Page 15 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

“I… I thought I did,” he admitted. “But now I ken better.”

She didn’t question him further and he was grateful. Instead, she focused on his son. “How did it all start?”

Michael’s jaw tightened, his gaze distant for a moment. “It all started with the headaches, which have been goin’ on for months. Nay remedies helped, and then, when the fever started, Leighton gave him remedies for that, but they dinnae work either. That’s why I had to find someone else—ye.”

Freya tilted her head, her confusion evident. “A fever reducer failin’? That’s highly unusual for a child of Cody’s age and strength. Tell me the symptoms again, please. I wish to make sure of somethin’.”

Michael let out a heavy sigh, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. “He’d been complainin’ of stomach pains on and off, but we thought it was just somethin’ he ate. Then, two days ago, he started sweatin’ and grew weak. The fever came soon after.”

Freya’s eyes widened, her expression shifting from confusion to shock. “Me laird... this doesnae sound like a simple illness. It sounds like poisonin’.”

Michael’s body stiffened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“Poison?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

Fury darkened his features as his mind raced, images of his vulnerable son and the potential treachery behind his condition flashing through his thoughts.

“Who would dare?” he asked, clenching his fists.

Freya raised her hands, her voice steady as she tried to calm him. “It’s too soon to jump to conclusions. Poisonin’ can happen unintentionally—spoiled food, contaminated water. It doesnae always mean someone’s out to harm him.”

Michael’s jaw remained tight, but he gave a short nod, reining in his anger. “And what’s the cure? Tell me what to do.”

Freya hesitated, clearly uneasy. “The good news is that most poisonin’ cases are treatable. But I’ll need specific herbs that I daenae believe are available here in the castle.”

Michael didn’t hesitate. “Then we’ll go to town and get what ye need. Now.”

Freya blinked, surprised at his decisiveness, but nodded. “I’ll write down a list, and then we can leave. Time is of the essence.”

Upon those words, he stepped back into Cody’s room. He was listening to a story that Abigail was reading, but she stopped immediately when she noticed that the laird had approached his son.

“Cody,” Michael began, his voice softer than usual as he approached the bed. “Freya and I are headin’ to the market to get somethin’ that’ll help ye feel better.”

Cody looked up, his small, hopeful smile lighting up the room in a way that made Michael’s chest tighten. “Da... can ye bring me somethin’ sweet? Like a honey biscuit?”

Michael blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His son’s request was so innocent, so normal, that it made his throat tighten. For two days, Cody had been unconscious, and days before that he had barely spoken, let alone asked for anything because he had been feelin’ so poorly. The boy’s words weren’t just a request; they were a glimmer of the lively child he used to be.

“Aye, lad,” Michael said with a faint smile, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll get ye the finest honey biscuit they’ve got.”

Cody nodded weakly, his small hand clutching the blanket. “Thank ye, Da.”

Michael placed a gentle hand on Cody’s head, smoothing back his unruly hair. “Rest now. I’ll be back soon.”

Turning away, he strode out of the room with a renewed sense of purpose. His son was asking for honey biscuits—surely, that was a sign he was getting stronger.

He moved quickly down the hallway, his boots striking the floor with determination. As he reached the guards stationed near the castle’s entrance, his voice rang with authority. “Prepare the horses. We’re ridin’ to town at once.”

The guards saluted, their movements swift as they hurried to carry out his orders. Michael stood tall, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. For the first time in days, he allowed himself a flicker of hope. Cody wanted something, and Michael would make sure his son had it—and so much more.

Whatever it takes, I’ll see me lad fully healed.

CHAPTER NINE

“Twelve shillings for this here kettle?” a woman’s voice cried out. “Why, that is robbery, I say!”

“Nay, lass, this is a fine, iron kettle, finest in all the market!” the vendor responded immediately, although the woman didn’t sound convinced.

The market was alive with movement and sound. Vendors called out from their stalls, boasting of fresh produce, finely woven fabrics, and handcrafted trinkets. The scents of freshly baked bread and roasted meat mingled with the sharp tang of herbs and spices. Children darted between the booths, their laughter blending with the murmur of haggling townsfolk.