Page 7 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

He didn’t look at her, but he felt the weight of her gaze. He half-expected a comment or another sharp remark after their heated argument the night before, but she said nothing. When he finally stopped at a set of oak doors and pushed them open, he caught the subtle shift in her expression. It was surprise mingled with relief, though she, too, knew how to mask it quickly.

Michael pushed them open to reveal a cozy chamber of interconnected rooms. The main chamber was modest but warm, with a hearth already burning and a simple table set for tea. Two smaller doors on the far side opened into separate sleeping quarters, one slightly larger than the other.

“This is perfect,” one of the girls said quietly with relief.

The other one darted past them, her initial shyness replaced by curiosity. She peeked into one of the smaller rooms before rushing to the other, her excited chatter filling the space.

“Freya, look! There’s even a window seat!”

Freya smiled, and it seemed that the the tension in her shoulders eased slightly. “Thank ye,” she said, turning to the laird. “This will do nicely. I appreciate the accommodations… and the extra chamber.”

He nodded once, his gaze steady but distant. “If there’s anythin’ else ye need, let me ken. Meals will be served in the great hall.”

“Mayhap we could have the meals brought up here?” she asked, expressing an obvious preference.

“Fine,” he said indifferently. “It is of nae concern of mine where ye eat, as long as ye tend to me lad.”

Before he could step away, footsteps sounded from the hall. Michael turned just as Leighton entered the room without knocking. The man’s wiry frame and sharp, hawk-like features carried an air of authority that bordered on arrogance—a trait Michael tolerated solely because Leighton was efficient… on occasion.

“Me laird,” Leighton said, bowing slightly before his sharp eyes flicked toward the girls. “I must speak with ye at once.”

Michael turned, his expression darkening. “What is it, Leighton?”

“It’s yer son,” Leighton replied, his tone grave. “His condition has worsened. The fever grows stronger, and his breathin’ has become labored.”

The words were a blow, though Michael kept control of his reaction, burying it beneath a stoic mask. He barely noticed Freya step forward until her voice cut through the tension.

“Take me to him,” she said firmly.

Leighton’s gaze snapped to her, his brow furrowing. “And who might ye be?” he asked, his tone dripping with disdain.

“She’s the one who can help,” Michael said before Freya could respond. His voice carried an edge of finality.

Freya ignored him entirely, her focus on the laird. “We daenae have time to waste. Show me to his room.”

Michael held her eyes for a brief moment, weighing her resolve. Something in her tone, some quiet conviction, pushed him to trust her, even if the part of him accustomed to guarding his family resisted.

Without a word, he turned and led the way with quickening steps.

He didn’t look back to see if she followed. Somehow, he already knew she would.

CHAPTER FIVE

“This castle is like a labyrinth,” Abigail whispered as they all followed the laird.

Freya could only nod. She could feel Leighton’s glare boring into her back, but she didn’t care. Whatever petty quarrels or hierarchies existed here, they were irrelevant in the face of a sick child.

The moment they entered Cody’s room, Freya’s heart tightened. The boy lay pale and motionless beneath heavy blankets, his small chest rising and falling in uneven, shallow breaths. His face was flushed, beads of sweat glistening on his brow.

Freya crossed to his bedside and placed a gentle hand on his forehead. The heat radiating from his skin was alarming. “He’s burnin’ up,” she said, her tone crisp and professional. “I need a fever reducer immediately.”

Leighton, who had followed them into the room, crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ve been sparin’ with the fever remedies,” he said, his voice defensive. “Our stores of herbs are very low, and I’ve prioritized treatments where they’ll do the most good. Besides, I doubt there is enough for what ye require.”

“Ye are supposed to be healin’ me lad, and ye’re deprivin’ him of the medicine?” Michael snarled through clenched teeth.

Freya couldn’t stop herself. “Prioritized? This boy is yer laird’s son, and he’s clearly on the brink of collapse! How have ye nae prepared for this?”

Without waiting for the man to respond, she turned to Marissa and Abigail. “We’ll need feverfew, willow bark and elderflower.” Then, her next question was addressed to the laird. “Where can they find it?”