Page 27 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

But would Freya come back for Cody alone? Or was there a chance, a dangerous treacherous hope, that she might also come back for him?

“Get some rest, Cody,” he said standing up from the chair. “Daenae trouble yerself with things that arenae here yet.”

Cody nodded, and his eyes were already heavy with exhaustion, but at least his expression was lighter, more at ease. As Michael reached the corridor, he paused, casting one last glance back at his son. Freya had done so much more than just tend to Cody’s body. She had tended to his spirit, bringing life back into him, making him laugh and hope again.

Michael pressed his lips into a thin, barely visible line. He would see this through for Cody’s sake. And when Freya left, as she must, he would let her go.

But the thought of the castle without her felt colder than he dared to admit.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It’s ridiculous, really. A grown woman, hesitatin’ like a bairn caught in mischief.

But Freya couldn’t help it. She stood before the heavy oak door, her hand hovering near the brass knocker. Her heart raced in her chest, not from fear exactly, but from the tension coiled in her ever since she’d resolved to speak with him.

The memory of their kiss lingered, unbidden and unwanted. She could still feel the heat of his lips on hers, the strength of his hands as they’d steadied her. And now, here she was, about to ask him for a favor while pretending that none of it had ever happened.

Ye’ve nay choice, Freya.This is for Marissa.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and knocked.

“Come in,” came the laird’s deep voice from within, calm but commanding.

Freya pushed the door open and stepped inside, the scent of leather and aged wood enveloping her. Michael was seated behind his desk, quill in hand, his brow furrowed over some document. Immediately, her mind conjured up images of his hands on her body, his lips on her own lips, igniting a fire inside of her she knew she would never be able to extinguish.

When he looked up and saw her, his expression flickered.

“Ah, Freya,” he said smoothly, setting the quill aside. “This is unexpected. What brings ye here?”

Freya swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She’d thought she was prepared for this, but standing before him now, all her composure seemed to slip away. His dark eyes, steady and piercing, seemed to see far too much. The firelight played over his face, accentuating the strong line of his jaw and the faint shadow of stubble. He looked so effortlessly powerful, so utterly handsome, it made her chest tighten.

She dropped her gaze, focusing on the edge of his desk instead of his face. “Yer Lairdship, I… I’ve come to ask a favor.”

He leaned back slightly, folding his arms across his chest. The movement only emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the strength hinted at beneath his finely tailored clothes. Freya’s cheeks burned, and she hated herself for noticing.

“A favor, is it?” he said, his tone curiously mischievous. “Do go on, then.”

“It’s nae for me,” she began, clasping her hands in front of her to keep them from fidgeting. “It’s for Marissa. She’s written a book, a novel. And she—well,we—were hopin’ ye might be able to help her get it published.”

The laird’s brow lifted slightly. “A novel? That’s nae a small feat.”

“She’s worked so hard on it,” Freya said, her voice softening. “It means a great deal to her, but she kens it’ll be near impossible to find a publisher, bein’ a woman. She thought, perhaps, ye might… have connections.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze again, though the intensity of his eyes made her stomach flutter. He studied her for a moment, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Did he see the faint tremor in her hands? Could he sense the turmoil roiling beneath her calm façade?

“I’ll read it,” he said finally, his voice steady. “If it’s any good, I’ll see to it that it gets published.”

Relief washed over her, momentarily pushing aside her unease. “Thank ye,” she said earnestly, her heart full of gratitude.

“Iwillread it, but under one condition,” he suddenly added.

“A condition?” she echoed.

“Well, two, really,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh, two now?” she asked, pretending to be shocked. “That is very bold of ye, me laird.”

“What can I say? I am a bold man,” he pretended to shrug indifferently. He walked over to her then, closing the distance between them. “The first condition is that ye daenae call meme lairdanymore. Michael is fine.”