Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
“… a
nd then I fell from that tree because of the cat that refused to come down!” Cody entertained the ladies with his tales of mischief, and Michael stopped in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt what seemed like a magical moment.
All the girls erupted into a bout of laughter, a sound which Michael couldn’t remember hearing for a long time. As he listened to the continuation of the story, hidden in the shadows of the doorway, all his thoughts scattered.
His gaze immediately fell upon her.
Freya.
She was the last person he had expected to completely disarm him in the way she did.
She wore a soft, deep green gown that somehow made her look more radiant, more striking than he ever thought possible.
It was simple, yet elegant, and it accentuated her graceful figure in a way that left him feeling unexpectedly unsettled.
Freya had always been a healer, a woman of strength, but tonight, she looked...
different. She looked beautiful. No—she looked extraordinary, like a nymph in the woods, utterly enchanting and magical.
He suddenly felt a desire to grab her into his arms and shower her lips with deep kisses, tasting every inch of her.
She wasn’t just some woman he’d hired to tend to his son. No. She was someone else entirely in this moment.
He cursed himself for being so affected, but there was no denying the pull.
He cleared his throat, his usual gruff exterior falling back into place, but it was hard—damn hard—to keep the sharpness in his voice. His earlier coldness was a shield, one that barely held together in the face of her presence.
“Apologies for the delay,” Michael muttered curtly, his voice rougher than he intended as he waited for the end of the story, making it seem as if he had just come down.
“Yer lairdship,” both Abigail and Marissa stood up and curtsied before him, something he had come to be amused by greatly since they had arrived there.
The presence of girls was not something he was used to. Even with his wife, there was no curtsying, no sweet, gentle smiles, no deep gratitude. These girls showed all of it with only their smiles, and he thought how wonderful it was to have them around his son.
“Me laird,” Freya chose a slightly different greeting.
Me laird. He loved how she said that, so seductively, almost purring.
He sat down across from her, his eyes briefly meeting hers before she quickly looked away. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on the way his heart had skipped a beat when he saw her. Yet, no matter how gruff he tried to be, it was hard to ignore the way his body reacted when she was near.
“Da, I was just tellin’ them the story when I fell down the tree!” Cody exclaimed gleefully and evidently proud of his endeavor, which made Michael smile slightly.
“Aye, that was quite a day, lad.”
Michael took his seat, his gaze flicking between the others at the table, but his attention inevitably wandered back to her.
She wasn’t looking at him directly now, but her presence seemed to fill the entire room.
It was all he could do to focus on the conversation, on what was happening in front of him, rather than the woman who had so carelessly stolen his thoughts.
“Freya,” Cody chirped eagerly, his bright eyes sparkling. “What’s yer favorite color? I like blue, like the sky, but what about ye?”
Freya’s smile softened as she looked at him, her voice gentle. “I’d say green,” she replied, her tone warm and thoughtful. “Like the hills in the sprin’, when the grass is soft and the flowers bloom bright.”
“I like blue too!” Abigail piped up, her face animated. “It’s the color of the sea near our village.”
“And it’s the color of me maither’s favorite shawl,” Marissa added quietly, looking down at her lap for a moment before meeting Cody’s eyes with a soft smile.
“Maybe one day, when I’m strong enough, we could go to the sea together. Ye can show me what it looks like up close.”
Marissa’s eyes softened at the thought. “I’d like that, Cody.”
Cody’s smile widened as he looked around at the girls. “It will be the best adventure!”
Michael watched this exchange from across the table, his heart tight. How easily Cody could find joy in such simple moments, despite everything that had happened to him.
He is lucky.
Lucky to have these girls, and lucky to have Freya looking after him.
He snapped himself out of his thoughts as he realized he’d been staring, his attention lingering far too long on Freya and her gentle interactions with the children. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to refocus on the conversation at hand.
As if sensing his discomfort, Freya finally turned her head to him, her smile faltering as their eyes met briefly. He felt a flicker of something in her gaze, but it was gone before he could place it.
Marissa spoke up, breaking the silence that had stretched between them. “So, me laird, what’s yer favorite color?” she asked with a teasing grin.
Michael blinked, caught off guard by the question. He smirked, thinking about the question.
“I suppose I’d have to say black,” he replied. “It’s practical. And it doesnae stand out too much.”
“That’s borin’!” Cody exclaimed, his eyes wide. “It’s nae a happy color.”
Michael smiled at his son’s honesty. “It’s nae supposed to be happy, lad. It’s just... practical.”
“Well, aye… practical is borin’,” Cody added, and the girls giggled.
“Practical is useful,” Freya suddenly said. “But wee ones daenae see that sometimes.”
Her eyes locked with Michael’s. Her beauty almost stole his breath away.
“Wee ones need to have fun,” Cody agreed. “Practicalities are for grown ups… speakin’ of fun, when I’m better, can we all go to the woods together and have a picnic?”
Freya’s smile widened, and she leaned in closer to him. “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Cody.”
Michael was about to respond when Freya, noticing the time, stood and glanced over at the door. “I think it’s about time for ye to rest now, Cody. Ye’ve had a good meal, and we wouldnae want to tire ye out too much.”
“But I want to play with Marissa and Abigail,” Cody protested, his lip pouting.
“Tomorrow,” Freya said with a smile, her tone soft but firm. “Tomorrow, we can have all the fun ye want. For now, ye need to get some rest so ye’ll feel even better.”
“Alright,” Cody said reluctantly, but he was clearly cheered by the idea of playing the next day with his friends.
As the last of the laughter from the children’s chatter echoed through the hall, Michael stood, watching Freya as she gently ushered Cody up the stairs, her attention fully on the boy.
There was something about the way she moved—graceful, purposeful, as though every step she took was measured in care.
It made the ache in his chest throb with an intensity he hadn’t quite understood before.
He hesitated for a moment, before calling out to her. “Freya, wait.”
She paused, her back still to him, but there was a subtle tension in her posture.
Slowly, she turned to face him, her expression guarded, the warmth in her gaze replaced by a cool distance.
He couldn’t help but notice the way her lips pressed together, the way she crossed her arms slightly—she was on edge.
He took a step toward her, his voice steady, but laced with the frustration that had built in him over the past few days. “I was wonderin’ if ye’d care to join me for a walk through the gardens. The night air’s fresh, and the stars are clear.”
Freya’s eyes flickered toward the stairs, then back to him. Her face softened for just a moment, but it quickly regained its composure.
“Thank ye, me laird, but I’m tired,” she replied, her voice calm, yet distant. “I’ll put Cody to bed, and then I’ll retire meself. The boy needs rest. And I feel like I daenae have enough of it meself.”
Michael frowned. He could see it in her eyes, the wariness, the hesitation.
And he couldn’t blame her. The kiss, the words they had exchanged—it was a mess he wasn’t sure how to untangle.
But seeing her retreat, pulling away from him again, only stirred the frustration that had been building inside him since that night.
He wanted to argue, to insist, to pull her into conversation, but he also understood her commitment to Cody. He understood her duty, her unwavering focus on the boy. It was one of the many reasons she had become indispensable in his eyes.
“Very well,” he muttered. “Perhaps another time, then.”
She gave him a curt nod, her eyes a little warmer now, but the distance was still there.
“Another time,” she echoed, then turned, her steps light as she ascended the stairs, her silhouette slowly disappearing from his view.
Soon enough, everyone retired to their respective chambers, only Michael couldn’t not find any respite. There was one place that could have offered some. He headed there immediately.
The library was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth and the subtle rustle of the pages turning. Michael remained in the doorway, needing a moment to himself. But his plan to decompress was thwarted the moment he saw her.
Freya.
She was curled up on the settee by the fire. A book rested in her lap. He remembered her saying that she would go and rest, and yet she was still up, trying to help his son. She was reading about poisons, of all things. Of course she would be.
He tried to look away, to remind himself why he was here, but his gaze kept returning to her.
How he yearned to taste her, to have her in his arms again, to inhale the fragrance of her naked skin.
His insides exploded with desire, his manhood straining for release at the very sight of her.
Claiming her in the darkness of the night would be a dream come true.
Ach, pull yerself together, man. Ye’ve nae time for foolish notions. Aye, she’s bonnie, but that’s where it ends. Ye’ve a son to think of, and nay one will be as important as him.
The memory of their kiss flared unbidden in his mind. He clenched his jaw. It had been a mistake, a moment of weakness he couldn’t afford to repeat. Freya was a distraction, and distractions were dangerous.
Ye’ve done fine on yer own, Michael. Ye daenae need distractions, least of all one with eyes that seem to see right through ye.
Still, as he lingered in the doorway, he couldn’t quite shake the pull of her.
He let himself imagine, just for a moment, what it might feel like to hold her.
To draw her into his arms and let her warmth seep into him, to have his own self drawn into her heat.
He swallowed heavily, the desire for her too strong, too overpowering.
She shifted in her seat, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the silence. He lingered for one more heartbeat, letting the sight of her burn into his memory, then retreated as silently as he’d come.
She’s nae for ye, Michael. She’s trouble. A distraction. And ye’ve nay room in yer life for either.
But even as he lay down, the ghost of her lingered. Her beauty, her defiance, the way her presence filled a room without even trying.
And despite every reason he gave himself to let her go, he couldn’t.