Page 58

“Come in, lass. I daenae bite. I havenae the teeth for it anymore.”

Brigid snorted.

Freya sat on the stool Moira pointed to, holding Archer tight.

“He hit his head,” she blurted. “On a sharp stone in the garden. I looked away for a moment, and he⁠—”

“Let me see him.”

“There is blood.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Moira tipped Archer’s chin toward the window, and he scowled at her. “Och, aye, I ken. Terrible old woman.”

“Is it bad?”

“It’s a scratch.”

“Ye’re certain?”

“Lass, I’ve been patching bairns up since before yer maither was born.” Moira dabbed at the cut, and Archer squawked. “He’ll have a wee mark for a day or two, then naught.”

“But what if he hit it harder than⁠—”

“Is he crying?”

Freya looked down. Archer had gone quiet, staring at the honey pot in Moira’s hand. “Nay.”

“Is he sleepy? Sick?”

“Nay.”

“Then he’s well.” Moira smoothed honey over the scratch. “Watch him tonight. If he vomits or sleeps strange, fetch me.”

“I told ye,” Brigid murmured.

“Ye did,” Freya admitted. “Thank ye, truly.”

Moira peered at her. “Ye fret like a maither.”

“I’m nae his maither.”

“Nay?” She smiled. “Nae yet, perhaps.”

Freya had calmed down when they left the healer’s chambers, but then she nearly ran right into Jack down the hall. She forced a smile and continued her walk back to the nursery.

“Is the boy all right?”

“He is,” Brigid confirmed. “Only a scratch. The lad will be fine.”

“And what did the healer say?”

“He must be watched,” Freya replied after a while. “To make sure⁠—”

It was then that she noticed Evander.

“We saw ye running here,” he told her softly. “What were ye saying?”

“The healer says we need to pay attention to see if Archer vomits or sleeps strange, but she doesnae think anything will happen.”