Page 61 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

Still, he could not ignore the way they looked to him now. Expecting something. Hoping for something.

“She’s strong,” he said, his voice quieter now, steadier. “Freya will nae go down without a fight. And neither will I.” His gazeflicked between them, holding each of theirs in turn. “We’ll find her.”

It was not warmth. It was not the kind of gentle reassurance others might have offered. But it was the truth, spoken with cold certainty.

Marissa and Abigail exchanged a glance before nodding, some of the tension in their shoulders easing, if only slightly. Cody swallowed hard, then gave a single, curt nod.

Michael turned back toward the map spread across the table, his hands braced on either side of it. He did not look up as he spoke again.

“Go get some rest. When I have news, ye’ll be the first to hear it.”

There was a long silence before the soft shuffle of footsteps retreating down the hall. When the door closed behind them, Michael let out a slow breath, pressing his fingers against his temples.

He couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t stand the confines of stone walls and flickering torchlight while Freya was out there, alone and taken away from him. Every moment wasted felt like another step further away from finding her.

He shoved away from the table and strode toward the door. The guards flinched slightly as he passed, but none dared question him. They knew better.

Outside, the night air bit at his skin, sharp and cold, but he barely noticed. The castle grounds stretched out before him, cloaked in darkness. There was only the faint glow of torches along the walls breaking through the night. He took in the landscape: the stables, the tree line, the winding path leading down to the river.

Where the hell had they taken her?

His boots struck hard against the frozen earth as he moved toward the willow tree, the last place she had been seen. The branches swayed in the wind, casting eerie shadows but there was nothing else. Just the same cursed emptiness as before.

Michael crouched, his fingers grazing over the damp ground, in search of anything the others might have missed. A scrap of fabric. A trampled patch of grass. A mark in the soil that didn’t belong.

But there was nothing.

His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached.

This was wrong. People did not just vanish. Freya did not just vanish.

He exhaled harshly, rising to his feet. The silence around him felt suffocating.

Where are ye, Freya?

Freya’s wrists burned, the rough rope biting into her skin no matter how carefully she twisted against it. Hours had passed. How many… she couldn’t say.

There were no windows in the small, suffocating cottage, only the dim flicker of a candle left burning on the crooked table across the room. The wax had melted nearly to the base. That meant time was slipping away.

Her throat was raw from earlier shouting, her body stiff from being bound for too long. She refused to cry. Refused to break. Leighton wanted her afraid, weak, desperate. But she was none of those things.

“Freya, ye need to think,” she urged herself. “Ye need to find a way out this.”

Freya shifted slightly, testing the bindings again. They were tight. Too tight. But she hadn’t stopped moving since he left. She hadn’t stopped pushing against them in slow, measured increments, ignoring the fire in her muscles.

Then she felt it.

A small, sharp edge beneath her fingers. Barely there. Almost nothing.

Her heart pounded as she stilled, and her breath was coming quicker now. Carefully, she twisted her wrist, as fingers stretched and strained. It was rough. Splintered. A jagged piece of wood sticking out from the headboard.

Hope flared through her chest.

Slowly, she maneuvered her bound hands, inching the rope over the splinter, feeling it scrape against the fibers. It wasn’t enough. She pressed harder, wincing as the wood bit into her skin. Blood slicked her fingers, but she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop.

Her pulse roared in her ears as she worked, sawing against the rope with every ounce of patience she had left. Footsteps outside made her freeze, breath catching in her throat. She listened, as her body tensed even more.