Page 43 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

Freya’s fingers brushed absently over the dainty little spoon. “He was another laird’s guard. Barely more than a lad, really.” She swallowed, the image of the young man in her mind, his pale, bloodied face and the way his breath felt shallow. “I was young meself, nae much older than he was, and I just started learnin’ the healer ways.”

Cody leaned forward. “What happened to him?”

“He’d been wounded in a raid,” she explained. “A sword to the side, deep enough that another healer thought he wouldnae last the night. But I wouldnae accept that.”

Cody’s brow furrowed. “Ye saved him?”

“I tried,” she nodded. “I stitched his wound meself, though me hands were shakin’. I mixed herbs, I cooled his fever, I stayed by his side when he was too weak to even speak.” She paused for a moment, then she smiled. “And he lived.”

Cody’s smile followed immediately after. “So yedidsave him.”

“Aye,” she nodded softly. “It was then that I learned healin’ is more than just mendin’ wounds. That lad carried his pain in more ways than one. Sometimes, what a person needs most is nae just steady hands, but someone to be there, someone who truly sees them.”

Everyone went quiet for a moment, then Cody asked again. “Did ye ever see him again?”

Freya shook her head. “Nay. He went back to his life, as all men must. But I like to think that he is livin’ a good life.”

Cody seemed satisfied with the story. “I think he remembers ye fondly.”

Her smile widened. “I like to think so, too.”

That was when he remembered their morning plan. “Can we go now? I’m done!”

Freya let out a soft laugh, grateful for the distraction. “Ye’ve crumbs all over yer face, lad. Finish properly first, or ye’ll nae get to the loch at all.”

Cody groaned but obeyed, shoveling the last bites into his mouth as Abigail giggled beside him.

The sight eased some of the tightness in Freya’s chest. Whatever her worries about Michael, today wasn’t about him. It was about Cody and the chance to enjoy something light and carefree after so many weeks of fear and uncertainty.

When breakfast was done, Freya and her sisters packed a small basket with food—fresh bread, cheese, and apples—and bundled Cody up in his cloak. The boy practically dragged them out of the hall, his excitement infectious.

The morning air was crisp but bright as they made their way toward the loch, following Michael’s strict orders that if they were to go for any walks, several guards should be present. Freya’s boots crunched over the frost-tipped grass, and the wind teased strands of her hair loose from her braid.

Cody darted ahead, laughing as Abigail chased after him, while Marissa walked at Freya’s side, her arm linked through hers.

“It’s good to see him like this,” Marissa said softly. “He’s looked like a ghost these past weeks.”

Freya nodded, her eyes following Cody as he ran toward the water’s edge. “Aye. It’s a blessin’ to see him strong again.”

Marissa hesitated, then added carefully, “And what of ye? Are ye well?”

Freya stiffened, but her sister’s gaze was too kind to brush off. “I’m fine,” she said, though the words felt hollow.

Marissa arched a brow. “Fine?”

Freya swallowed hard and looked away. “I daenae ken,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought—” She shook her head. “It doesnae matter.”

Marissa squeezed her arm. “It matters if it troubles ye.”

Freya opened her mouth to respond but stopped as Cody’s laughter rang out again, echoing across the water. The sight of him chasing after Abigail, carefree and smiling, made her heart ache—and yet it also reminded her why she couldn’t let her doubts consume her.

“It’ll be fine,” she said more firmly, giving Marissa’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s enjoy the day, aye?”

Some time later, Freya sat on the blanket, her gaze fixed on Cody as he splashed happily at the shallow edge of the loch, his laughter ringing out in the crisp air. Marissa and Abigail were nearby, helping him skip stones across the water. The three of them were lost in their game, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like everything was perfect, the world outside their small circle forgotten, and only the sound of joy and the warmth of the sun mattered.

But even as she watched them, something inside Freya shifted.

The guards stood at the edges of the meadow, silent sentinels who flanked her and her sisters at every corner. They were always there, always watching.