Page 31 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

“Coward,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and laced with anger.

Whoever had fired the arrow was long gone, but their intent was clear. It hadn’t been a warning. It had been a kill shot. And Cody had been the target.

The thought sent a fresh wave of fury coursing through him. Michael’s fists clenched, his wounded arm throbbing as blood trickled down to his fingers. Whoever had dared to threaten his son would pay for it, and dearly.

But for now, there was nothing. No tracks he could follow, no sign of the assailant. Frustration burned in his chest as he turned back toward the manor, his mind already racing with plans to tighten security and uncover who was behind the attack.

As he walked, the pain in his arm became harder to ignore, but it only fueled his resolve. His son was safe for now, but this was far from over. Michael would see to it that whoever had done this would regret ever setting foot near his family.

Michael strode toward the mansion, his wounded arm pressed tightly against his side in a futile effort to stem the bleeding. The pain was sharp, but his fury burned hotter.

His boots struck the stone steps with force as he entered the house, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. The warmth of the interior wrapped around him, but it did nothing to thaw the ice in his veins. He barely noticed the smudges of blood he was leaving in his wake, his mind consumed by the attack and the questions it raised.

As he stepped into the main hall, he froze. Freya stood there, waiting for him, her face pale but determined. She rushed forward as soon as she saw him, her eyes widening at the sight of his bloodied arm.

“Michael,” she exclaimed, her voice tight with worry. “Are ye hurt badly? Let me see?—”

“I’m fine,” he cut her off, his tone harsher than he intended. He didn’t stop walking, didn’t let himself meet her gaze.

She followed him, undeterred. “Ye’re nae fine! Look at ye, bleedin’ everywhere. Let me fetch a cloth or?—”

“I said I’m fine, Freya,” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to make her falter. He regretted it immediately but couldn’t bring himself to soften.

He was too angry, too raw. That was why he used her first name, without thinking. It felt like another stab, but this time, to the heart.

“Nae, ye’re nae fine,” she snapped, her eyes blazing. “Ye’re bleedin’ all over yer precious floors, and if ye think I’m just goin’ to stand here and let ye march about like some spoiled bairn, ye’ve another thin’ comin’.”

His jaw clenched, her words hitting him harder than they should have. “This isnae yer concern,” he ground out. “Go back to yer sisters.”

But she wasn’t having it. “It is me concern! Ye dragged me here for a reason, or did ye forget that? Ye brought me here to heal. So stop actin’ like a stubborn fool and let me do me job.”

Michael stared at her, stunned into silence. Her fiery outburst wasn’t what he expected. He had been prepared for worry, for pleading, but not this fierce demand.

Her chest heaved with frustration as she continued, her voice softer but no less resolute. “Ye’re nay use to Cody—or anyone—if ye bleed out in the halls. Now come with me, Michael, and let me see to that wound.”

Something about the way she said his name sent a pang through him, her anger tinged with a concern that was entirely too earnest. His instinct was to resist, to keep her at arm’s length, but the fire in her eyes left him no room to argue.

He sighed heavily, the fight draining out of him. “Fine,” he muttered, stepping aside and lowering himself into the nearest chair. “Have at it, then.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Freya’s heart was still pounding as Michael sat down, his broad shoulders stiff with reluctance. His bleeding arm hung at his side, and though his expression remained impassive, the tension in his jaw betrayed the pain he must have been feeling.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand as she knelt beside him with the basin of water and a clean cloth. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for his arm. Being so close to him made her uneasy in more ways than she was willing to admit.

“Ye need to hold still,” she said softly. She glanced up at him, half expecting him to argue, but he merely nodded, his dark eyes fixed somewhere beyond her.

Her fingers brushed his skin as she began to clean the wound, and she felt a strange jolt at the contact. His arm was warm beneath her touch, the muscle solid and unyielding. She hadtended to wounds before—had stitched and bandaged without a second thought—but this felt… different.

She wanted to kiss where it hurt. She wanted to make him feel better in more ways than one, to show him how much she wanted him. The intimacy of their proximity caught her off guard. Her fingers worked carefully, gently wiping away the blood, but her mind kept wandering.

His scent lingered around her, drawing her in, teasing her. She wondered how tight his muscles would be with her in his arms, while she traced the lines with the tips of her fingers. Her skin erupted into gooseflesh at the very thought.

How could a man so strong, so unyielding, seem so vulnerable in this moment?

Freya’s gaze lingered on his hand, large and calloused, resting on the arm of the chair. She wondered what it would feel like to have it grab her, hold her,possessher in every way a woman could be possessed by a man.

“Does it hurt much?” she asked. The arrow had left a deep gash, but thankfully it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared.