Page 8 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

“Leighton?” Michael shot in the man’s direction.

“The woods by the castle, there is a clearin’ to the north,” Leighton explained reluctantly.

Marissa nodded immediately, her expression determined, while Abigail hesitated for a heartbeat before giving a small, resolute nod. Freya didn’t even need to ask that question. She knew her sisters well. However, she did it so that the laird would be reassured of their herb finding capabilities as much as she herself was.

Then, another shock ensued.

“Sendin’ children—and lasses, for that matter—to gather herbs?” Leighton interjected, his voice dripping with disdain. “They’ll likely bring back weeds or poison.” He sneered, his gaze flicking over Freya with open contempt. “This is why proper healers are men. Women lack the discipline and knowledge to?—”

“Enough!” the laird snapped, his tone cutting through his words like a blade. He had caught everyone off guard, including Freya, who was already preparing a scolding retort in her mind to teach this insolent healer a lesson he would never forget. As it turned out, she didn’t need to. The laird jumped in at just the right moment.

He stepped closer, his eyes blazing. “If ye’d done yer job,Leighton, I wouldnae have had to ride to Freya’s and knock on her door in the middle of the night like some thief. Ye’re nae just incompetent; ye’re a damned liability!”

Leighton’s face flushed a mottled red, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for a retort, but the laird’s deep voice didn’t allow for any interruption. It seemed that those were words threatening to see the light of day for a very long time, and finally, that moment had come.

“I’ve had enough of yer failures, Leighton. Ye’ve been given chance after chance, and this is the last straw.”

He turned to one of the guards stationed at the door. “Escort me healer to the dungeons. He’ll spend the day there to think about his position in this castle.”

Leighton sputtered, his composure slipping entirely. “The dungeons? Me laird, ye cannae mean?—”

The laird’s expression was unyielding. Freya could see that this was not an easy decision, however it was a necessary one. The man’s voice was as sharp as a blade. “I do. Ye’ve wasted enough of me time and jeopardized me son’s life with yer incompetence.”

The guard stepped forward, grabbing Leighton’s arm without any hesitation. Freya could see the healer’s eyes darting around the room, searching for sympathy, but there was none to be found. She wondered if he deserved any.

Leighton didn’t say anything else as he was led away, but his cold, calculating eyes were glaring at Freya until the very moment the doors closed on him. That was when Freya let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The tension in the room lifted slightly, but her focus remained on the task at hand.

“Thank ye,” she said quietly to the laird, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

He was aggressive and a brute, utterly inconsiderate to other people’s feelings, and yet, he acted with regards to his own moral code, which seemed to align with her own. He protected those who were being attacked unfairly. And his protection made herskin tingle. It made heat pool from the depth of her chest, all the way down to the bottom of her stomach. A million little goosebumps erupted along her back, then as suddenly as they appeared, they vanished.

Nonsense.

She watched him nod curtly, turning to the second guard. “Ye’ll accompany her sisters to the forest. Keep them safe and help carry what they find.”

Freya crouched down in front of Abigail and Marissa, giving them each a reassuring smile. “Ye’ll be fine,” she said gently. “Ye’ve done this before, and ye’re the best foragers I ken.”

Abigail threw her arms around Freya in a quick, fierce hug before pulling back and nodding. Marissa grabbed a basket from the table, her jaw set in determination.

As the girls and the guard left, Freya turned back to Cody’s bedside. The boy’s breathing was still shallow, his face flushed with fever, but she refused to let despair take hold.

“We’ll get what ye need,” she murmured softly to him. “Ye just hold on a little longer.”

She didn’t look up, but she could feel the laird’s presence behind her, watching her every move. She didn’t care. For now, her focus was on saving his son. The rest could wait.

That was when her focus on Cody was broken by a soft knock at the door.

“Aye?” he called out.

A moment later, she turned to see a maid standing hesitantly in the doorway, her apron clutched tightly in her hands.

“Me laird,” the maid said, her voice barely above a whisper, “Councilman Ross is here. He says it’s urgent.”

The laird frowned, his jaw tightening as he looked between the maid and his son. Freya could see the conflict in his eyes—duty pulling him away, but his concern for Cody rooting him in place.

“I’ll stay with him,” Freya said softly, her voice steady.

He turned to her, his expression unreadable, but she met his gaze without flinching. “I willnae leave his side,” she assured him. “Go take care of what ye need to.”