Page 4 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

He raised his fist and knocked firmly on the wooden door. The sound echoed in the quiet night, cutting through the stillness like a sharp blade.

For a moment, there was no response. Michael stepped back slightly, his gaze shifting to the windows. Light flickered inside, faint shadows moving across the curtains.

Someone was awake.

CHAPTER THREE

“Goodness me, who could that be at this time of night?” Freya wondered, as the knock interrupted their peaceful moment by the fire.

She moved slowly, still shadowed by her previous encounter with MacTavish, her guard already up. As she opened the door a sliver, the sight of the man before her —a tall, broad figure with sharp features etched by years of hard living—made her stiffen. His dark eyes were intense, his jaw set with purpose, and his cloak, dusted with the chill of the night, suggested he’d ridden there.

There was a dark energy about him that made her pulse quicken and her cheeks flushed a poppy red. But his scar… it almost made her gasp, although she had seen enough wounds and scars to last her a lifetime. Summoning all of her composure, she swallowed heavily, refusing to acknowledge the burn mark on the man’s cheek, as her eyes stared into his.

Scarred or not, none of that mattered. To Freya, he was just another man who thought he could demand her time and attention.

“Nay,” she said curtly, and without waiting for a response, began to close the door.

His hand shot out, palm flat against the wood, stopping it from shutting entirely. Freya glared up at him, her temper flaring.

“I said, nay!” she snapped, gripping the door tighter. “I’m done with ye suitors!”

The man didn’t budge, his strength evident as he held the door firmly. “I’m nae here to court ye, lass,” he said, his voice low and edged with impatience. “I’m here because I need yer help. I need ye to come with me.”

Freya’s brows knit together, suspicion and frustration warring within her. “Do ye now?” she said coldly. “And what makes ye think I’ll just up and follow ye in the dead of night? I’ve nay time for men with demands and nay manners.”

“Listen to me,” he said sharply, leaning closer. “Me son is ill—dyin’, for all I ken—and I was told ye’re the only healer who can save him.”

His words stopped her for a moment, her chest tightening at the mention of a child. But she wasn’t so easily swayed. Perhaps he was merely endeavoring to lure her in with this talk of achild, knowing she was a healer. She had had more than enough confrontation for one day and she simply wished to be left alone.

“And ye think the way to ask for help is to bang on me door and bark orders?” she shot back, her voice rising. “I have responsibilities here. Sisters to care for. Other patients who are also ill. I’m nae some servant ye can summon with a knock.”

His jaw tightened, his frustration evident. “Do ye think I’d be here if I had any other choice? Do ye think I’d leave me boy’s side to beg for yer help unless it was desperate?”

“Desperation doesnae excuse aggression,” she snarled at him, ready to close the door, but his hand as well as the fact that they were discussing a child kept the door open.

Freya froze mid-step as the man’s voice cut through the tense silence, low and sharp as a blade.

“If ye willnae come willingly,” he said, his dark eyes boring into hers, “then I’ll drag ye to me castle by force. And I’ll keep ye there until me son is healed.”

Her grip on the door tightened, her jaw clenching as anger flared hot and bright. She turned back to face him, her green eyes blazing. Only a laird would be that aggressively self-confident to think that no repercussions would come of such an action.

“Ye’dwhat?”

His stance was unyielding, his towering frame casting a shadow over the threshold. “Ye heard me,” he growled. “I’ll do whatever it takes to save me boy. If that means takin’ ye against yer will, so be it.”

Freya’s breath hitched, a mix of fury and disbelief coursing through her. “Do ye have any idea how daft ye sound?” she snapped. “Threatenin’ a healer? And what happens if I decide nae to help once I’m at yer castle, hm? What then?”

He still didn’t back down. “Ye wouldnae allow a child to suffer, nae when ye ken that it’s a dear life to take care of.”

His words struck a nerve, though Freya wasn’t about to admit it. She crossed her arms, standing her ground even as his imposing presence loomed.

Imposin’ and utterly magnetic.

Her thoughts betrayed her, and she angrily banished them to the back of her mind.

I will never back down from an argument with a man, nae even if that man is as handsome as this brute.

“Aye, and I’m nae the kind to be bullied into anythin’, either. Do ye think this is how ye convince someone to help ye? By threatenin’ to haul them away like a sack of grain?”