Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Nay one saw a bloody thing?” Michael demanded, his voice a sharp crack in the air. His dark brows knit together as he glared at his men.
“Aye, me laird,” said Brodie, his oldest and most trusted guard, who had always been there, present but invisible, as a good guard ought to be.
“As per yer allowance, I went to escort me sister back home, but everyone else should have been at their posts, as always. Still, it seems that none of them caught anythin’ out of the ordinary. ”
“Nae a shadow, nae a figure slinkin’ in the trees? Are ye tellin’ me an arrow flew out of naywhere, aimed at me bairn, and nae one of ye has an inklin’ who fired it?”
Silence. The men exchanged uneasy glances, but no one dared speak.
“Ye’re all blind, then?” Michael growled, his hands tightening into fists. “A man doesnae fire an arrow without leavin’ some trace. Think, for God’s sake! There’s got to be somethin’—anythin’—that seemed off.”
Hamish, the youngest of the guards, stepped forward hesitantly. “Me laird, I swear to ye, the woods were quiet. Too quiet, maybe. But we dinnae see or hear a thin’. If there was a threat, it vanished like a ghost.”
“Like a ghost,” Michael muttered under his breath, turning his back to them and staring into the fire. Ghosts didn’t shoot arrows, but a cunning man could slip away unnoticed, especially if he knew the land well.
“Search the woods again,” he barked, turning abruptly to face his men. “And this time, use yer bloody eyes. Tracks, broken branches, footprints in the mud—there’s somethin’ out there, and I’ll nae rest until we ken who dared threaten me son.”
The guards nodded, a murmured “Aye, me laird,” rippling through them before they filed out of the hall. Michael stayed behind, staring into the flames, his mind racing.
What was he missing? He rubbed his jaw, his thoughts circling back to the arrow itself. It had been finely made, not the kind of rough-hewn weapon one might expect from a common hunter or poacher. Nay, this was crafted with purpose, precision, and malice.
Deciding to let the guards take care of the search, he climbed the winding stone stairs to Cody’s chamber, his footsteps quieter now.
The thought of losing his son, his only family, gnawed at him like a wolf at the bone.
He paused before the heavy oak door, running a hand through his hair, steadying himself.
When he pushed the door open, he found Cody sitting cross-legged on the rug near the hearth, wooden soldiers spread before him in neat rows.
The boy’s tongue poked out slightly in concentration as he maneuvered one soldier to clash against another, the quiet sound of wood tapping wood filling the room.
Michael was relieved. Cody looked so peaceful, so utterly unaware of the danger that had brushed by him like a shadow.
“Are ye winnin’, lad?” Michael asked.
Cody looked up, his face lighting with a grin. “Aye, Da! See? This one’s the commander,” he said, holding up a soldier painted with a red tunic and a tin sword. “He’s leadin’ the charge!”
Michael crouched down, resting his arms on his knees, his large frame dwarfing the little boy. “A fine commander, that. Ye’ve got the makings of a strategist, Cody. Ye’d make any army proud.”
Cody’s grin widened, and he turned back to his soldiers, moving them into battle formations with all the seriousness of a general. Michael watched him for a moment, his heart aching with a mix of pride and fear.
“Cody,” he began, his voice gentler now, “do ye ken what happened this mornin’?”
The boy looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. “Nay, Da. Ye and Mistress Freya were talkin’, then ye caught an arrow and made us run back to the house. Did I do somethin’ wrong?”
“Wrong?” Michael shook his head quickly, reaching out to ruffle Cody’s dark curls. “Nay, son. Ye did just as ye should’ve. Ye were brave, aye?”
Cody beamed at the praise, but his little face remained curious. “Why did ye make me run, Da? Was it a game?”
Michael hesitated, his chest tightening. How could he explain the danger without stealing the innocence that still lit Cody’s eyes? He sat down cross-legged beside his son, picking up one of the wooden soldiers.
“Cody,” he began, “sometimes there are folk in the world who wish to harm others, even if they’ve done naythin’ wrong. This mornin’, someone tried to do somethin’ bad. They sent an arrow flyin’, aimed where we were standin’.”
The boy’s eyes widened, and he clutched his commander soldier tightly. “At us, Da?”
Michael nodded, his jaw tightening before he softened his expression. “Aye, lad. But I willnae let anyone hurt ye. Never.” He reached out, resting a hand on Cody’s small shoulder. “I’ll always keep ye safe, do ye hear me? Always.”
Cody blinked, as though trying to absorb the weight of his father’s words. “But what if they come again, Da?”
Michael’s throat constricted, but he forced himself to smile. “If they dare try, they’ll find me waitin’ for them. And I’ll stop them, just as I always will.”
The boy nodded solemnly, his small fingers loosening their grip on the wooden soldier. “I believe ye, Da.”
Michael pulled Cody into a fierce hug, holding him tightly as if to shield him from the dangers lurking just beyond the castle walls. “Good lad,” he murmured.
“Ye’ll keep us safe, Da,” Cody said with a confidence beyond his years. “And Mistress Freya will keep us all healthy. She’s good at that. I like havin’ her here. She’s nice, and her sisters are too. Do ye think… do ye think she’ll stay? Live with us?”
Michael’s chest tightened, the question hanging in the air like a threat.
The boy’s eyes were wide with hope, the same way they’d looked when he’d asked for his favorite toy or when he’d wanted to go riding on the horse.
But this was different. The question had weight.
It held the fragility of his son’s world, a world that was still too young to know the dangers lurking just outside.
“Ye want her to stay?” Michael asked, his voice softer than he intended. He shifted, sitting back a little as he ruffled Cody’s hair, trying to mask the churn of emotions inside.
“Aye,” Cody said, his little hands clutching his soldiers tighter. “I like it when she smiles at me. And when she tells me stories. She makes me feel better when I’m sick.”
I like it when she smiles too, lad.
Michael swallowed hard. The room seemed to close in on him. Freya’s presence had been a balm for all of them, but especially for Cody. She had a way of soothing pain, of offering comfort that felt like more than just medical knowledge—it was care, it was warmth.
“She’s a healer, lad,” Michael said slowly, his voice thick with the truth he didn’t want to say. “She helps many folk, and they all need her—her skills, her knowledge. She’s needed more than just here, with us.”
Cody’s brow furrowed, his small shoulders slumping as though he had just been handed a bitter truth he didn’t understand. “But I need her too, Da. I get better when she’s here. Why cannae she stay with us?”
Michael closed his eyes briefly, feeling the sharp sting of his son’s words.
Cody was so innocent, so pure in his plea.
He didn’t understand that Freya, in all her goodness, couldn’t just stay with them forever.
The world needed her too. But Michael couldn’t deny the ache that lived in his chest at the thought of her leaving.
He didn’t want her to leave… ever. The knowledge of her being under the same roof drove him mad with desire, but it was also the urge that drove him to the breakfast table each morning.
Her presence awoke him, it reminded him that he was a man made of flesh, flesh that yearned and desired, flesh that ached to touch and be touched.
“Cody…” Michael exhaled slowly, trying to find the right words. “As long as ye need her, she’ll stay. But there are others, too. She cannae be here all the time. She has her work, and she helps people who need her just like we do.”
Cody’s lip trembled, and he clutched the wooden soldier in his hand as if it could somehow protect him from the sting of Michael’s words.
“But Da… I’m gettin’ better. I daenae want to be healthy if that means Mistress Freya will go.
Ye ken that I daenae want her to leave. I like her here with us, I like them all here with us. They are like our family.”
Michael’s chest tightened painfully, and for a moment, he could barely breathe.
His son’s pain cut through him, sharper than any blade.
How could he explain to Cody, in words he could understand, that Freya had her own life to live, her own people to care for?
How could he, as a father, reconcile the conflicting emotions stirring within him?
“Cody…” Michael’s voice broke, and he paused, taking in a shaky breath.
His hands trembled slightly, the weight of responsibility heavy upon him.
“I ken, lad. I ken. I want her here too.” He cleared his throat.
“But she cannae stay forever. She has a life of her own, and people depend on her just as we do.”
“But I need her,” Cody whispered, his voice barely above a breath.
The words hit Michael like a blow, and for a long moment, he didn’t know how to respond. He could see the hurt in Cody’s eyes, the desperate need for the woman who had become a lifeline to them both. And yet, Michael couldn’t deny the truth—the world needed Freya.
Still, as he looked down at his son’s face, filled with confusion and quiet distress, Michael’s heart wavered.
“She’ll stay as long as ye need her,” he repeated, his voice gentle, but the uncertainty in his chest grew. “And if ye ever need her again, I’ll make sure she’s here, lad. But ye must be strong, Cody. Stronger than ye think ye can be.”
Cody nodded slowly, though the sadness in his eyes remained. Michael wrapped his arm around the boy, pulling him close.
“Ye’ll always have me, son,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Cody’s forehead. “And I’ll always take care of ye, nay matter what.”
But even as he spoke, his mind was a tangle of contradictions. He wanted Freya to stay. He wanted her here, with them, but he knew she couldn’t. And yet, for his son, he would do anything.
“Now, go on and finish yer battle. The commander’s still got work to do.”
Cody nodded with a smile, the weight of their conversation already lifting from his young mind. Michael stayed a moment longer, watching him play, his heart heavy with both love and resolve. Then, he slowly closed the door behind him.
He knew exactly how his son felt. He also didn’t want Freya to leave. But how could he ask her to stay?