Page 44 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

Unexpectedly, Cody approached them. He stood before one of the men, who was broad-shouldered and clad in dark leather.

“Do ye ever get scared?” she heard Cody ask.

As it did her before, the question took the man by surprise as well. The man chuckled first, then replied. “Aye, lad. Any man who says he doesnae is either a liar or a fool.”

She liked that answer and she continued to listen intently.

Cody on the other hand, didn’t seem all that satisfied with it and needed more clarification. “But ye fight anyway?”

“Aye,” the guard nodded, lowering himself to the boy’s level. “Because bravery is just fear that doesnae get the last word.”

She had to admit that she liked that even more. Even Cody was satisfied this time. He nodded, then ran back to the girls.

In that moment, a realization hit her like a weight she couldn’t shake.

This is nae real. None of this is.

She had fooled herself, believing that someone like Michael, the laird of the clan, could see her as more than just a passing distraction, a fleeting moment of warmth in the cold solitude of his responsibilities. She had dared to think he might want her by his side, that the stolen kisses, the quiet moments in the dark, might somehow lead to something more.

But no. He had never promised her anything. He had never given her any reason to believe she could be more than a brief indulgence for a man weighed down by his duties.

Her chest tightened with the truth, and though the loch sparkled in the sunlight and the sound of her sisters’ laughter was sweet in the distance, Freya felt a coldness settle in her bones.

She had been living in a fantasy. A fleeting, beautiful fantasy.

She had allowed herself to believe in something that wasn’t meant for her. The guards, the estate, the careful distanceMichael kept—it was all a reminder of what her place was in this world. She wasn’t the kind of woman a laird would choose to marry, not when there were so many others who could give him more: status, alliances, children who would be born to rule alongside him.

Her heart clenched at the thought.

She had always known her time here wouldn’t last forever. That’s what she told herself. But she had convinced herself, even so, that she could belong… at least for a little while.

But now, looking around at the guards standing in their silent formation, Freya knew it was time to return to reality.

She couldn’t keep living this dream.

A quiet voice in her mind whispered that she should be grateful for the time she had, for the warmth of Michael’s touch, for the rare moments of tenderness he’d shown her. But another part of her, one that was tired of pretending, knew the truth: the laird was not for her.

The fantasy, like the fading light of day, would soon be gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Why have ye been avoidin’ me today?”

Michael had to admit that wasn’t the sort of question he expected from her when she opened the door to his study. However, he should have known that Freya was no fool, that she would notice his mixed feelings. She would notice how he left the room before she awoke, how he barely met her eyes when they crossed paths in the halls.

Yes, he spoke when spoken to, being the ever proper laird that he was, but the warmth from the night before was gone, replaced by something colder and distant.

“Are ye plannin’ on ignorin’ me forever, then?” she demanded.

That would hardly be possible.

His jaw tightened. “I’m nae ignorin’ ye.”

She scoffed. “Aye? That’s rich, considerin’ ye cannae even look at me.”

He did look at her then, and it was a mistake. Because all he could see was the way she had looked at him the previous night. He could see her flushed cheeks. He could hear her moans and breathless breathing. She could feel her need while she spoke his name like a prayer.

And yet…