Page 2 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

Marissa’s cheeks flushed, but there was a spark of pride in her eyes. “Aye, it is. I’ll make something of it, Freya. I ken I will. I just need someone to give me a chance.”

Freya rested a hand on her sister’s shoulder, her voice gentle. “I’ve nay doubt of that, Marissa. Ye’ve a talent I could only dream of. But daenae wear yerself out. There’s more to life than quills and parchment.”

Marissa huffed lightly but smiled, her frustration giving way to gratitude. Before she could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the back room, and Abigail burst into view.

“Freya!” the youngest cried, her small frame launching itself into Freya’s arms.

Freya staggered slightly but laughed, wrapping her arms tightly around her sister. Abigail buried her face in Freya’s skirts, clinging to her as though the world might snatch her away.

“Abigail, lass, did ye miss me?” Freya said, stroking the girl’s hair.

Abigail tilted her head back, her big brown eyes glistening. “I feel like ye’ve been gone all day! What if somethin’ happened to ye, Freya? Like—like with Mama and Da?”

Freya’s heart twisted painfully at the raw fear in her sister’s voice.

How could anyone expect me to abandon them?

She knelt down, cupping Abigail’s face in her hands. “Naything’s goin’ to happen to me, Abigail,” she said firmly. “I’ll always come back to ye. Always.”

The girl sniffled but nodded, her grip on Freya tightening for a moment longer before finally loosening. Freya kissed her forehead and guided her to sit near the hearth.

The rest of the evening unfolded in the easy rhythm of their little family. Freya cooked a simple meal, her sisters chattering around her. Marissa shared ideas for her next story, while Freya offered encouragement. Abigail, still clinging close, helped with small tasks, her laughter ringing out when Freya ruffled her hair. The sound brought a warmth to Freya’s chest that no fire could replicate.

Later, as they sat by the fire, Abigail leaned against Freya’s side, her eyelids drooping. Marissa read aloud from one of her stories, her voice animated as she brought her characters to life.

Freya glanced at her sisters, her heart swelling with both love and determination. They were her world, and no matter the challenges or sacrifices, she would ensure they had the future they deserved.

As the fire crackled and the night deepened, Freya held her sisters close.

I will protect ye, me dears, always and forever. Nay man will take me away from ye.

CHAPTER TWO

Michael paced the length of the corridor outside Cody’s chamber, his boots scuffing the stone floor with each agitated step. The air in the castle felt suffocating, the dim torchlight casting restless shadows on the walls, mirroring the storm brewing in his chest.

His jaw clenched and unclenched, the effort to keep himself composed wearing thin. Every instinct screamed at him to burst into the room, to see his son with his own eyes, but he held back, knowing he’d only be in the way.

“How long does it take to look after a bairn?” he muttered under his breath, his voice low, showing nothing but control of his own emotions.

The faint murmur of voices behind the door reached his ears, and he paused. But the thick wood muffled the healer’s words, and the uncertainty kept a tight grip on him.

His fists clenched at his sides, as he stood in place. The image of Cody’s pale face, limp in his arms, haunted him, flashing behind his eyes every time he blinked. His son’s breath had been so shallow, his small body frighteningly still.

Michael stopped suddenly, leaning heavily against the stone wall. He pressed his forehead to the cool surface, his shoulders trembling as he exhaled sharply. He was a man who had faced battles, storms, and the bitter trials of life, but none of it had prepared him for this.

The thought of losing Cody was unbearable. That boy was his world, his everything. Without him,hewas nothing.

The door suddenly creaked open. The healer, a wiry man with spectacles perched on the edge of his nose, stepped out. His expression was weary, his hands clasped nervously in front of him.

“Well?” Michael barked, his voice low but brimming with restrained fury.

The healer hesitated, glancing down as if gathering courage. “We’ve stabilized the lad. His fever’s down, and his breathing is steady.”

Michael’s breath hitched, relief threatening to loosen the tight hold he had on his emotions. But the healer’s next words wiped it away.

“Still, I cannae tell what’s ailing him, me laird. It’s nae a common illness, and?—”

Michael’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing. “Ye daenaeken?” he spat, stepping closer. His towering frame loomed over the healer, who shrank back instinctively. “Ye mean to tell me ye’re useless, then?”