Page 59 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

Michael’s muscles coiled. “Go on.”

The man shifted on his feet, glancing once at Brodie, as if for reassurance, before continuing. “We checked the cell after he was gone. The lock wasnae forced, nor tampered with. But we found somethin’. It’s a scrap of metal, wedged behind one of the stones in the wall. He must’ve fashioned a key from it.”

Michael stilled. “Ye’re certain?”

The guard nodded quickly. “Aye, me laird. Nay one gave him a key. He made it himself.”

For the first time since Freya had gone missing, a small sliver of relief cut through Michael’s anger. If Leighton had made the key on his own, then that meant…

There was no traitor among his men.

His shoulders eased, albeit just barely. The thought of someone within his own walls betraying him, conspiring against him, hadgnawed at him like a disease. But this… this was something he could understand. A desperate man doing whatever he could to escape.

His relief was short-lived though.

Because Leighton was still out there. And worse, Michael was certain he had Freya.

Michael exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “It doesnae matter how he got out. What matters is findin’ him before he—" He cut himself off, his throat tightening.

Before he hurts her.

The thought sent a fresh wave of fury through him, burning away that momentary relief. He turned back to Brodie. “Send more men out. Search the roads, the forests, every damn place a man could hide.”

Brodie gave a sharp nod. “Aye, me laird.”

Michael turned his gaze back to the guard. “If ye ken anythin’ else, now is the time to say it.”

The man shook his head quickly. “That’s all, me laird. I swear it.”

Michael studied him for a long moment, then gave a curt nod. “Fine. Go.”

As the guard hurried off, Brodie lingered, his sharp eyes scanning Michael’s face. “We’ll find her, me laird,” he said quietly.

Michael clenched his jaw. “We have to.”

The door swung wide, and in stepped Leighton, tall and grim with his cloak trailing behind him. His footsteps were slow and deliberate, as if he were savoring every moment of her distress.

She could hear his breath, ragged but controlled, like a predator approaching its prey. The heavy scent of damp earth clung to him, mingling with the stale air of the small chamber.

Freya strained against the ropes that bound her wrists to the bedposts, her muscles aching from the effort. Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest. She had no fear left for him—only anger.

“Let me go!” she demanded, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. Her words dripped with defiance, though she knew the futility of them. “Ye’ll nae win. Let me go now!”

Leighton chuckled darkly. It was a sound so low and cruel, reverberating in the air between them. He simply strode closer, his dark eyes gleaming like a wolf’s in the moonlight.

“Oh, ye think yer words can free ye, lass?” His voice was thick with a mocking tilt that drove her mad. “Aye, ye’ve got spirit, I’llgrant ye that. But it’s nae yer words that matter now. Ye see, I had hoped to make the laird’s son pay for what he did to me—but he’s a slippery one, nay easy prey, aye?”

His lips curled into a sneer, and he leaned over her. “So, I thought to meself… why nae take a different path? A far easier one. If I cannae have me revenge on him, I’ll settle for the next best thing, and that is the laird’s wench.”

He spat the words as though they were poison, his eyes glinting with twisted satisfaction.

Freya’s blood turned to ice in her veins, her stomach lurching at the venom in his tone. She met his gaze with a fierceness she didn’t feel.

“Ye’re naythin’ but a coward,” she hissed, her voice trembling with restrained rage. “A man who cannot face his own battles must strike at the weak, but ye will nae win with me, Leighton. Ye’ll find nay satisfaction in breakin’ me.”

Leighton leaned back, his grin widening as he seemed to admire her resolve. “Do ye think ye’re strong, lass? Well, we’ll see how long yer spirit holds, aye?” He straightened, resembling a hawk. “But for now, ye’ll stay here, bound and helpless, while I figure out what to do with ye.”

Freya’s words came out sharp and bitter, the venom of them slipping from her tongue before she could stop herself. “Ye think I’m afraid of ye, Leighton? It’s nae me fault ye couldnae do yer job properly as the laird’s healer.”