Page 16 of Trapped by the Wicked Highlander (Lairds of the Loch Alliance #2)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

" T ake care of Elena, daenae take yer eyes off her," Hunter said to Jessica.

"Aye. I plan to sit by her side. Daenae worry, take yer time on this very important village trip," Jessica teased.

"She is a guest of Clan McDougal and should be treated well, after all she's done," Hunter said.

"Are ye tryin' to convince me or yerself?" Jessica winked and walked out of the courtyard.

Hunter groaned in annoyance. The morning air was crisp as he waited in the castle courtyard, his boots scraping the stone as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

A few moments later, Cassandra appeared, her figure framed by the grand entrance of the castle. She was dressed in a simple green riding dress, her hair braided neatly down her back. When she spotted Hunter, she gave him a wary smile, but he couldn’t help noticing the slight flush on her cheeks.

“Good mornin’, Gilmour,” she greeted him, her voice laced with a hint of tension. “I will ride on me own horse, so ye need nae trouble yerself.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow, the reins of a sturdy saddle horse firmly in his grasp. He moved toward her, his boots thudding softly on the ground.

“Aye, ye do, lass, this one’s for ye,” he said, his voice steady. "That horse over there is mine."

Cassandra’s eyes widened in surprise, and her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red. She crossed her arms, clearly frustrated. “Ye’ve done that on purpose, haven’t ye?” she accused, her voice slightly breathless with indignation. “Trickery cause ye ken I'd fall for yer playin’”

Hunter smirked, an amused glint dancing in his eyes. “Maybe I did, lass,” he said with a teasing shrug. “But it’s me castle, me clan, and me right to do so. Now, daenae make a fuss.”

She muttered something under her breath, but he caught the slightest curve of her lips as she tried to hide a smile. Hunter couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the sight of her trying to hide her amusement. He handed her the reins with a flourish and offered her a hand to help her mount. “Come on now, lass. Daenae be shy.”

His gaze met hers, and for a second, the world around them seemed to fall away. He took her hand, his grip warm and firm as she climbed into the saddle.

“Ye always make things so difficult, Hunter,” she muttered, though her words lacked any real bite. “I can hardly believe ye sometimes.”

Hunter smirked, watching her settle onto the saddle. He mounted his own horse, giving her a sideways glance.

“Aye, I make things difficult, but ye’ll thank me in the end. I’ve got a knack for what’s best for ye, lass.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a spark of something in her gaze that Hunter couldn’t quite place.

“If yer thinkin’ ye can boss me around like ye do yer clan, ye’ve another thing comin’.” Her voice was playful but laced with challenge. “I’ve got a mind of me own.”

“I ken, lass,” Hunter replied, his voice low and filled with an unspoken promise and a memory of what she was like when they first met. He was amused that she was playing on that memory now.

“But sometimes, yer mind needs guidin’. Ye’ll see.” He gave a small nod, urging his horse forward. “Now, let’s be off. We’ve a village to visit, and I’ve nay intention of lettin’ ye miss a thing.”

As they rode out of the castle grounds, the air seemed to hum with the unspoken tension between them. He watched as Cassandra rode beside him, her posture stiff at first, but gradually relaxing as the horse’s gait grew steady.

The distance between them was still too close for comfort, yet it felt like a long stretch of untapped possibilities. Every time she glanced over at him, Hunter caught the faintest flicker of curiosity in her eyes, as if she was trying to figure him out—and he found he liked it.

“I’ll admit,” Cassandra said after a few moments, breaking the silence, “the castle is grand, but I do enjoy a proper village. What do ye plan to do with me once we’re there, then?”

Hunter smiled to himself, his eyes focused ahead. “Well, first, we’ll find ye some dresses,” he teased, watching as she huffed and swatted at the air in mock protest. “Then, we’ll have some food, and if ye’re lucky, I might show ye a few of me favorite places.”

Cassandra tilted her head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “And what places might those be? Ye’re nae takin’ me to any taverns, are ye?” Her voice was light, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. “I’ve nay interest in drinkin’ with rowdy folk.”

“Aye, ye need nae worry, lass. Nay taverns. But ye may find a few surprises along the way,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. He stole a glance at her, watching the way her eyes flicked toward him in curiosity. “Now, what do ye say? Shall we make a day of it?”

She didn’t reply immediately, but her lips curved upwards, her cheeks still flushed from their earlier exchange. “I’ll hold ye to that promise, Hunter,” she said, her tone light but with a hint of challenge. “Just daenae expect me to make things easy for ye.”

“I wouldnae dream of it, lass,” Hunter replied, his smirk widening as they continued their ride toward the village.

There was no mistaking the chemistry between them now, a steady undercurrent that both excited and unnerved him. But for the moment, all he could do was enjoy the ride—and the company.

The village lay nestled between rolling hills, its thatched-roof cottages and stone buildings standing firm against the winds that swept down from the Highlands. Smoke curled from chimneys, filling the crisp air with the scent of peat and fresh-baked bread.

Children ran barefoot through the narrow dirt paths, while merchants called out their wares from wooden stalls set up along the main road. The hum of daily life was steady yet peaceful.

Hunter pulled his horse to a stop near a modest stone seamstress shop, its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze. He dismounted first, turning to offer Cassandra his hand, but she ignored it and slid off her saddle herself. He smirked, watching her straighten her skirts with a stubborn flick of her wrist, her chin lifted high.

"Always so determined to do things yer own way, eh, lass?" Hunter teased as she brushed past him toward the shop.

Cassandra shot him a pointed look, her eyes flashing. "I daenae need help dismountin’ a horse, Hunter," she retorted. "I’ve been ridin’ since I was a wee lass."

"Aye, but ye could stand to let someone take care of ye every now and then, since ye take care of others with nay thought to yerself" he said.

He watched as she stopped in her tracks at his words, then averted her gaze to the ground as she entered the shop.

The seamstress, a plump woman with gray-streaked hair, looked up from her work with a warm smile. She wiped her hands on her apron before stepping forward, her gaze sweeping over Cassandra with an appraising eye.

"Och, now this is a fine lass ye’ve brought me, Laird McDougal," she said. "What can I do for ye?"

Hunter gestured toward Cassandra. "She needs new dresses," he said simply.

Cassandra stiffened beside him. "I daenae need much, just one or two will do," she said quickly. "I dinnae expect to be away from home so long."

The seamstress hummed in thought before pulling out her measuring ribbon. "Well, best get yer measurements, lass," she said, waving Cassandra toward a small wooden stool. "Stand still now."

Cassandra sighed but obeyed, holding her arms out as the seamstress wrapped the ribbon around her waist.

Hunter watched, arms crossed, as the woman rattled off numbers and jotted them down. His gaze lingered longer than necessary on the curve of Cassandra’s waist, and when she glanced at him, her cheeks flushed deep pink.

When the seamstress finished, Hunter stepped forward. "I’ll need several dresses made," he said. "Sturdy ones for everyday wear—and one elegant enough for occasions at the castle."

Cassandra’s head snapped toward him. "Hunter, I daenae need?—"

He silenced her with a look. "Ye’ll have them, lass. Nay arguments."

She turned to the seamstress instead. "How much will it cost?"

The seamstress opened her mouth, but Hunter cut her off before she could respond. "Charge it to the castle credit," he said smoothly.

Cassandra spun to face him fully, hands planted on her hips. "I can pay for me own dresses," she insisted, her voice tinged with frustration. "Ye’ve nay need to be spendin’ yer coin on me."

Hunter’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer, his voice lowering. "Ye are under me clan’s protection, Cassandra," he said firmly. "As long as ye serve as our healer, ye’ll want for nothin’. I take care of me own."

Cassandra opened her mouth as if to argue, after a long pause, she exhaled in defeat. "Fine," she muttered.

Hunter smirked, satisfied. "That’s more like it, lass."

The seamstress clapped her hands together. "I’ll send them to the castle when they're ready, Laird," she said cheerfully. "I’ll make sure they fit her like a dream."

Cassandra shot him one last glare before turning back to the seamstress. "Thank ye," she said with a small nod, though her voice still carried a hint of reluctance.

Hunter leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just for her. "See, that wasnae so hard, was it?"

She huffed, crossing her arms. "Ye are impossible, Gilmour."

He chuckled, leading her back toward the door. "Aye, but ye like me anyway, daenae ye?"

She scoffed but said nothing, her blush giving her away. Hunter grinned as they stepped out into the village once more, pleased with himself—and with the way Cassandra was slowly, unwillingly, dropping her guard.

Hunter led Cassandra out of the seamstress’s cottage, the crisp Highland air brushing against his skin as they stepped onto the dirt path. The village bustled around them, but he remained focused on Cassandra, watching her adjust the folds of her gown.

She still seemed flustered from their conversation inside, her lips pressed into a stubborn line. He smirked to himself, enjoying how she bristled whenever he asserted himself.

Just as he was about to speak, movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. A man in a hooded cloak approached, his posture tense, his strides purposeful. Instinct stirred in Hunter’s gut, sharpening his senses as the man drew nearer. Before Hunter could react, the stranger lunged, a glint of steel flashing beneath the folds of his cloak.

Cassandra gasped, her scream piercing the air as the man swung his blade toward Hunter’s side. Hunter sidestepped with practiced ease, grabbing the attacker’s wrist and twisting it sharply. The dagger clattered to the ground, and with a swift movement, Hunter yanked the man forward and slammed him against the wooden post of a nearby stall.

Villagers turned in alarm, whispers rippling through the crowd as Hunter ripped back the hood, revealing the face of his assailant.

Hunter’s breath caught as recognition hit him like a hammer. "Michael?" he barked, his grip tightening. "What in God’s name are ye doin'?"

Michael Couper, his late wife's father, glared at him with wild, grief-stricken eyes. "Damn ye, Hunter," he spat. "Ye should be dead instead of me precious Margaret!"

Cassandra took a hesitant step forward, her face pale. "Who is he?" she asked, her voice wavering.

Michael’s gaze snapped to her, his expression twisted with sorrow and fury. "Lass, ye must run," he said, his voice hoarse. "Get away from this accursed family, lest ye end up like me daughter—buried before her time!"

Cassandra’s eyes darted to Hunter, confusion and unease flickering across her face. Hunter felt the sting of Michael’s words, but he refused to loosen his grip. "Enough of this madness," he growled. "Attackin’ me in broad daylight? What were ye thinkin’, old man?"

Michael let out a humorless laugh, his shoulders shaking with barely restrained fury. "What was I thinkin’?" he echoed. "I was thinkin’ how justice has yet to be served for me daughter's death. First yer own parents, and then me daughter—who will be next, Hunter? Is this poor lass yer next victim?"

Hunter’s jaw clenched, his temper flaring. "Watch yer tongue, Michael," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "Ye’re close to committin’ treason."

Michael sneered. "Aye? And what will ye do, Laird McDougal? Kill me, like ye did the others?"

Hunter’s grip nearly crushed the fabric of Michael’s cloak. The air between them crackled with tension, the past clawing at Hunter with bitter fingers. He had spent years fighting against the rumors that clung to him like a curse, but Michael’s accusations reopened wounds he thought had long scarred over.

Michael turned his sharp gaze back to Cassandra. "Daenae let his charm fool ye, lass," he warned. "He’s got blood on his hands, more than ye ken."

Cassandra swallowed hard, her brows knitting together. "I—I daenae understand," she stammered. "Why would ye say such things?"

Michael shook his head, his expression crumbling into sorrow. "Because I lost me daughter to him," he said, his voice raw. "And I cannae bear to see another innocent woman suffer the same fate."

Hunter shoved Michael back, his patience snapping. "Leave," he ordered, his voice steel. "Before I forget that once upon a time, I respected ye."

Michael held Hunter’s gaze for a long, tense moment before stepping back. "Ye can try to bury the past, McDougal," he said. "But the dead have long memories."

Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, his cloak billowing behind him.

Hunter stood rigid, his jaw locked, his heart pounding in his chest. The ghosts of his past had returned, and now, Cassandra had been dragged into the storm. He looked at her, Cassandra let out a shaky breath, her hands curled into fists at her sides.

Hunter clenched his fists as he watched Michael Couper disappear down the village road. The weight of Cassandra’s gaze pressed on him, and he knew the question before she even spoke it.

“Who was that man?” she asked, her voice steady but laced with unease.

Hunter exhaled sharply and turned to face her. “Michael Couper—me former faither-in-law.”

Cassandra’s brow furrowed. “Former?”

“Aye,” Hunter said, jaw tightening. “He believes I killed his daughter, Margaret. I swear to ye, Cassandra, ‘tis nae the truth."

"Then what is the truth, Hunter?" she asked.

Hunter couldn't bear the look of disappointment and mistrust in her eyes as she questioned him. He turned on his heel and walked back toward his horses, but he could hear her steps as she followed.

"Daenae walk away from me Hunter," she said. "Ye owe the truth to me."

"Ye goin' to believe that man's word that I'm a murderer, Cassandra? That I would take the life of me own bairn's maither?" his face turned dark as he looked down at her.

"Nay, I daenae believe that but somethin’ happened and I willnae go another step with ye if ye daenae tell me," she said.

He watched as her chest heaved up and down. The glassy look in her eyes made his guard fall. A sigh left his lips.

"In truth, she was unfaithful, and when the church annulled our marriage, she begged me nae to tell anyone the real reason. She dinnae want her faither to ken. She begged. So after, I pretended she’s dead and she lives a life of secret elsewhere."

Cassandra’s lips parted slightly, surprise flickering in her eyes. “So, he thinks she’s dead?”

Hunter gave a curt nod. “Aye. It was easier that way.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment, the hum of village life a distant murmur.

“That is a heavy burden to carry,” she said softly. “I ken what it is to be humiliated like that.”

Hunter’s gaze snapped to hers, curiosity flickering beneath his dark mood. “Ye do?”

Cassandra swallowed and looked away for a brief moment before meeting his eyes again. “Aye. I was once betrothed… until I caught him with another woman.”

Hunter’s expression darkened. “The bastard.”

She let out a small, bitter chuckle. “I left the very next day to tend to Laird Elias McAllister’s men during the war. It was easier to face the battlefield than me own disgrace.”

Hunter shook his head. “The man was an idiot, lass.”

She forced a small laugh, “Well, I cannae say I was pleased, but in the end, it brought me here.”

Hunter’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he grunted and turned toward their horses. “Come on, then. Best we head back before I the man returns. I'm sorry I willnae be able to show ye me favorite places. 'Tis too dangerous now."

"I understand. I best be back to the patients as well," she said.