Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“They’re nae at their posts, me laird.”
Michael’s head snapped up from the map spread across his desk. Brodie stood before him, arms crossed over his broad chest, wearing that usual grim expression. The firelight flickered against the deep lines on the man’s face, but his eyes—sharp and ever-watchful—betrayed nothing but cold suspicion.
Michael leaned back in his chair, fingers pressing together. “Who, Brodie?”
“Gregor, Hamish, and young Callan,” Brodie said. “None of them reported for duty this morn.”
Michael’s jaw tightened. “And where are they?”
Brodie shook his head. “I daenae ken. They were seen last night, but nay one’s laid eyes on them since.”
Silence hung heavily between them, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire. Michael studied Brodie carefully. His most trusted guard was no fool, and neither was he. Men did not simply disappear, not when the castle had been under close watch since the attack on Cody.
Michael pushed back from his desk, rising to his full height. “Do ye think this is some rebellion?”
Brodie’s mouth twitched in a humorless smirk. “I think it’s somethin’, me laird” he muttered. “Folk daenae vanish without reason. Nae when we’ve already had one treachery in our midst.”
Michael clenched his fists, his mind drifting to the night his son had nearly died.
The sickness had come fast, too fast, and though Freya had saved the lad, she had also confirmed his worst fears—it had been no mere illness.
Someone had poisoned Cody. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, another attack happened.
Rage boiled inside of him, along with helplessness.
“Three guards missin’,” Michael murmured, pacing toward the window. Outside, the morning mist curled low over the courtyard, shrouding the stone walls in an eerie haze. “Could be fear. Cowards slippin’ away, thinkin’ they’ll be next.”
Brodie grunted. “Or it could be somethin’ worse.”
Michael turned back to face him, with his eyes narrowing. “Ye think they’re part of it?”
“I think I daenae trust men who disappear without a word.” Brodie’s voice was flat. “And I trust even less those who are still here, actin’ as if naught is amiss.”
Michael exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Brodie’s suspicions mirrored his own, and that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. His clan was built on loyalty and discipline, but rot could spread in even the strongest of walls.
Michael’s jaw tightened, though his voice remained calm, measured. “Have ye heard anythin’? Rumors, whispers—anything; at all?”
Brodie’s dark eyes flashed. “If I had, me laird, ye’d have heard it the moment I did.”
Michael held his gaze for a long moment. Brodie was many things. He was harsh, suspicious, brutal when needed, but he was no liar. If he knew something, he would have spoken.
He exhaled slowly, his thoughts sharp and methodical. “Three guards missin’,” he said, more to himself than to Brodie. “If they fled, it means fear. If they were taken, it means we have enemies still within our walls. And if they vanished of their own will—”
“Then we’ve got traitors,” Brodie finished grimly.
Michael’s hands curled into fists, but his expression remained unchanged.
It was the simplest explanation. The last attack had been against Cody, and that had failed.
A smarter enemy would know that striking at his son had only hardened Michael’s resolve.
A different tactic was needed. Turning his own men against him.
Spreading doubt. Weakening his foundation.
It will nae work.
He turned his gaze back to Brodie. “If they’ve fled, I want to know why. If they’re hidin’, drag them out. If they’ve betrayed me…” A pause, brief but heavy. “Then we make an example of them.”
Brodie gave a sharp nod. “Aye, me laird.”
Michael turned back to the fire, his expression betraying nothing.
A rebellion. A coward’s escape. A traitor’s hand. Any of those things could be true. And until he knew which, he would prepare for all of them.
His castle had withstood storms, wars, and betrayals before. It would withstand this too.
And if someone thought to strike at him again, at his son, they would learn the price of treason.
“And then,” Cody continued, as his small hands waved animatedly, “the great beast rose from the loch, water drippin’ from its scales, its eyes glowin’ like fire—”
“Like fire, ye say?” Marissa teased, reclining on the blanket beside him. “I thought loch monsters had eyes like the moon.”
Cody shook his head vehemently. “Nay! This one had fire in its belly, just waitin’ to scorch any lad foolish enough to go near.”
Freya laughed softly, watching as Abigail leaned forward, feigning concern. “What happened to the poor lad?”
Cody puffed out his chest. “Well, lucky for him, he was quick on his feet and mighty clever besides. He tricked the beast by throwin’ a torch into the water, makin’ it think the fire had spread! The monster fled back into the deep, and the lad was never troubled again.”
The girls clapped in amusement, and Cody beamed, clearly pleased with his tale.
Freya smiled, though there was an ache behind it. How easily Cody wove stories, his spirit unburdened despite the dangers that had nearly stolen his life. He had been so weak when they arrived, his small body nearly swallowed by fever, but now… now he was full of life again.
And soon, they would have to leave him.
Her chest tightened at the thought.
Marissa stretched out lazily, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Ye’d make a fine bard, Cody.”
Cody grinned. “Think so?”
“Aye,” Abigail agreed. “Though I daresay ye’ll be a warrior like yer da before long.”
At that, Cody’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, something unreadable flickering in his young eyes.
Freya caught it and felt her heart squeeze.
Michael.
She exhaled slowly, forcing her gaze to the rippling waters of the loch.
The laird of these lands had been on her mind far more than she cared to admit.
Cold and unreadable as he was, Michael cared fiercely for his son.
That had been evident from the first moment she met him.
And now, after weeks in his home, she had seen glimpses of the man beneath the laird.
The sharp mind, the unwavering control, the way his presence commanded a room with nothing more than a glance.
Michael was a laird. His world was one of duty, of blood and steel, of decisions that allowed no room for hesitation. And she… she was a healer, a wanderer, tied only to her sisters and the work that called her forward.
Still, the thought of leaving Cody—and Michael—left a hollow space in her chest she did not know how to fill.
“Freya?”
She blinked, realizing Abigail was watching her with quiet curiosity.
Cody looked up as well, tilting his head. “Ye look sad,” he observed.
Freya forced a small smile, reaching over to smooth his unruly hair. “Nae sad, just thinkin’.”
Cody wrinkled his nose. “Thinkin’ about what?”
She hesitated, then said gently, “About how much we’ll miss ye when we leave.”
His face fell, and for a moment, the lively boy before her looked much younger, more vulnerable. “Ye’re leavin’ soon?”
Freya swallowed. “Aye…”
Cody frowned, glancing down at his hands. He was quiet for a long moment before he mumbled, “Then I daenae want to get better.”
She wished she could give him the answer he wanted, but she had never been one to lie, least of all to a child.
“Cody, me darlin’,” she said gently, tilting his chin so he would look at her. “Ye ken ye daenae need to be sick for us to stay.”
He frowned. “But if I get better, ye’ll leave.”
Freya hesitated, but then let out a soft breath, knowing there was no use in delaying the truth. “Cody, ye are better.”
He blinked. “I am?”
“Aye,” she said with a warm smile. “Ye’re strong again. Yer color’s back, and I can hear it in yer voice, see it in how ye run about. The fever’s long gone, and there’s nay weakness left in ye.” She squeezed his small hands. “Ye’re healed.”
For a moment, Cody didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, his lips pressed into a thin line, and he pulled away from her touch.
Freya sighed, glancing at her sisters. “It means we’ll be able to go home soon.”
Marissa and Abigail nodded in understanding, but they, too, looked wistful. It had been easy to settle into life here, easier than any of them had expected. The castle was strong and well-kept, the land wide and beautiful, but it was Cody and his father who made the thought of leaving difficult.
Cody’s hands clenched into fists on his lap. “I daenae want ye to go.”
Freya’s heart squeezed, and she exchanged a glance with her sisters before turning back to him. “Oh, sweet lad, I ken. But this was never our home.”
“It could be,” Cody argued stubbornly.
Freya stilled. The boy had spoken so simply, as if the thought were an obvious one. As if there were a place for them here beyond her duty as his healer.
Beyond Michael.
She swallowed, pushing that thought away. “Cody, ye ken we travel where we’re needed.”
“But I need ye,” he insisted, his young voice thick with emotion.
Freya let out a breath, as she shifted closer to him. “Ye’ll always have us in yer heart,” she murmured tenderly. “And ye have yer faither. There’s nay man in the world who would fight harder for ye.”
Cody lowered his gaze, scuffing his boot against the edge of the blanket. “Da’s always busy. At least, that was how it was before I got ill.”
Freya frowned, glancing at her sisters again, unsure how to respond.
“Maybe,” Abigail said in a soft voice, “but he loves ye more than anythin’.”
“And maybe things will be different from now on,” Freya said, hopeful for them all.
Cody’s lips wobbled, and for a moment, he looked as though he wanted to argue. Then, with a deep sigh, he flopped backward onto the blanket, staring up at the sky.
“Still daenae want ye to go,” he muttered.
Freya smiled sadly. “Aye, lad. Neither do I.”
And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure if she was speaking just for Cody’s sake.