Page 20 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

What had just happened?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Why cannae I focus?” Michael mused to himself, but he already knew the answer.

He sat at his desk, his fingers idly tracing the surface of the wood, though his mind was far from the paperwork before him. His thoughts kept drifting back to the events of the past few days—especially the moment with Freya in the alley. Her touch, her scent, the fire in her eyes; it haunted him even now, and he couldn’t shake the pull he felt toward her.

But there was no time for that now. He had responsibilities, his son’s health to worry about, and the turmoil brewing within him would have to wait.

The soft knock on the door broke his reverie, and Laila, the maid, stepped in. She held a small tray with a pot of tea, a few vials, and a scroll of parchment. Her face was calm, but there was a hint of hesitation in her movements, as if she knew just how much the laird was dealing with.

“Me laird, I bring ye updates on young Master Cody,” she said softly, setting the tray down on the edge of his desk. “The fever has nae returned, and his strength is slowly comin’ back to him. Though he is still weak, he is improvin’.”

Michael nodded, his chest tightening with a mixture of relief and concern. His son was his world, and seeing him recover, even if slowly, was the greatest comfort he could ask for. But at the same time, that meant that Freya would be leaving soon, and he wasn’t certain that he was ready to let her go. Not yet.

“Thank ye, Laila,” he said, his voice gruff but genuine. He pushed the papers aside, his focus shifting entirely to the matter at hand. “Have the sisters been with him today? Freya?”

“Indeed, me laird,” Laila responded, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “She’s been there with him the entire mornin’. The girls adore him, and he seems to enjoy their company. They all seem to get along well.”

Michael’s heart swelled with an emotion he wasn’t sure he could name, but the brief flare of warmth was quickly extinguished by the reality of his situation. He couldn’t afford to let himself become too attached, not when his son’s health was still uncertain. Still, it was good to hear that Cody had found some comfort in the company of Freya and her sisters.

“Good,” he murmured, his thoughts racing. “That will be all.”

“Of course, me laird,” she said with a curtsy, closing the door behind her.

Leaving him alone with his thoughts, Michael was reminded how it had been exactly three days since the kiss. Three days of confusion, of trying to focus on his duties, but his mind constantly returned to that moment in the alley. The way her lips had felt against his, the way her body had softened into his arms. The heat, the rawness of it, still clung to him like a shadow, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that things had shifted irreparably between them.

That was probably why Freya had been avoiding him ever since. She had slipped away from his gaze at every turn, retreating into the corners of the castle or out into the garden when he was near. She hadn’t said a word about the kiss, nor had he. It was as though neither of them acknowledged what had happened, but the tension between them crackled in the air every time they were in the same room.

He inhaled deeply, getting up. He headed out of the room and down the hall, wanting to check on his son. When he reached Cody’s room, he found Freya sitting by the boy’s side, her soft voice murmuring soothingly as she worked to calm him. The sight of her, her auburn hair catching the light, her eyes full of care for his son, pulled something tight in his chest.

But as soon as she noticed him standing in the doorway, she immediately stood up, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the sheets.

“I—I’ll just leave ye two for a moment,” she stammered, looking anywhere but at him. “I need to... fetch some more herbs from the garden.”

Michael’s heart sank. The distance between them was becoming unbearable. She was avoiding him, and it was clear that she had her reasons. He could feel the withdrawal in her every movement, every glance. Her unease was palpable, and the unspoken tension between them filled the room. He didn’t want that to torment her for the rest of her time under his roof. He blamed himself for his lack of control.

“Freya,” he said, his voice low and steady, but with an edge of frustration. She paused, but didn’t turn around, her back still to him as she busied herself with the excuse.

“We need to talk,” he pressed, but her shoulders stiffened at the words.

“There’s naythin’ to talk about,” she answered quickly, almost too quickly, and her voice was strained, as though she were convincing herself more than him.

Michael clenched his jaw. It stung. He knew that it wasn’t just the kiss that had unsettled her. There was something deeper, something buried in her past that made her recoil from him. He had never been a man to push, but something about the way she avoided him, the way she refused to acknowledge what had happened, gnawed at him.

“I’d say there is,” he urged, the laird in him refusing to bow down.

“Some things are better left unsaid,” she replied, her chin raising slightly upward in defiance.

She probably thought him the sort of laird who simply took whatever caught his fancy, without asking. The thought burned inside of him.

“Freya, I daenae wish ye to think?—”

“I daenae think at all, me laird,” she cut him off hastily. “I am nae here to think, but to nurture and heal, and that is what I am doin’. If ye’ll excuse me.”

Before he could respond, she was gone, slipping out the door as if to erase the last few moments from existence.

Michael stood there for a long moment, watching the empty doorway where she had just stood. Her absence felt like a weight in his chest. He had been the one to initiate that kiss, the one who had crossed that line. He was the one who had let his guard down, even if just for a moment.