Page 29 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

“Ye’ve done well, Marissa,” he said, taking the manuscript gently from her. His fingers brushed hers for a moment, and he gave her a reassuring look. “I’ll read through it and let ye ken what I think. If it’s as good as I hope it is, I’ll make sure it gets published.”

Her face lit up, her lips parting as if she wanted to say more, but she simply nodded eagerly. “Thank ye, me laird. Truly.”

Michael’s heart warmed a little. Though he was always more serious with the adults in his life, he found himself willing to indulge her excitement. She was just a child, after all, trying to make something of herself in a world that often didn’t give her a chance.

“Ye daenae need to thank me,” he said gently, his tone softer than usual. “I’ll do what I can for ye. Now, go on and enjoy the rest of yer day. I’ll see to this as soon as I can.”

Marissa’s smile stretched even wider, her eyes sparkling with hope. “I will, I will! Thank ye again!”

As she hurried from the room, practically floating on air, Michael glanced down at the manuscript in his hands, his mind already shifting to the words within. But it wasn’t just the story he was interested in. The look of gratitude on Marissa’s facehad unsettled him in a way he wasn’t used to. He wasn’t one to indulge in sentimentality, but there was something disarming about the way the young woman had trusted him with her dreams.

Michael leaned back in his chair, the thick manuscript resting on the desk before him. The quiet of the study enveloped him, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the hearth. He hadn’t intended to start reading right away, but curiosity, as well as Marissa’s earnest hope, had compelled him to crack it open.

The first pages drew him in with surprising ease. Marissa had a way with words, her descriptions vivid and her characters full of life. But as he delved deeper, the story began to twist in ways that made his jaw tighten.

He read aloud, the words falling from his lips almost incredulously:

“He was a shadow upon her life, always watchin’, always waitin’. She could nae trust him, for she kent too well the monster that lay behind his eyes.”

Michael’s brow furrowed, the words striking an uneasy chord within him. He skimmed the next few lines, his gaze narrowing.

“She longed to escape him, even as she found herself drawn to the power he wielded, the unyieldin’ strength that both terrified and captivated her.”

He set the manuscript down for a moment, his fingers drumming against the desk. The parallels were impossible to ignore. Themonsterin Marissa’s story bore an unsettling resemblance to himself—the laird, a commanding figure who loomed large and unapproachable. He seemed aloof in the beginning of the story, but as he delved deeper, the resemblance became more apparent.

And the woman… The woman reminded him far too much of Freya.

He picked up the manuscript again, flipping forward to another passage. His voice was lower now, rough with emotion he couldn’t quite contain.

“He thought himself untouchable, a man of stone. But she saw the cracks in his armor, the humanity he hid from the world. Yet she kent, even if she reached for him, she could never break through the darkness that consumed him.”

Michael’s hand tightened on the page, his knuckles whitening.

Is this how the girls see me? As a creature to be feared, someone cold and unfeelin’?

The idea stung more than he cared to admit. He thought back to her hesitation outside his study earlier that day, the way she’d avoided his eyes when she’d spoken. Had she been afraid of him, or merely wary of his power?

He pushed the manuscript away and stood abruptly, pacing the length of the study. His chest felt tight, the words from the page still echoing in his mind.

A monster.

He’d never cared much for what others thought of him. His role as laird demanded strength, demanded he be decisive and unyielding. But the thought that Freya—of all people—might see him that way stirred something raw and unfamiliar within him.

“She doesnae ken me,” he muttered under his breath, his brogue thickening with his frustration. “Nae really. Nae what I’ve sacrificed or why I am as I am.”

Yet, the nagging doubt remained. What if she did see him as the story described, a man consumed by his own darkness, incapable of anything beyond control and command?

Michael’s gaze drifted back to the manuscript, its pages waiting silently on the desk. He clenched his jaw, determined to read it to the end, to see if there was more to this tale that mirrored his life too closely for comfort.

Still, the question lingered, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. Was Marissa’s story merely fiction, or had Freya’s opinions of him bled into its pages?

For the first time in years, Michael felt the faintest pang of uncertainty—and he hated it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Watch out, Cody, I’m comin’ to catch ye!” Abigail squealed in delight, as she and her sister flitted about the garden like carefree birds, their bright shawls catching the light as they darted from one game to another.

“Nay, ye will nae!” Cody shouted as he was running away from them, his laughter mingling with theirs. The sight filled Freya with quiet relief.