Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Who are ye?” A soft, curious voice pulled Freya from her slumber.
Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she was disoriented by her surroundings—the small, sparsely decorated chamber, the lingering scent of herbs, and the warmth of the morning sun filtering through the window. Then she remembered.
Cody. The laird. The desperate night before.
Turning her head, she saw Cody sitting up slightly in his bed, his wide, pale blue eyes fixed on her. His cheeks still carried the pallor of illness, but his fever had broken, leaving his skin cool and faintly flushed. Relief flooded through her chest like a tide.
“Good mornin’, Cody,” she said softly, offering him a reassuring smile. “I’m Freya, a healer. I’m here to help ye get better.”
Cody’s gaze flickered to her cautiously, but he didn’t recoil. Instead, he reached a small hand to touch the edge of the blanket, his fingers toying with it nervously.
“Where’s me da?” he asked in a small voice.
Freya leaned forward, her voice gentle. “He’s right here, lad. Sleepin’ just over there.” She glanced toward the laird, slumped in the chair near the bed, his arms crossed and his head tilted awkwardly.
Freya hesitated for a moment before deciding to wake him. “Laird McEwan,” she called softly at first, then more firmly. “Laird McEwan!”
He jolted upright, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword at his belt, though there was none. His dark eyes snapped open, darting around the room before landing on Cody.
“Da,” Cody whispered, his voice weak but steady.
The laird was on his feet in an instant, striding to the bed and dropping to his knees beside it. “Cody,” he murmured, his hands cradling his son’s small face. “Ye’re awake.”
Cody gave him a faint smile, his fingers brushing against his father’s larger hand. “Aye, Da.”
The laird pulled him into a fierce yet careful embrace, his broad shoulders trembling ever so slightly. Freya looked away, giving them a moment of privacy, though the tender scene tugged at something deep inside her.
The laird’s voice, gruff with emotion, broke the silence. “Thank God,” he whispered, his hand stroking his son’s hair. “Thank God.”
Freya allowed herself a small smile as she watched from the corner of her eye. This was why she did what she did—to see moments like this, where fear gave way to hope. Still, Cody wasn’t out of danger yet.
Cody looked up at his father with hopeful eyes, his voice small but eager. “Da, can we go for a walk? Just to the courtyard?”
His father’s immediate smile betrayed his intent to agree without hesitation. “Of course, lad—”
Freya stepped forward, her tone gentle but firm.
“Laird McEwan, if I may?” Her eyes met his, and though her voice was calm, it carried a quiet authority.
“Cody’s fever may have broken, but he’s still recoverin’.
A walk, even a short one, could set him back.
For today, it would be best if he stayed inside, where it’s warm and restful. ”
The laird’s brow furrowed, as he obviously wanted to indulge his son. Cody glanced between them, his little face falling ever so slightly.
“But,” Freya continued quickly, kneeling beside Cody to meet him at eye level, “I have an idea. Me sisters, Marissa and Abigail, brought some books with them. Marissa is older, but Abigail is about yer age. Still I’m sure they’d love to read with ye and show ye their stories. How does that sound?”
Cody’s eyes lit up at the mention of other children. “Really? They’ll read with me?”
Freya smiled warmly. “Of course. They’d be delighted to meet ye.”
The laird’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though he still looked reluctant, as he obviously hadn’t been used to having anyone contradict him. “If that’s what ye want, lad,” he said, his voice softening.
A short while later, Freya’s sisters entered the room, both carrying stacks of books and wearing welcoming smiles. Abigail, the younger, was the first to bound over to Cody’s bedside.
“Greetings, I’m Abigail. What do ye like to read?”
Cody hesitated for a moment before smiling shyly. “I like knights and castles.”
“Well, ye’re in luck!” Abigail exclaimed, plopping a book into his lap. “This one’s about a knight who saves a princess.”
Marissa, more composed but equally kind, sat on Cody’s other side. “And if ye like, we can make up our own stories, too. That’s what I love to do.”
Cody’s grin widened, his earlier fatigue momentarily forgotten as he delved into conversation with the two girls. The trio soon became engrossed in their books, chatting animatedly about the tales within.
Freya leaned back, her hands folded as she watched her sisters bring a sense of normalcy and joy to Cody’s day. Her heart swelled with pride for Marissa and Abigail; they’d had to grow up quickly, but they’d never lost their warmth.
Beside her, the laird stood with his arms crossed, his expression a mixture of gratitude and something else she couldn’t quite place.
“They’re good with him,” he said quietly, breaking the silence between them.
“They’re good with everyone,” Freya replied tenderly. “It’s their nature.”
For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Freya felt as if someone used a flint to create sparks just underneath the surface of her skin, creating the sensation of a million little goosebumps running up her back.
Then, as if feeling the same sparks, he hastily shifted his gaze back to the children.
This was all he wanted, to see Cody awake and smiling, although he knew that the battle was won, but the war for his son’s health was still raging on.
“Laird McEwan?” Freya’s melodious voice interrupted his thoughts. “May I have a word with ye in private?”
He nodded immediately. “Aye, let’s step out.”
His gaze lingered on Cody once again, then he led Freya outside, gently closing the door behind him. Once they were in the hallway, away from the children’s chatter, Freya turned to him, her arms crossed and her eyes sharp, as if he had been a lad caught doing something mischievous.
“I need to understand somethin’,” she began. “Why wasnae Leighton forced to give Cody the medicine?”
“I dinnae ken that me lad wasnae bein’ treated properly,” he admitted. “If I had, I would have made him pay.” Those were simple words, but truer ones were never said.
“Do ye trust him?” she asked.
“I… I thought I did,” he admitted. “But now I ken better.”
She didn’t question him further and he was grateful. Instead, she focused on his son. “How did it all start?”
Michael’s jaw tightened, his gaze distant for a moment. “It all started with the headaches, which have been goin’ on for months. Nay remedies helped, and then, when the fever started, Leighton gave him remedies for that, but they dinnae work either. That’s why I had to find someone else—ye.”
Freya tilted her head, her confusion evident. “A fever reducer failin’? That’s highly unusual for a child of Cody’s age and strength. Tell me the symptoms again, please. I wish to make sure of somethin’.”
Michael let out a heavy sigh, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. “He’d been complainin’ of stomach pains on and off, but we thought it was just somethin’ he ate. Then, two days ago, he started sweatin’ and grew weak. The fever came soon after.”
Freya’s eyes widened, her expression shifting from confusion to shock. “Me laird... this doesnae sound like a simple illness. It sounds like poisonin’.”
Michael’s body stiffened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“Poison?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous.
Fury darkened his features as his mind raced, images of his vulnerable son and the potential treachery behind his condition flashing through his thoughts.
“Who would dare?” he asked, clenching his fists.
Freya raised her hands, her voice steady as she tried to calm him. “It’s too soon to jump to conclusions. Poisonin’ can happen unintentionally—spoiled food, contaminated water. It doesnae always mean someone’s out to harm him.”
Michael’s jaw remained tight, but he gave a short nod, reining in his anger. “And what’s the cure? Tell me what to do.”
Freya hesitated, clearly uneasy. “The good news is that most poisonin’ cases are treatable. But I’ll need specific herbs that I daenae believe are available here in the castle.”
Michael didn’t hesitate. “Then we’ll go to town and get what ye need. Now.”
Freya blinked, surprised at his decisiveness, but nodded. “I’ll write down a list, and then we can leave. Time is of the essence.”
Upon those words, he stepped back into Cody’s room. He was listening to a story that Abigail was reading, but she stopped immediately when she noticed that the laird had approached his son.
“Cody,” Michael began, his voice softer than usual as he approached the bed. “Freya and I are headin’ to the market to get somethin’ that’ll help ye feel better.”
Cody looked up, his small, hopeful smile lighting up the room in a way that made Michael’s chest tighten. “Da... can ye bring me somethin’ sweet? Like a honey biscuit?”
Michael blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
His son’s request was so innocent, so normal, that it made his throat tighten.
For two days, Cody had been unconscious, and days before that he had barely spoken, let alone asked for anything because he had been feelin’ so poorly.
The boy’s words weren’t just a request; they were a glimmer of the lively child he used to be.
“Aye, lad,” Michael said with a faint smile, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll get ye the finest honey biscuit they’ve got.”
Cody nodded weakly, his small hand clutching the blanket. “Thank ye, Da.”
Michael placed a gentle hand on Cody’s head, smoothing back his unruly hair. “Rest now. I’ll be back soon.”
Turning away, he strode out of the room with a renewed sense of purpose. His son was asking for honey biscuits—surely, that was a sign he was getting stronger.
He moved quickly down the hallway, his boots striking the floor with determination. As he reached the guards stationed near the castle’s entrance, his voice rang with authority. “Prepare the horses. We’re ridin’ to town at once.”
The guards saluted, their movements swift as they hurried to carry out his orders.
Michael stood tall, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
For the first time in days, he allowed himself a flicker of hope.
Cody wanted something, and Michael would make sure his son had it—and so much more.
Whatever it takes, I’ll see me lad fully healed.