Page 3 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

“Me laird, I’ve done all I can?—”

“All ye can?” Michael roared, his voice echoing down the corridor. “Ye’re a crook, a fraud! Ye dare step foot in this castle, pretendin’ to be a healer, and yet ye cannae tell me what’s wrong with me son?”

The healer stammered, attempting to defend himself, but Michael’s rage was unrelenting. His voice was like thunder as he turned to the guards stationed nearby.

“Get this charlatan out of me sight!” he ordered, pointing toward the door. “I’ll nae have him standin’ here pretendin’ to be a healer while me lad’s life hangs in the balance.”

The guards exchanged glances but obeyed, stepping forward to escort the flustered healer down the corridor. Although he was merely removed from the chamber, the man cast one last pleading look over his shoulder, but Michael’s hard gaze didn’t waver.

As the sound of footsteps faded, Michael inhaled deeply. He had had enough of incompetent people surrounding him. But now, a new problem emerged. No good healer would come to him now, not after this display. He’d have to find one himself—someone truly capable of saving his boy.

Pushing off the wall, Michael turned and entered the room. The flickering firelight illuminated the small figure on the bed, and his heart clenched at the sight. Cody lay still, his face pale but peaceful in sleep.

Michael moved quietly to the bedside and knelt down, his rough hand trembling as he reached for Cody’s. The boy’s fingers were small and delicate, a stark contrast to Michael’s calloused palm.

“Ye’re strong, lad,” he said with conviction. “Ye’ll fight this, aye? Ye’ve got me stubbornness in ye. We’ll find someone who can help. I swear it.”

Cody remained silent, his breathing steady but shallow, lost in the depths of exhausted sleep. Michael stayed there, gripping his son’s hand as though his strength alone could carry them both through this.

He lingered by Cody’s bedside for a few moments longer, watching his son’s chest rise and fall in the steady rhythm of sleep. Though relief tempered the storm within him, a deep unease lingered. His son was still sick, and time felt like an enemy he couldn’t fight.

Rising from the chair, Michael adjusted the blanket around Cody, brushing a hand lightly over the boy’s hair. “I’ll be back, lad,” he murmured. “With someone who can help.”

As he stepped out into the corridor, the fire in his chest reignited. He would leave no stone unturned, spare no effort to save his son.

A guard stationed nearby shifted nervously at the sight of him, clearly having overheard the earlier commotion. Michael’s sharp gaze landed on him, and the man straightened instinctively.

“Me laird,” the guard began hesitantly, wringing his hands, “forgive me for speakin’ out of turn, but… there might be someone who can help.”

Michael’s brows drew together, his steps slowing as he turned toward the man. “Speak plainly, then. What do ye ken?”

“There’s a healer, me laird,” the guard said, his voice earnest. “From a village nae far from here. A woman named Freya Lawson. She cured me maither when the village healer said there was naythin’ to be done. She’s skilled, me laird, and she doesnae back away from a challenge.”

Michael’s intrigue sharpened. “And ye’ve seen this healer’s work yerself?”

“Aye, me laird,” the guard replied, nodding fervently. “I owe her me maither’s life.”

Michael rubbed his chin, his mind already turning over the idea. He didn’t trust easily, but desperation left little room for doubt. “Where is this village?”

“Just a half an hour’s ride south of here, in the valley,” the guard said quickly. “The healer lives with her younger sisters. If anyone can help, it’s her.”

Michael’s decision was immediate. He clapped the guard on the shoulder, his grip firm. “Ye’ve done well to tell me. Have me horse readied. I’ll leave within the hour.”

“Yes, me laird,” the guard said, relief washing over his face as he hurried off to carry out the order.

Michael strode down the corridor toward his chambers, his jaw set in determination. Freya Lawson. He didn’t know if this healer could save his son, but he would find her. And if she truly possessed the skill the guard claimed, he would bring her back to the castle—no matter the cost.

As he prepared for the journey, Michael couldn’t shake the nagging thought that this was more than a simple errand. Something about the name, the urgency, tugged at the edges of his mind, though he couldn’t place why.

Still, there was no room for hesitation. His son needed him, and he would cross the world if it meant saving Cody’s life.

Those were his exact thoughts as he urged his horse forward. The chill of the night air bit at his face, but he barely noticed, his thoughts consumed by Cody’s pale, fragile form. Every second wasted was another moment his son remained at the mercy of whatever mysterious ailment gripped him.

As he approached the small village nestled in the valley, the air seemed to shift. Smoke curled gently from chimneys, and the faint glow of hearth fires lit the windows of modest cottages. He looked around, searching for the place he needed to find.

“There,” he muttered to himself, pulling his horse to a halt in front of a small, weathered cottage tucked at the edge of the village. The guard’s directions had been clear, and the solitary, well-kept home matched the description.

Sliding off his horse with practiced ease, Michael’s boots crunched against the gravel path as he approached. His broad shoulders were tense, his heart heavy with a mixture of hope and trepidation. If this healer, this Freya Lawson, was all his guard claimed, then perhaps there was still a chance for Cody.