Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Watch out, Cody, I’m comin’ to catch ye!” Abigail squealed in delight, as she and her sister flitted about the garden like carefree birds, their bright shawls catching the light as they darted from one game to another.
“Nay, ye will nae!” Cody shouted as he was running away from them, his laughter mingling with theirs. The sight filled Freya with quiet relief.
He was better—truly better. The gaunt pallor that had haunted him was gone, replaced by the healthy glow of a boy who had reclaimed his strength.
Freya glanced at the laird, who walked a few paces behind her, his stride measured and watchful. He was ever the protective father, his gaze fixed on Cody with an intensity that softened only when the boy’s laughter rang out.
Her heart warmed as she turned back to the children. The sight brought a quiet ache to Freya’s chest. This, here, was what she had always wanted to create for herself—a sense of family, of belonging. Yet the closer she came to it, the more she hesitated, her own fears holding her back.
Her gaze lingered on Cody, his small hands clutching the leaves as he laughed with her sisters. He was a sweet boy, so full of life now. He deserved all the happiness in the world, and the laird… he deserved peace after everything he’d endured.
But where did she fit into all of this?
Gathering her courage, Freya slowed her pace until they were walking side by side.
“Me sisters,” she began softly, gesturing toward the lively scene ahead. “I cannae tell ye how much it means to me to see them like this. So carefree. They daenae have to worry about where their next meal will come from, or if the roof over their heads will hold another night.”
The laird didn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on Cody as the boy darted between the trees. Freya hesitated, unsure if she should continue, but her gratitude pressed her forward.
“Thank ye,” she said, her voice quieter now. “For lettin’ me bring them with me. Ye could’ve… ye could’ve forced me to stay here alone, and yet ye dinnae. It’s a kindness I dinnae expect.”
At last, Michael’s gaze shifted to her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she thought she saw something soften in his eyes, but the moment passed quickly, replaced by a steely reserve.
“I dinnae do it to be kind,” he said, his tone cool but not unkind. “I did it because I admire the way ye care for them. Yer devotion is rare, Freya.”
The words should have warmed her, but his detached tone sent a chill through her instead. She searched his face for some trace of the man who had kissed her with such fire and tenderness, but he was hidden behind the mask of the laird once more.
“I’m nae as selfless as ye think,” she replied, trying to lighten the moment, though her voice faltered slightly. “They’re me family. There’s naythin’ I wouldnae do for them.”
He nodded, his attention already drifting back to Cody. “Aye. That much is clear.”
Freya felt the sting of his dismissal, though she told herself she shouldn’t.
He was still polite, still gracious, but the distance between them was palpable.
She didn’t know why it hurt her so much that she found it physically difficult to breathe.
After all, she set herself as such from the onset.
She wanted that distance between them… no, she needed it.
And now that she had it, she wanted it gone.
It shouldn’t have mattered. After all, she had no right to expect anything more from him. But as she watched him stride ahead, his shoulders squared and his jaw set, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had lost something she hadn’t even realized she’d had.
Her sisters’ laughter drew her attention back to the garden path, where Cody was now clutching a handful of frost-dusted leaves, his triumphant grin lighting up his small face. Freya forced herself to smile, telling herself this was what mattered most: her sisters’ happiness, Cody’s recovery.
And yet, as Michael moved further away, she couldn’t help but wonder why his coldness cut so deeply. However, before she could say anything else, she heard Michael cry out his son’s name breathlessly.
“Cody!”
The sound came first.
It was a faint whistling, sharp and out of place. In an instant, his body moved on instinct, his arm snapping out as he lunged forward. Pain blossomed in his forearm, sharp and searing, as an arrow embedded itself in his flesh.
“Cody!” Michael barked, scooping the boy up with his uninjured arm and shielding him with his body. His eyes darted to the treeline, narrowing as he searched for the source of the attack.
Freya’s gasp cut through the air, and she was by his side in seconds, her face pale with fear. “Michael—yer arm—”
“Inside,” he ordered, his voice firm but calm, even as blood seeped from the wound and dripped onto the frost-covered ground. He turned to the guards nearby, who had already drawn their weapons. “Take them all inside. Now.”
“But—” Freya began, her voice trembling with both concern and defiance.
Michael cut her off with a steely glare, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I said inside. Ye’ll only be in the way out here. Go.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded, her hands trembling as she took Cody from him. Her sisters huddled close, their faces ashen as they hurried back toward the manor under the watchful escort of the guards.
Only when they were safely out of sight did Michael turn his attention back to the treeline. He wrenched the arrow from his arm with a sharp grunt, tossing it aside as his jaw clenched against the pain. Blood continued to flow, but he paid it no mind.
His boots crunched against the frost as he strode toward the direction the arrow had come from, his every sense honed and alert. The trees loomed ahead, their skeletal branches casting long shadows over the frozen ground.
Michael scanned the area with the precision of a predator, his sharp eyes searching for any sign of movement. The forest was eerily still, the only sound the faint rustling of leaves in the wind. He moved deeper into the treeline, his every step deliberate, but the sense of being watched lingered.
“Coward,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and laced with anger.
Whoever had fired the arrow was long gone, but their intent was clear. It hadn’t been a warning. It had been a kill shot. And Cody had been the target.
The thought sent a fresh wave of fury coursing through him. Michael’s fists clenched, his wounded arm throbbing as blood trickled down to his fingers. Whoever had dared to threaten his son would pay for it, and dearly.
But for now, there was nothing. No tracks he could follow, no sign of the assailant. Frustration burned in his chest as he turned back toward the manor, his mind already racing with plans to tighten security and uncover who was behind the attack.
As he walked, the pain in his arm became harder to ignore, but it only fueled his resolve. His son was safe for now, but this was far from over. Michael would see to it that whoever had done this would regret ever setting foot near his family.
Michael strode toward the mansion, his wounded arm pressed tightly against his side in a futile effort to stem the bleeding. The pain was sharp, but his fury burned hotter.
His boots struck the stone steps with force as he entered the house, the heavy door slamming shut behind him.
The warmth of the interior wrapped around him, but it did nothing to thaw the ice in his veins.
He barely noticed the smudges of blood he was leaving in his wake, his mind consumed by the attack and the questions it raised.
As he stepped into the main hall, he froze. Freya stood there, waiting for him, her face pale but determined. She rushed forward as soon as she saw him, her eyes widening at the sight of his bloodied arm.
“Michael,” she exclaimed, her voice tight with worry. “Are ye hurt badly? Let me see—”
“I’m fine,” he cut her off, his tone harsher than he intended. He didn’t stop walking, didn’t let himself meet her gaze.
She followed him, undeterred. “Ye’re nae fine! Look at ye, bleedin’ everywhere. Let me fetch a cloth or—”
“I said I’m fine, Freya,” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to make her falter. He regretted it immediately but couldn’t bring himself to soften.
He was too angry, too raw. That was why he used her first name, without thinking. It felt like another stab, but this time, to the heart.
“Nae, ye’re nae fine,” she snapped, her eyes blazing. “Ye’re bleedin’ all over yer precious floors, and if ye think I’m just goin’ to stand here and let ye march about like some spoiled bairn, ye’ve another thin’ comin’.”
His jaw clenched, her words hitting him harder than they should have. “This isnae yer concern,” he ground out. “Go back to yer sisters.”
But she wasn’t having it. “It is me concern! Ye dragged me here for a reason, or did ye forget that? Ye brought me here to heal. So stop actin’ like a stubborn fool and let me do me job.”
Michael stared at her, stunned into silence. Her fiery outburst wasn’t what he expected. He had been prepared for worry, for pleading, but not this fierce demand.
Her chest heaved with frustration as she continued, her voice softer but no less resolute. “Ye’re nay use to Cody—or anyone—if ye bleed out in the halls. Now come with me, Michael, and let me see to that wound.”
Something about the way she said his name sent a pang through him, her anger tinged with a concern that was entirely too earnest. His instinct was to resist, to keep her at arm’s length, but the fire in her eyes left him no room to argue.
He sighed heavily, the fight draining out of him. “Fine,” he muttered, stepping aside and lowering himself into the nearest chair. “Have at it, then.”