Page 60 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

The words were bitter on her lips, but as soon as they left her mouth, a chill crawled over her skin. A gnawing suspicion twisted her gut, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

Leighton’s lips curled into a grin, slow and menacing, as if he had anticipated her reaction. But the real truth began to settle in Freya’s mind like an iron weight.

“Ye dinnae just fail to heal Cody,” she whispered, almost to herself. “Ye… ye poisoned him.”

The realization hit her like a blow to the chest. Her heart pounded, the room spinning for a moment as everything she thought she knew suddenly shattered.

Leighton stood before her, unmoving, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. The silence stretched between them, until he broke it with a low, cruel snicker.

“Ye daenae know a bloody thing, do ye?” he taunted, stepping closer to her. His voice dripped with a venomous satisfaction that made her stomach churn. “Ye think ye’re clever, but ye’ve nay a clue. Yer precious Cody’s fate was sealed long before ye ever laid eyes on him.”

Freya’s breath hitched, and her hands clenched tightly against the ropes. Her mind spun, desperate for understanding, for answers.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” she breathed, the accusation hanging in the air between them, but the sick feeling in her chest only deepened.

Leighton’s smile widened, his gaze cold and calculating. “Aye, ye’re right, only ye’ll nae be hearin’ the whole tale from me, lass. That’s somethin’ I’ll reserve for the laird, nae his whore of a wench.” His words cut into her like a knife, each one intended to wound and weaken her.

“Ye will nae get away with this, ye devil!” she managed to scream at him.

He turned toward the door, pausing. “Ye’re nae in a position to make any threats, Freya. I’ve got nay intention of sharin’ any more secrets with ye, but ye’ll soon learn the truth. Nae from me, though,” he added, his voice thick with mocking delight. “The laird will reveal all ye need to ken.”

With one final, cruel laugh, Leighton slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing in the silence of the room.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Awhole day, an entire damned day, and there was still no sign of Freya. No tracks. No messages. No ransom demands. Just… nothing.

His jaw clenched as he turned toward the men gathered before him. His guards stood in rigid silence, their expressions taut with unease. They had searched the castle grounds, the village, the forests beyond, even the abandoned crofts along the river—but it was as if Freya had vanished into thin air.

A cold fury surged through him, barely held in check. He had been patient. He had given them time. But patience had won him nothing.

“How in God’s name does a person disappear without a trace?” he demanded. His gaze swept over the guards, each of them shifting under the weight of his anger. “Ye combed the grounds, aye? The roads, the hills, the bloody lochs? And yet ye tell me there’s naught? Nae a whisper? Nae a sign?”

Silence.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms.

“Our efforts are all useless,” he muttered, raking a hand through his dark hair. He wasn’t just angry. He was… afraid. And he despised that fear.

Freya was smart. She was fierce. She would fight. But if no one had seen or heard anything, it meant whoever had taken her had planned this well. Too well.

“We search again,” he ordered, his voice quieter now but no less dangerous. “We search till there’s nothin’ left to search. If ye have to tear apart every last cottage, every barn, every stretch of land, then ye bloody well do it.”

He turned away from them, his hands braced on the edge of the long wooden table. His knuckles were white, his mind racing. This wasn’t a simple disappearance. This was a warning. A challenge.

Michael exhaled sharply, forcing himself to rein in his temper before he turned to face the doorway. Marissa, Abigail, and Cody stood just beyond the threshold, with their faces pale in the dim torchlight.

The girls looked hesitant, as they had their hands clasped tightly in front of them. Even Cody, as of late brimming with youthfularrogance, had lost his usual bravado. His shoulders were rigid, his mouth drawn into a tight line, as though he was bracing for the worst.

“Any news?” Marissa asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Michael’s chest tightened, but he shook his head. “Naythin’ yet.” He forced the words out evenly, though he despised saying them. “We’re still searchin’.”

Abigail’s lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she might say something, but she only nodded. Cody shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest in a poor attempt at appearing composed. But Michael saw the tension in his posture. He saw the way his jaw clenched too tightly, the way his gaze darted toward the floor before forcing itself back up again.

Fear. They were all afraid.

Michael swallowed hard, feeling an unfamiliar weight settle in his chest. He was no stranger to battle, to threats, to loss, but comforting others? That was never his role. He had always been the one to take action, not offer empty reassurances.