Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
“We barely found anythin’,” Marissa said, holding up a small bundle of herbs as soon as they returned. Her frustration was palpable, but she handed over the carefully tied bunch. “The forest is almost bare this time of year, but we gathered what we could.”
“It’ll have to do,” Freya said, taking the bundle with a nod. “Thank ye both. Ye did well.”
Abigail wiped her hands on her cloak, her voice a mix of exhaustion and pride. “We tried, Freya. I hope it’s enough.”
Freya placed a gentle hand on Abigail’s shoulder. “It’s more than enough,” she reassured her younger sister before ushering both girls inside.
As the door closed, Freya carried the herbs to the small table by the window, laying them out carefully.
Michael and the girls hovered nearby, watching her with varying degrees of curiosity and concern.
She could feel their eyes on her as she grabbed her pestle and mortar, along with a set of small bottles from her satchel.
“Now, let’s see what we’ve got,” Freya muttered to herself, her fingers deftly separating the leaves and roots. She chose the feverfew and willow bark first, crushing them together in the mortar with rhythmic motions.
“The feverfew will help bring his temperature down, and the willow bark eases inflammation and pain. It’s basic but effective,” she explained as she was working.
She added a pinch of elderflower to the mixture, grinding it all together until it formed a coarse powder. Then, she poured a measured amount of liquid—honey and water, carefully preserved—into the mortar, mixing until it turned into a paste.
Marissa and Abigail leaned closer, their eyes wide as Freya worked with practiced precision. “It’s like magic every time,” Abigail whispered, her admiration clear.
Freya smiled faintly, but she didn’t let her focus waver. “Nae magic, just a bit of knowledge and patience.”
When the mixture was ready, she poured it into a small bowl and added warm water, stirring until it dissolved into a thin liquid. She turned to Michael, who had been watching intently, his expression unreadable.
“This should help break his fever,” Freya said, holding the bowl. “It’s mild enough for a child but effective.”
Michael nodded, stepping aside to let her sit by Cody’s bedside again. Freya took a spoon and gently coaxed the liquid into Cody’s mouth, her movements careful and deliberate. As she worked, the tension in the room seemed to ease, if only slightly.
Freya leaned back after ensuring Cody had swallowed every drop, her fingers brushing his forehead to check his temperature. “We’ll need to monitor him closely,” she said, glancing at Michael.
The laird nodded again, his eyes lingering on her for a moment. Freya turned back to her tools, already thinking ahead to the next steps, but she couldn’t shake the weight of the room’s collective hope resting on her shoulders.
“Freya is very good at what she does,” Abigail said proudly. “Ye ken, she healed me best friend once.”
“Did she now?” Michael asked, surprising everyone.
“Aye!” Abigail nodded. “Susannah was coughin’ terribly and Freya made her all better, so we could go and play by the stream again.”
“And that’s when Susannah started coughin’ again, because she cannae keep her feet out of the water,” Freya scoffed, much to the delight of the girls, who both burst into giggles.
Freya then wiped her hands on a clean cloth, her attention briefly drifting to the darkened sky outside the window.
The room was quiet except for Cody’s soft, uneven breaths.
She turned her gaze to the laird, who stood near the bed, his expression still as hard as stone.
Seeing him like that, the healer inside of her turned to him.
“Me laird,” she said gently, straightening up. “Ye’ve been on yer feet all day, and it’s grown quite late. Ye should get some rest. I’ll stay here with Cody.”
Michael’s brow furrowed as he turned to her. “I’m nae leavin’ him,” he said firmly.
Freya held his gaze, unyielding but calm. “I’m nae askin’ ye to leave the castle, just to look after yerself. Yer son needs ye healthy and strong—nae collapsin’ from hunger or fatigue. I’m sure ye havenae eaten supper, and neither have me sisters.”
At her words, Michael’s posture stiffened. He glanced at Marissa and Abigail, who were seated quietly at the edge of the room. Abigail yawned, and Marissa’s face was pale with exhaustion from their earlier trek through the forest.
Michael sighed and turned toward the door. “Laila!” he called sharply.
Moments later, the maid appeared, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. “Yes, me laird?”
“Take the girls to their chamber and make sure they’re fed,” he instructed. Then, after a moment’s pause, he added, “Bring somethin’ for the healer and me as well. I’ll eat here.”
Laila nodded quickly, her gaze darting between him and Freya. “Right away, me laird.”
Freya opened her mouth to protest, but Michael cut her off with a glance. “Ye’re nae use to Cody if ye faint from hunger,” he said curtly.
Marissa and Abigail stood, giving Freya small smiles as they followed Laila out of the room. Abigail hesitated at the door, looking back with worry in her wide eyes. Freya offered her a reassuring smile.
“I’ll see ye both in the mornin’,” Freya promised. “Get some rest.”
When the door closed, leaving her and Michael alone, Freya turned back to Cody, brushing a damp curl from his forehead.
She couldn’t quite place her feelings about the laird’s presence.
It awoke the strangest sensations inside of her.
Sometimes, she seemed to yearn for his presence, for his accidental touch, but she had to remind herself that it was all a silly notion, something that could never be.
As she prepared a fresh compress, the laird sat heavily in the chair by the bed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his temples.
“Ye daenae have to stay up all night,” she said softly. “I’ll be here if anythin’ changes.”
He shook his head, his gaze fixed on Cody. “I told ye—I’m nae leavin’ him.”
As Freya arranged the damp cloth on Cody’s forehead, her gaze flickered briefly to the laird seated by the bed.
His broad shoulders were slumped ever so slightly, betraying the weariness he refused to voice.
The flickering firelight from the hearth danced across his face, highlighting the burn scar on his left cheek.
It was not a fresh wound—its edges had softened with time—but it was striking nonetheless.
She wondered briefly where he might have gotten it.
A battle, perhaps? He seemed the type—a man who would throw himself into danger without hesitation, strong and valiant.
It was easy to imagine him in the heat of combat, wielding a sword to protect his clan.
Freya’s thoughts caught her off guard, and she mentally chastised herself. Rugged charm or not, Michael Hughes was her employer for the time being, nothing more. She had a job to do, and as soon as Cody was well, she would return to her sisters and the peaceful life they’d built.
A soft knock at the door interrupted the stillness. Freya glanced up as Laila entered, balancing a tray laden with steaming bowls, fresh bread, and slices of roasted meat. The maid avoided eye contact as she set the food down on a small table by the hearth.
“Will that be all, me laird?” Laila asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Aye,” the laird said. He didn’t look up from his place by the bed, his hand resting on Cody’s blanket.
Freya offered Laila a small smile as the maid quickly retreated, closing the door behind her. She turned to the table, the warm scents reminding her just how long it had been since she’d last eaten.
“Eat,” he said abruptly, standing and gesturing toward the food.
She hesitated for a moment, not used to being ordered around in such a manner.
But there was something about him that simply gripped her, took hold of her, filled her mind with thoughts of him and his coarse voice, only to let go a moment later, with her heart beating wildly and her cheeks lightly flushed.
Heat rose up from somewhere inside of her, spreading in the depths of her stomach.
She wanted to tell him that she was not one of his servants. She was there to help Cody, but hunger won out. She moved to the table, taking a seat and serving herself a modest portion. He joined her, settling into the opposite chair with a sigh.
The room was filled with the quiet sounds of utensils against bowls as they ate wordlessly.
Freya’s mind wandered back to Cody, his pale face and uneven breaths occupying her thoughts.
She was grateful for the meal but found it difficult to focus on anything other than the boy’s condition, all the more so because she had absolutely no idea what was wrong with him. It had never happened before.
Suddenly, it was the laird who broke the silence. “How does a young woman like ye end up becomin’ a healer?”
Freya paused, her spoon hovering over her bowl. She glanced up at him, meeting his steady gaze. The question wasn’t prying, exactly, but it still felt personal.
“Me maither,” she said finally, setting her spoon down. “She was a healer. Taught me everythin’ I ken.”
Was a healer. That was the most difficult thing to say, although so many years had already passed. People lied when they said that time healed all wounds. Some would always be left unhealed.
Almost as if he sensed her profound pain, he didn’t ask for more clarification. Instead, he offered his own.
“I wish the lad’s own maither taught him more before she left,” he said.
“Oh…” Freya said softly, wondering if it was her place to inquire more deeply.
Then, he himself continued. “There are many things a lad needs a maither for, things I cannae teach him.”
She could imagine that to be true. She could also hear the notes of regret in his voice. She wondered if he missed his late wife as much as his son missed his late mother. But she knew better than to ask.
“Ye’ve been doin’ yer best,” she said instead.
“But sometimes, is one’s best enough?” he asked, and his question caught her off guard, for it was the question she had been asking herself with her sisters. Could she ever fill the shoes of those who were not there, those who were supposed to guide and protect?
Then, she thought of the perfect answer. “It has to be, me laird.”
Her words made him smile. They finished the rest of the meal in silence, though the atmosphere between them felt slightly less tense.
Freya found herself stealing a glance at him now and then, curious despite herself.
There was something about the laird’s intensity that made it hard to look away, even when she knew she should.
About half an hour later, Freya leaned back in her chair.
She glanced toward Cody, his small chest rising and falling in a rhythm that was steady, if not entirely reassuring.
The laird sat near the bed, his large frame seeming to dwarf the simple chair he occupied.
His eyes were closed, and his face, usually so stern and controlled, appeared softer in sleep.
Freya’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than she intended. She had to admit, even grudgingly, that his devotion to his son was admirable. No matter his gruff exterior, the laird was clearly a man who would do anything for those he cared about.
Freya rested her head against the back of her chair, intending only to close her eyes for a moment. Her mind drifted despite herself, thoughts tangled between worry for Cody and the unexpected presence of his father.
Sleep stole over her before she could fight it, but one thought lingered.
Come back to us, Cody. We’re all waitin’ for ye…