Page 63 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

It all happened in an instant. The latch clicked, and the door creaked open. Freya didn’t think. Shemoved. With all the strength she had, she swung the poker in a sharp, vicious arc, aiming for his head.

Leighton wasn’t expecting her to fight back. His eyes widened in shock as he barely jerked away in time. The iron tip whistled past his face, missing him by a hair.

“Ye little—” he snarled, but Freya had no intention of letting him recover. She wrenched the poker back, preparing to swing again.

Leighton’s reflexes immediately caught up with him. His hand shot out, grabbing hold of the iron. The cold metal burned between them as they pushed and pulled, locked in a desperate struggle.

Freya gritted her teeth, trying to rip it from his grasp, but he was stronger. He yanked it hard, nearly jerking her off balance. She didn’t hesitate. Instead of fighting for the poker, she let it go.

Leighton stumbled back a step, caught off guard by the sudden release. It was all she needed. She spun and bolted for the open door.

The cold night air hit her like a slap as she burst through the door, her bare feet barely feeling the rough dirt beneath them.She didn’t know where she was running. She only knew that she had togo.

“Freya!” Leighton’s furious roar split the night behind her.

She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. She could hear him as his heavy boots pound against the ground, chasing her into the darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“That cottage…” Michael nodded toward an abandoned looking place in an urgent voice. “Did we check it?”

They had searched for hours, covering ground farther than the day before, but with every passing moment, the weight of failure pressed harder against his chest.

Then Michael saw it.

Nestled among the trees, nearly swallowed by the shadows, stood a small, crooked cottage. It was old, its thatched roof darkened with age, the walls half-covered in creeping ivy. If he hadn’t been looking for something out of place, he might have missed it entirely.

Brodie frowned, following his gaze. “I… daenae ken, me laird,” he admitted, shifting uneasily in his saddle. “I led the search focused on the loch, nae the woods. And that place is hidden well.”

Toowell.

Michael didn’t hesitate. “Then we check it now.”

He spurred his horse forward, the others falling into formation behind him. The trees parted as they approached and the wind rattled the brittle branches above. The cottage sat eerily quiet. There was no sign of movement, no flicker of candlelight within.

But Michael knew.

His gut twisted, that deep, instinctual certainty taking root in his chest. Freya was here. Or had been.

He dismounted swiftly, drawing his sword as he stepped toward the open door. The wood was old, the hinges rusted. He cast a glance at Brodie, who nodded, with his own blade at the ready.

Michael stepped inside first. His hand was gripping the handle of his sword as his sharp gaze swept across the cottage. His eyes immediately landed on the bed, which was in disarray.

The ropes were still there, frayed and hanging loosely over the edge of the mattress, as if someone had fought tooth and nail to be free. Dark droplets of blood stained the rough wool blanket.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, while his rage cold and sharp, settled deep in his chest like a blade buried to the hilt.

“She was here.” His voice was low, but every man in the room heard the deadly promise beneath it.

Brodie stepped forward, scanning the floor. His sharp eyes caught something near the hearth. Kneeling, he reached out, his fingers brushing against a small scrap of fabric half-hidden in the dirt.

He lifted it as he turned toward Michael.

“It’s from her gown,” Michael said, recognizing it immediately. The deep green fabric was torn, its jagged edge soaked with a faint smear of blood.

Michael’s grip on his sword tightened. Freya had fought. And she had gotten free. He almost smiled.

That thought was the only thing keeping his fury from swallowing him whole. She wasn’t lying here still bound and helpless… she had escaped. But where? And how long ago?