervously. Freya waited patiently, sensing her sister was working up to something important.

Finally, Marissa took a deep breath and said, “I’ve finished me book.”

Freya blinked in surprise. “Ye have?”

“Aye,” Marissa replied, nodding quickly. “It’s a novel—a story I’ve been writin’ for a while now. And I want to have it published.”

Freya’s heart swelled with pride for her sister’s ambition, but a familiar unease settled over her as well. She reached out and took Marissa’s hands gently.

“That’s a wonderful accomplishment, Marissa,” Freya said, her tone apologetic. “But ye ken it’ll nae be easy, aye? Publishers will nae take kindly to a woman’s name on a book.”

Marissa’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she nodded, her determination unwavering. “I ken that, and that’s why I need yer help.”

Freya tilted her head, concern flickering in her chest. “What kind of help are ye askin’ for?”

Marissa looked Freya squarely in the eye. “I want ye to ask the laird if he can help me. Ye ken he’s got connections—he might be able to see it published.”

Freya froze. The last thing she wanted to do was ask him for a favor, which she doubted she would ever be able to pay back. “Marissa…”

“Please, Freya,” Marissa interrupted, her tone urgent. “I’ve nay one else to ask, and ye ken fine well he’d listen to ye.”

Freya sighed, her shoulders sinking under the weight of the request. She couldn’t say no, not when Marissa’s voice held such a mixture of hope and desperation. And she knew how hard Marissa had been working on her stories.

“All right,” Freya said reluctantly. “I’ll ask him, but daenae get yer hopes too high, lass. Even with his help, it’s nae a sure thing.”

Marissa’s face lit up, her relief evident. “Thank ye, Freya. Truly.”

Freya managed a small smile, but unease curled in her chest. She’d made a promise to her sister, but the thought of turning to Michael for such a favor unsettled her deeply.

“Well then, off to bed with ye,” Freya urged, and her sister kissed her tenderly on the cheek in response.

“Goodnight, Freya,” Marissa bid her, then disappeared down the corridor.

Freya inhaled deeply closing the book. There would obviously be no more reading this evening.