Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Michael had barely set his quill down when the door to his study burst open.
“Da!”
Cody stormed in, his small face flushed, as his eyes were burning with determination. Michael leaned back in his chair, lifting a brow at his son’s abrupt entrance.
“Cody,” he said. “Is somethin’ wrong?”
“Aye.” Cody marched up to his desk, planting his hands on the polished wood. Michael had never seen him so… grown up. But the following words confirmed it. “Freya’s leavin’.”
Michael went utterly still.
For a moment, he thought he had misheard.
“Leavin’?” he repeated, his voice even.
“Aye.” Cody’s brows knitted together. “She said I’m better now, so she and her sisters will be goin’ home.”
Michael exhaled slowly, masking the sharp jolt of surprise that struck him.
He should have expected this. Freya was a healer.
She had done what she came to do. But the thought of her walking away, of never seeing her again, settled in his chest like a weight he hadn’t prepared for. It was soon… far too soon.
Cody’s voice softened. “Can ye nae make her stay?”
Michael studied his son. Cody rarely asked anything of him, not like this. But now, he looked at his father as if he truly believed Michael had the power to change this.
And the truth was… perhaps he did.
Michael exhaled, rising to his feet. “I’ll speak with her.”
Cody’s face lit up. “Ye will?”
“Aye.” He placed a steady hand on Cody’s shoulder. “But I make nay promises, lad.”
Cody nodded quickly, though his excitement was clear. Michael watched him go, waiting until the door closed before allowing himself a single breath of hesitation.
It was an unfamiliar predicament. He was a man who made decisions based on reason, not sentiment. A man who weighed risks and rewards with precision, ensuring that every choice he made was the correct one. And yet now, he found himself grasping for something that had no clear solution.
“Michael, what the hell have ye done to yerself?” he asked aloud, raking his fingers through his hair.
Freya would be leaving.
There was no fault in it. She had come to heal Cody, and she had done so. Her duty was fulfilled, and with it, she would return to her own life, her own path.
And yet…
The thought of her absence gnawed at him. It was a slow, unwanted ache.
Michael had spent years ensuring that nothing and no one could touch him beyond what was necessary. He had his son. He had his land. He had his men. That was all he required.
Until now.
Until a stubborn, sharp-tongued healer had stepped into his halls, challenging him with her every glance, her every word.
Until she had soothed his son’s pain, spoken to Cody with a warmth that Michael himself had never quite mastered.
Until she had looked at him, not as a laird, not as a man to be feared, but as something else entirely.
“She is leavin’.” He had to say aloud. Otherwise, he refused to believe it.
He clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly.
There had to be a reason for her to stay.
Could he ask her to become his clan’s healer? But would it be enough? His men were well, Cody was strong, and though injuries came with the passing seasons, it might not be enough to bind her here.
His hand curled into a fist against the desk.
His thoughts drifted to the missing guards. To Brodie’s suspicions. To the attack that had nearly taken his son.
His enemies had not been found. The shadows that lurked beyond his borders had not been silenced. And Cody… Cody was still a target.
Michael’s fingers tapped against the wood.
There was danger here, one that had not yet been fully reckoned with. If another attack came, if Cody fell ill again, who would be here to care for him? Who would know his body, his strength, his weakness, the way Freya did?
He leaned back in his chair, the firelight gleaming in his sharp eyes.
That was it.
Not sentiment. Not desire.
Protection.
If Freya stayed, it would be because he required her skills. Because his son’s life might one day depend on it. Because there was risk in letting her go, one that he, as a father and a laird, could not afford to take.
Michael exhaled slowly, while his decision settled over him like heavy armor.
Now, he just had to convince her.
Freya had just finished folding the last of their blankets when she felt a presence behind her.
She turned only to find Michael standing a few paces away.
At some point, she was certain that she had learned to read his expressions, but now, she realized that could not have been further from the truth.
“Me laird,” she greeted, dusting off her skirts. “Is somethin’ amiss?”
Michael did not answer immediately. Instead, he studied her with those sharp, assessing eyes, as if measuring his next words with care.
Finally, he said, “Ye cannae leave. Nae yet.”
Freya blinked. “What?”
“I need ye to stay,” he said evenly. “There’s somethin’ I require of ye as a healer.”
Her brows knit together. She didn’t understand and she wasn’t even trying to hide her confusion. “But Cody is well. There’s nay one else in need of me aid.”
Michael’s expression did not change. “I’ll explain later. Tomorrow.”
Freya crossed her arms. “Ye expect me to stay without tellin’ me why?”
“Aye.”
She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Ye’re a maddenin’ man, Laird McEwan.”
His lips twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “Aye, so I’ve been told.”
Freya sighed, glancing at her sisters, who were watching the exchange with thinly veiled curiosity. She turned back to Michael. “Very well. I’ll hear ye out, me laird. But afterwards, I will decide if ye truly need me to stay, or if me services will be more necessary elsewhere.”
To be quite honest, she couldn’t imagine a place where she wished to be other than right here. But with everything that had already happened, was it a good idea? Everything inside of her screamed no. And yet, she knew that she would grasp at any straws to remain there, for as long as she could.
“Tomorrow, after breakfast,” he said.
There was something in his tone, something quiet and unreadable, that made her nod. “Aye, alright.”
But before they could take a single step, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the corridors of Michael’s castle.
“Me laird!” It was Brodie’s urgent voice that came through the cracks in the wooden door.
“Aye?” Michael went ahead and opened it. “What is it?”
Brodie was breathless. He had evidently been running all the way there. “It’s Leighton… he’s… gone.”
Freya’s breath caught, although supposed that she could not grasp the gravity of the situation just yet. She turned to Michael, whose expression did not change, but she saw the tension coil through his body, the flicker of something dark in his gaze.
“Escaped?” he said, his voice cold and measured.
Brodie nodded. “Aye. We found his cell empty nae moments ago.”
Michael exhaled slowly, as if reigning himself in. Then he turned to Freya.
“This,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm, “is why ye cannae leave.”
Freya swallowed, a chill running through her. She barely had time to process Brodie’s words, before Michael turned to her.
“Ye and yer sisters will stay in yer chamber,” he ordered. “Daenae leave until I say otherwise.”
Freya stiffened. “Me laird, I—”
“Nay.” His eyes burned into hers. There was no allowing backtalk. “This is nae up for debate, Freya.”
The authority in his voice sent a shiver through her. This was not the guarded, measured man she had come to know. This was a laird in his element, a man whose very presence commanded obedience.
He turned sharply to Brodie. “Send men to find Cody. I want him in me sight, now. Nay one comes near him unless I say so.”
Brodie nodded, barking orders to the men as he turned to leave.
Michael’s jaw clenched, and his fists curled at his sides. “How in the hell did this happen?”
“I daenae ken yet, me laird,” Brodie called over his shoulder, “but I’ll find out.”
Freya felt her sisters move closer to her, their unease mirroring her own. Abigail’s hand brushed hers, but neither of them spoke.
Michael exhaled sharply, his gaze snapping back to Freya. “Ye will stay in yer chamber. I’ll post guards outside the door.”
Freya lifted her chin. “We can defend ourselves, ye ken.”
His eyes darkened. “We daenae ken who it is we are up against, Freya. And an unknown enemy is the worst kind.” He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “I will nae risk ye. Any of ye.”
Something flickered in his expression, something fierce and possessive. But before she could place it, he had already turned away.
“Go,” he commanded. “Now.”
Freya hesitated, wanting to argue, but the look in his eyes told her it would be useless. This was not a moment for defiance.
Without another word, she took Abigail and Marissa’s hands and led them toward their chamber, her heart hammering in her chest. She held their hands close, because she couldn’t shake a strange feeling.
Everythin’ has changed. And nae for the better…