Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Wantin’ is a dangerous thing.
Freya knew that well, as she was sitting curled in the armchair near the hearth, with a book balanced on her lap. She wasn’t reading it, though—not really. Her eyes skimmed the words, but they didn’t register. Her mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of him.
Michael. The laird.
Her fingers tightened on the edge of the book as the memory of the kiss surged forward, unbidden and unstoppable.
It had been a mistake. She knew that. She knew it, because she wanted more of it.
It was also dangerous because she had to take care of her sisters.
Nothing took precedence over that. But knowing it didn’t stop the warmth from flooding her at the thought of it, the way his lips had pressed against hers, firm and demanding.
The sound of opening doors brought her back to the present moment. She tensed, then looked up to see the laird stepping into the room, his broad frame filling the doorway as if the castle itself could not contain him. He paused, looking around, then his eyes landed on her.
“Freya,” he greeted her, his voice rumbling through the room like distant thunder. Her body immediately reacted to it, and she hated that it did.
“Me laird,” she replied, snapping the book shut and standing quickly. “I dinnae ken that anyone else might be in here. I’ll leave ye to it.”
She made to gather her things, but his hand shot up in a halting gesture. “Ye’ll do no such thing,” he said firmly. “Stay. A library should be for all who seek it, nae just those with titles.”
Freya hesitated, clutching the book to her chest. “Are ye sure? I daenae wish to intrude upon yer solitary moments.”
He took a step closer. “Ye’re nae intrudin’, lass. If ye wish to read in silence, I’ll nae say a word to ye. But daenae let me chase ye from this place.”
His voice was unusually gentle and it surprised her. She met his eyes, then she nodded, sinking back into her chair.
“Thank ye,” she murmured, reopening her book. He sat opposite her, with his own book.
She watched him for a moment, then spoke as if she was unable to resist the temptation to do so. “Ye read like a man marchin’ into battle.”
He glanced up only for a second, then turned a page with slow precision. “Well… books are nae meant to be coddled.”
She huffed a chuckle. “Really? I think,” she added cautiously, “that ye just daenae like bein’ watched while ye do.”
A muscle in his seemed to tick, but he merely returned his attention to his book. “A man’s thoughts are his own.”
She reached for another volume, more to occupy her hands than from real interest. “And yet, here ye are, with books that allow ye to borrow another man’s thoughts.”
His fingers lingered on the page. For a moment, she thought she had poked him enough for another response, but he merely shrugged and resumed reading.
“What is it ye’re readin’?” she asked, curious.
“A book.”
She bit back a smile. “Aye, I gathered as much.”
His expression, everything about him warned her against prying. But she couldn’t help it. Not now that he was here.
“Ye daenae strike me as the type to enjoy frivolities,” she ventured a pretty accurate guess.
His eyes lifted once more, sharper this time.” And what is it ye think I enjoy, then?”
Her fingers tightened around the book she was holding. “Duty. Discipline. Perhaps a fine whisky. But if ye’re readin’ only out of obligation, I wonder why ye’d bother.”
A flicker of something akin to amusement passed over his face. “Some books daenae ask for permission to be read. They demand it.”
She dared one more question. “And that one? Did it demand ye to read it?”
This time, he grinned. “Perhaps… but daenae ask me if I enjoyed it.”
He was still grinning when he lowered his gaze and focused on his books once more.
His lips would occasionally move, as if he were reading silently to himself.
That kiss had set something ablaze within her, something she hadn’t even realized was there.
It made her want—not just him, but the way he’d made her feel.
Alive. Seen. Desired.
And all of it was a path to no return.
Suddenly, a knock on the door sounded and after being called in, Michael was urged by one of the guards to come to the stables. Michael sighed, nodding.
“It would seem that ye will be left to read in peace, after all,” he said, although now, that was the last thing she wanted.
Freya was just starting to force her thoughts back to the book in her lap when she heard the faint creak of the library door. She looked up, surprised to see Marissa step into the room this time.
Marissa’s expression was unusually serious, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Freya sat straighter, setting her book aside. “Marissa,” she said, softening her tone. “What is it, love? Why are ye nae sleepin’?”
Marissa stepped closer, pausing near Freya’s chair. “Can I talk to ye?” she asked, her voice soft but serious.
Freya smiled warmly, patting the seat next to her. “Of course ye can. Ye’ve always got me ear, lass.”
Marissa hesitated, then sat down, smoothing her skirts nervously. Freya waited patiently, sensing her sister was working up to something important.
Finally, Marissa took a deep breath and said, “I’ve finished me book.”
Freya blinked in surprise. “Ye have?”
“Aye,” Marissa replied, nodding quickly. “It’s a novel—a story I’ve been writin’ for a while now. And I want to have it published.”
Freya’s heart swelled with pride for her sister’s ambition, but a familiar unease settled over her as well. She reached out and took Marissa’s hands gently.
“That’s a wonderful accomplishment, Marissa,” Freya said, her tone apologetic. “But ye ken it’ll nae be easy, aye? Publishers will nae take kindly to a woman’s name on a book.”
Marissa’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she nodded, her determination unwavering. “I ken that, and that’s why I need yer help.”
Freya tilted her head, concern flickering in her chest. “What kind of help are ye askin’ for?”
Marissa looked Freya squarely in the eye. “I want ye to ask the laird if he can help me. Ye ken he’s got connections—he might be able to see it published.”
Freya froze. The last thing she wanted to do was ask him for a favor, which she doubted she would ever be able to pay back. “Marissa…”
“Please, Freya,” Marissa interrupted, her tone urgent. “I’ve nay one else to ask, and ye ken fine well he’d listen to ye.”
Freya sighed, her shoulders sinking under the weight of the request. She couldn’t say no, not when Marissa’s voice held such a mixture of hope and desperation. And she knew how hard Marissa had been working on her stories.
“All right,” Freya said reluctantly. “I’ll ask him, but daenae get yer hopes too high, lass. Even with his help, it’s nae a sure thing.”
Marissa’s face lit up, her relief evident. “Thank ye, Freya. Truly.”
Freya managed a small smile, but unease curled in her chest. She’d made a promise to her sister, but the thought of turning to Michael for such a favor unsettled her deeply.
“Well then, off to bed with ye,” Freya urged, and her sister kissed her tenderly on the cheek in response.
“Goodnight, Freya,” Marissa bid her, then disappeared down the corridor.
Freya inhaled deeply closing the book. There would obviously be no more reading this evening.
“Ye’ll strain yer eyes starin’ out the window like a lost wee lamb.”
Michael watched as Cody turned his head, his pale face lighting up faintly as he saw his father standing in the doorway “I wasnae starin’, Da. I was just thinkin’.”
Michael stepped further in to the room, his boots echoing against the stone floor. Then, he lowered himself into the chair across from his son. As always, his movements were steady, deliberate, and masking the knot of worry coiled in his chest.
“Aye, then what’s got ye dreamin’ away?”
Cody fiddled with the corner of the book on his lap, hesitating as he searched for the right words. “Freya,” he said finally, but his cheeks immediately tined a mild pink. He hastily added, “Marissa and Abigail, too.”
Michael’s brow arched, but his expression stayed as a stone. “Yer healer and her two sisters?”
It was, of course, a rhetorical question, but Cody nodded all the same.
“Aye,” he grinned, glancing down as if embarrassed to admit it, despite it being true.
“They make me laugh, Da. Freya kens how to ease the pains, and Marissa tells the funniest stories. Abigail…” He trailed off, his grin widening.
“She sits by me when everyone else is busy, workin’ on somethin’.
She talks to me like I’m nae sick at all. ”
Michael watched his son closely, as the boy’s thin frame settled against the cushions. He could tell that his smile was warmer than it had been in a long time.
“So, ye’re fond of their company,” Michael said in a measured tone of voice.
“I am,” Cody admitted, his gaze meeting his father’s. “But…” He suddenly bit his lip, hesitating again. “I daenae want to get better, Da.”
Michael’s eyes widened in shock, the words hitting him like a blade to the chest. “What foolishness is this, lad?”
“Because…” Cody looked down again. “If I get better, they’ll leave. Freya will leave and take her sisters with her.”
Michael inhaled deeply. He was not expecting that he would have to steady himself against this ache that his son had just expressed.
He wanted to tell Cody that it was all nonsense, that his health mattered more than anything else.
And it was the truth. But that wasn’t what Cody wanted to hear.
So instead, Michael leaned forward, his hands clasped together as he spoke in a low and firm voice.
“Lad, listen to me,” he said as softly as he knew how, “I ken it’s nae easy, thinkin’ about folk leavin’.
Ye’ve had to say goodbye to too many already.
Yer maither, and all those healers before.
But Freya, Marissa and Abigail would want to see ye strong again, nae lingerin’ sick just to keep them here. ”
Cody glanced up. For a moment, a tear glistened in his eyes, but he hastily wiped it away with his sleeve. Michael pretended he didn’t see it.
“But what if we never see them again, Da? What if I’m alone again?”
Michael’s throat tightened but he dinnae let it show. “Ye’ll nae be alone, me lad. I’m here. Always. And folk who care for ye… they’ve a way of comin’ back, nay matter how far they wander.”
Cody smiled. “Is that true?”
“Aye,” Michael nodded, without a shred of doubt. “But first, ye have to give them somethin’ to come back to. A healthy, stubborn wee lad who doesnae give up, aye?”
Michael could see that the worry in his son’s eyes lingered. He reached forward, laying a broad, calloused hand on Cody’s shoulder.
“Ye’ve got me blood in ye, lad. And that means ye’ve got strength to face whatever comes. Trust me on this.”
Cody managed a stronger smile this time, leaning into his father’s touch. He should have felt relief that his words reached his son, but a heavier weight settled in his chest.
Cody’s fear wasn’t misplaced. The women had indeed brought a light to the castle he hadn’t realized they were missing until it was here. Freya especially.
Michael’s jaw tightened as he thought of her, the healer with a steady hand and a quiet strength that reminded him of no one else he had ever known.
With his mind’s eye, he could see her moving through the castle like she belonged there, though not once overstepping her place.
She was sharp-eyed and practical, but when she smiled… it was like a blow to the gut.
It unsettled him, this pull that he felt toward her. Freya was no simpering lass in search of a laird to save her. No. She was a healer, skilled and strong, with a life waiting for her far from here. A life she would return to when Cody became well.
And wasn’t that the point, after all? Freya and her sisters were only here because of Cody’s illness. Once his son was strong again, they would leave. That was what he had brought them here for: to save his boy, not to linger in his halls, weaving themselves into his life.
Michael’s hand slipped from Cody’s shoulder, exhaling slowly. He could not afford such thoughts. He had responsibilities to his son, to his clan, to the legacy he’d sworn to uphold.
Cody’s quiet voice broke through his reverie. “I’ve come to see them as me own sisters. Do ye think they’ll come to visit, Da?”
Michael forced his gaze, banishing thoughts of Freya. “Aye, lad. If they care for ye as much as they say, they’ll nae forget ye.”
But would Freya come back for Cody alone? Or was there a chance, a dangerous treacherous hope, that she might also come back for him?
“Get some rest, Cody,” he said standing up from the chair. “Daenae trouble yerself with things that arenae here yet.”
Cody nodded, and his eyes were already heavy with exhaustion, but at least his expression was lighter, more at ease.
As Michael reached the corridor, he paused, casting one last glance back at his son.
Freya had done so much more than just tend to Cody’s body.
She had tended to his spirit, bringing life back into him, making him laugh and hope again.
Michael pressed his lips into a thin, barely visible line. He would see this through for Cody’s sake. And when Freya left, as she must, he would let her go.
But the thought of the castle without her felt colder than he dared to admit.