Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Michael stood in the great hall, with his hands braced against the heavy oak table. The fire roared in the hearth, but no warmth reached him. Not with the weight of the words he was about to speak.
Across from him, Marissa and Abigail sat rigidly on the wooden bench, unaware of the storm about to descend upon them. Cody stood off to the side, with his arms crossed and his shoulders squared with a tension far beyond his years.
Michael exhaled sharply. “Freya is gone.”
For a moment, time seemed to stop.
Marissa stared at him, her lips parted and her hands tightening into fists against her skirts. A single, choked breath escaped Abigail before her whole frame went rigid. Cody’s brow furrowed, his little body tensing like a bowstring drawn too tight.
“What?” Marissa’s voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling on the edge of disbelief.
Abigail’s breath hitched. “Gone?”
Michael nodded, his throat tight. “She was taken.” His voice was rough, edged with fury he barely contained. “Someone lured her out with a note, one meant to look like it came from me.”
Marissa let out a sharp, broken gasp, her hand flying to her mouth as if to hold back a scream. Beside her, Abigail shook her head. Michael could hear her unsteady breathing.
“Nay,” she whispered. “Nay… she cannae be gone…”
And then she crumpled, her body folding in on itself as the first wretched sob broke free.
Marissa clung to the edge of the table, her knuckles white. Then, as if something inside her shattered, she shot to her feet, stumbling toward Michael, her small hands grasping desperately at his tunic.
“Ye have to find her, Michael. Ye have to!”
The sheer force of her desperation struck him like a blow to the gut. Before he could think, before he could hesitate, he reached for her, pulling her in. Abigail, shaking uncontrollably, collapsed against him next.
They really daenae see me as a monster.
Michael stiffened at first, unaccustomed to the feel of them trembling against him, to the warmth of their grief pressed into his chest. He had never been a man for comfort. Never knew how to mend what had been broken.
But they were Freya’s sisters. And whether he had intended it or not, they were his now, too.
His arms tightened around them, his jaw locking as he rested his chin against Marissa’s hair. “I will find her,” he said. “I swear it.”
Across the room, Cody had not moved. He stood rigid, as his fingers curled into fists at his sides. His dark eyes locked onto Michael’s, filled not with tears, but with something deeper.
Rage. Determination. A fire that matched his own.
Michael’s grip on the two lasses tightened as he made his vow. “Nay matter what it takes, I will bring her home.”
Those were also the thoughts he had as he paced the length of the great hall.
A knock on the door interrupted him, and he immediately called out his approval to enter.
The moment Brodie had returned with one of the guards, saying the man had something to tell him, Michael had barely held back the urge to shake the words from his throat.
Now, as the guard stood before him, wringing his hands, Michael forced himself to stay still. To listen.
“Speak,” he ordered, his voice like a blade against stone.
The guard swallowed hard before nodding. “Me laird, I—I think I ken how Leighton escaped his cell.”
Michael’s muscles coiled. “Go on.”
The man shifted on his feet, glancing once at Brodie, as if for reassurance, before continuing.
“We checked the cell after he was gone. The lock wasnae forced, nor tampered with. But we found somethin’.
It’s a scrap of metal, wedged behind one of the stones in the wall. He must’ve fashioned a key from it.”
Michael stilled. “Ye’re certain?”
The guard nodded quickly. “Aye, me laird. Nay one gave him a key. He made it himself.”
For the first time since Freya had gone missing, a small sliver of relief cut through Michael’s anger. If Leighton had made the key on his own, then that meant…
There was no traitor among his men.
His shoulders eased, albeit just barely. The thought of someone within his own walls betraying him, conspiring against him, had gnawed at him like a disease. But this… this was something he could understand. A desperate man doing whatever he could to escape.
His relief was short-lived though.
Because Leighton was still out there. And worse, Michael was certain he had Freya.
Michael exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “It doesnae matter how he got out. What matters is findin’ him before he—" He cut himself off, his throat tightening.
Before he hurts her.
The thought sent a fresh wave of fury through him, burning away that momentary relief. He turned back to Brodie. “Send more men out. Search the roads, the forests, every damn place a man could hide.”
Brodie gave a sharp nod. “Aye, me laird.”
Michael turned his gaze back to the guard. “If ye ken anythin’ else, now is the time to say it.”
The man shook his head quickly. “That’s all, me laird. I swear it.”
Michael studied him for a long moment, then gave a curt nod. “Fine. Go.”
As the guard hurried off, Brodie lingered, his sharp eyes scanning Michael’s face. “We’ll find her, me laird,” he said quietly.
Michael clenched his jaw. “We have to.”
The door swung wide, and in stepped Leighton, tall and grim with his cloak trailing behind him. His footsteps were slow and deliberate, as if he were savoring every moment of her distress.
She could hear his breath, ragged but controlled, like a predator approaching its prey. The heavy scent of damp earth clung to him, mingling with the stale air of the small chamber.
Freya strained against the ropes that bound her wrists to the bedposts, her muscles aching from the effort. Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest. She had no fear left for him—only anger.
“Let me go!” she demanded, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. Her words dripped with defiance, though she knew the futility of them. “Ye’ll nae win. Let me go now!”
Leighton chuckled darkly. It was a sound so low and cruel, reverberating in the air between them. He simply strode closer, his dark eyes gleaming like a wolf’s in the moonlight.
“Oh, ye think yer words can free ye, lass?” His voice was thick with a mocking tilt that drove her mad.
“Aye, ye’ve got spirit, I’ll grant ye that.
But it’s nae yer words that matter now. Ye see, I had hoped to make the laird’s son pay for what he did to me—but he’s a slippery one, nay easy prey, aye? ”
His lips curled into a sneer, and he leaned over her. “So, I thought to meself… why nae take a different path? A far easier one. If I cannae have me revenge on him, I’ll settle for the next best thing, and that is the laird’s wench.”
He spat the words as though they were poison, his eyes glinting with twisted satisfaction.
Freya’s blood turned to ice in her veins, her stomach lurching at the venom in his tone. She met his gaze with a fierceness she didn’t feel.
“Ye’re naythin’ but a coward,” she hissed, her voice trembling with restrained rage. “A man who cannot face his own battles must strike at the weak, but ye will nae win with me, Leighton. Ye’ll find nay satisfaction in breakin’ me.”
Leighton leaned back, his grin widening as he seemed to admire her resolve. “Do ye think ye’re strong, lass? Well, we’ll see how long yer spirit holds, aye?” He straightened, resembling a hawk. “But for now, ye’ll stay here, bound and helpless, while I figure out what to do with ye.”
Freya’s words came out sharp and bitter, the venom of them slipping from her tongue before she could stop herself. “Ye think I’m afraid of ye, Leighton? It’s nae me fault ye couldnae do yer job properly as the laird’s healer.”
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.