Page 54 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

Dougal hesitated, glancing at his companion.

Michael’s patience was razor-thin. “When?”

“Nae long before dawn,” Dougal admitted. “He was still there. Chained, asleep.”

Michael turned his cold stare to the second guard, Fraser. “And ye saw the same?”

Fraser nodded quickly. “Aye, me laird. We made sure the door was secure.”

Michael exhaled slowly, his fury simmering just beneath the surface. “Then tell me how a man locked in iron chains, behind a barred door, managed to walk free before the sun had risen.”

Silence.

Neither man spoke, but their fear was evident.

Michael took a step forward, his voice dropping into something more dangerous. “Did either of ye leave yer post?”

Dougal’s face paled. “Nay, me laird. I swear it.”

“Did ye see anyone near the dungeon? Anyone who shouldnae have been there?”

Both men shook their heads, clearly rattled.

Michael studied them, his gaze sharp as a blade. These were not men who would betray him. Their fear was too real, their loyalty hard-won.

And yet, they had failed him.

Someone had walked into his castle, into his dungeons, and freed the man who had tried to kill his son. And these two had been none the wiser.

Brodie, standing to the side, spoke at last. “If it was one of ours, they’d have had the means to move unnoticed.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Aye. Which means the traitor is still inside these walls.”

Fraser shifted uneasily. “What do ye want us to do, me laird?”

Michael straightened, his voice hard. “Ye will stay at yer posts and speak of this to nay one. If the traitor thinks we’re blind, they’ll grow careless.”

Both men nodded hurriedly.

Michael turned to Brodie. “Find out who had access to the keys. I want a name.”

Brodie grunted in acknowledgment. “Aye. And when we have one?”

Michael’s gaze was cold. “Then we make an example of them.”

Freya woke with a start, her throat dry and aching.

Blinking in the dim candlelight, she glanced around the chamber. Abigail and Marissa lay curled beneath the blankets, with their breathing soft and steady in the quiet of the night.

Still half-dazed from sleep, she reached for the water jug on the table beside her bed… empty.

She frowned. They’d had water before retiring, but it must have been finished. With a sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, careful not to disturb her sisters, and padded toward the door.

The corridors were eerily silent as she made her way toward the servants’ quarters. The castle never truly slept. There were always guards, always the distant sound of movement, but at this hour, the halls felt different. Still. Watchful.

She shook off the unease, filled her cup from the large water basin near the kitchen, and quietly returned to her chamber.

As she reached for the door, she noticed something on the ground. A folded piece of parchment.