Page 9 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a sharp nod. “If anythin’ changes, send for me immediately,” he said, his tone firm but laced with a flicker of gratitude.

“Of course,” Freya replied.

Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing behind him with a solid thud. The maid lingered for a moment,her eyes darting to Freya, but when Freya nodded, she hurried off after her laird.

Freya let out a quiet breath and pulled a chair closer to the bed. Sitting down, she reached for a cloth in the basin of cool water that had been prepared earlier, wringing it out before gently dabbing Cody’s forehead. His skin was still worryingly warm, but she noted a slight improvement in his breathing—small, but a step in the right direction.

She studied his pale face, her heart twisting at the sight of his fragile state. “Ye’re stronger than this,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Ye’ll get through it. I’ll make sure of it.”

The room was quiet except for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth and the soft sound of Cody’s breathing. Freya adjusted the blankets around him, tucking him in snugly. Her mind wandered briefly to Abigail and Marissa, praying they were safe in the forest and would return soon with the herbs.

But even as her thoughts drifted, her focus remained on the boy before her. Whatever else was happening in this castle, in this clan, none of it mattered right now. Cody was her priority.

I will nae fail ye, lad.

CHAPTER SIX

“Me laird,” Ross began, inclining his head respectfully, the moment Michael entered his office. “I trust yer son’s condition hasnae worsened?”

The man had been waiting for a while, standing stiffly by the large oak desk, his face composed but his eyes carrying a flicker of unease.

Michael crossed his arms, his patience thin. “What do ye want, Ross? I daenae have time for pleasantries.”

Ross cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable but pressing forward nonetheless. “It is precisely about yer time—and the resources of this clan—that I wished to speak. We’ve all seen how much effort and coin has been spent tryin’ to save young Cody, but…” He hesitated, then forged on, his tone as smooth as he could manage. “Perhaps it’s time to consider the future of the clan. Ye are still a young man, me laird, and—if I may befrank—it would be prudent to think of a second heir. A new wife, perhaps?—”

Michael’s jaw tightened, his expression darkening like a gathering storm. “Watch yer next words carefully, Ross,” he growled.

Ross raised his hands slightly, a gesture of false appeasement. “It is only a suggestion, me laird. The clan’s stability depends on?—”

“Depends on what?” Michael interrupted calmly. He took a step forward, his imposing figure looming over the councilman. “Depends on me abandonin’ me son? On me treatin’ him like he’s already dead?”

“Me laird, I dinnae mean?—”

“If ye dare suggest again,” Michael cut in coldly, “that I should cast aside me son, I will have ye hanged for treason. Do ye understand me?”

Ross paled, his composure faltering under the weight of Michael’s fury. “Of course, me laird. I meant nay disrespect.”

Michael took a deep, seething breath, his fists clenched at his sides. “Let me make one thing clear, Ross,” he said, his tone sharp as a blade. “For me son, I would burn this clan to the ground if that’s what it took to save him. I would march into war without hesitation. Do ye doubt me?”

I would never jeopardize me clansmen’s safety.

Ross shook his head quickly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Nay, me laird.”

“Good.” Michael’s glare lingered for a moment longer before he spun on his heel and strode out of the room.

The corridor felt too quiet as he made his way back to Cody’s chambers, but his anger refused to subside.

How dare Ross—or anyone—question me devotion to me son!? And to me clan as well?

The very idea of replacing Cody made his stomach churn with rage and disgust.

When he reached Cody’s door, he took a steadying breath, forcing the anger to the back of his mind. His son didn’t need his fury. Cody needed his strength, his presence.

Pushing the door open, Michael stepped inside, his gaze immediately falling on Freya, who sat by Cody’s bedside. Her focus was entirely on the boy, her hands moving with quiet efficiency as she adjusted the damp cloth on his forehead.

For a moment, he was caught off guard, his breath hitching in his throat. She looked… radiant. The kind of beauty that wasn’t loud or demanding but quietly stole the air from the room. Herauburn hair framed her face like a fiery halo, and her brown eyes, intent on her task, held a depth that unsettled him.

His eyes fell down to the soft mounds of her breasts, then down to her waist. Her curves flowed like the sea, and for a moment, he wanted to drown in them.