Page 17 of Trapped by the Wicked Highlander (Lairds of the Loch Alliance #2)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

S he mounted her horse as Hunter did the same, and soon, they were riding side by side, the village fading into the distance.

The road back to Castle McDougal stretched before them, winding through rolling hills and dense patches of trees. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth, and the rhythmic sound of hooves against the dirt path filled the silence between them.

After a while, Cassandra stole a glance at Hunter. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a tension in his posture that had not yet faded.

“Does it bother ye?” she asked.

He didn’t look at her. “What?”

“That he thinks ye a murderer.”

Hunter scoffed, gripping the reins tighter. “I daenae care what the old fool thinks. He’s blind with grief, and nay amount of truth will change that.”

Cassandra studied him carefully, sensing the bitterness beneath his words. “Still, it must be difficult, to ken someone holds such hatred for ye.”

Hunter let out a rough sigh. “I’ve long since stopped carin’ about what people say, lass. I ken the truth and that’s all that matters.”

Cassandra nodded, though she wasn’t sure she believed him. She understood all too well the weight of unjust rumors.

Cassandra rode beside Hunter in silence, the encounter with Michael still haunted her, his words circling in her mind like a storm she could not quiet.

He had spoken of his daughter as though she were gone, yet Cassandra knew the truth—she lived. And if she lived, that meant she had chosen to stay away, to leave behind her child and her past with Hunter.

The thought unsettled her, stirring emotions she did not fully understand.

What kind of woman abandons her own daughter? And what kind of man carries such a burden without speakin’ of it?

She dared a glance at Hunter, his strong profile set in a grim line, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“What are ye thinkin’ about, lass?” Hunter’s voice cut through her thoughts, rough yet tinged with something softer.

Cassandra stiffened, not expecting him to notice her distraction. Guilt pricked at her as she quickly searched for an answer that would not lead to more questions.

“The ill back at the castle,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I worry for them, wonder if they’re improvin’ as they should.”

Hunter turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes studying her. “They are,” he said after a pause. “Because of ye. Ye’re a miracle worker, Cassandra. They’re gettin’ stronger every day.”

She shifted in her saddle, feeling the weight of her dishonesty pressing against her ribs. It was not entirely a lie—she did worry for her patients—but it was not what had been consuming her thoughts.

“I thank ye. That is good to hear,” she said, forcing a small smile.

Hunter scoffed lightly. “Ye daenae need to pretend, ye ken. I can see when somethin’s gnawin’ at ye.”

Cassandra’s grip tightened on the reins. He was too perceptive, too unrelenting. She could not tell him the truth, could not admit that she had been thinking of his past, of the woman who had left him and the child who still had a mother somewhere in the world.

“I suppose I just feel… responsible,” she said finally. “For the people at the castle. If I can help them, I must.”

Hunter gave a slow nod, his gaze returning to the road ahead. “Aye, I ken that feelin’ well. But daenae carry it alone, lass. The clan is stronger because of ye, but even the strongest need rest.”

His words settled in her chest, warm and grounding. She had spent so much of her life tending to others, rarely stopping to consider herself. “I only do what I can,” she murmured.

Hunter glanced at her again, something unreadable in his expression. “And what ye can do is more than most. Daenae doubt that.”

Cassandra felt heat rise to her cheeks, a strange mixture of gratitude and unease twisting inside her. She looked away, focusing on the rolling hills stretching toward the horizon. “Thank ye, Hunter.”

As they arrived at the castle, Cassandra swung her leg over the saddle and dismounted, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. Hunter did the same, his movements fluid and effortless. She adjusted her skirts, forcing herself to remember why she was here, why she could not let her thoughts drift toward him.

“I should get back to me work,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Hunter nodded but did not move. “Aye, and I’ve clan matters to tend to,” he said, his voice low.

Yet neither of them stepped away. The space between them felt charged, an invisible force keeping them rooted in place.

Cassandra’s pulse quickened as she met his gaze, dark and unreadable. The memory of his lips on hers days ago sent a shiver down her spine, and she scolded herself for the longing stirring within her.

He had a wife, a woman who still walked this earth, no matter how far she was from him or their separation. And yet, she could not bring herself to step away, to break the moment before it consumed her.

Hunter took a step forward, then another, his presence overwhelming. Cassandra held her breath, unsure if she wanted to flee or close the space between them. Her heart pounded as he reached toward her, his fingers brushing a loose strand of her hair. The world around them seemed to still, and for one foolish moment, she thought he might kiss her again.

Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he plucked something from her hair and held it up.

“Ye must’ve picked this up on the ride,” he said, revealing the tiny bug between his fingers.

Cassandra’s face burned as mortification flooded her. She had been standing there, breathless, thinking he was about to kiss her—only for him to remove an insect from her hair.

“Ah… thank ye,” she muttered, her voice small.

Hunter smirked, clearly amused by her reaction. “Daenae look so troubled, lass. The little creature fancied ye, that’s all.”

Cassandra let out an exasperated breath, brushing her hands down her skirts to busy herself.

“Well, I suppose I should go inside,” she said quickly, eager to escape before she embarrassed herself further.

Hunter stepped back, though his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. “Aye, best get to it then,” he said, his voice softer than before.

Without another word, Cassandra turned and hurried inside, her face still burning. She had been a fool to stand there, to let herself get lost in the pull of him. Whatever she felt for Hunter McDougal, she needed to bury it before it destroyed her.

Hunter sat at the head of the long wooden table, his gaze steady as he listened to the murmurs of the council. The fire crackled in the grand hearth, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls of the great hall.

Around him sat his most trusted men—advisors, warriors, and elders who had stood by his side through countless battles and trials. Their expressions were mostly stern, but there was an unmistakable ease among them tonight, a rare moment of contentment.

“The sick are recoverin’ well,” said one of the elders, his grizzled beard streaked with white. “It seems the healer ye brought in was the very thing we needed. She’s worked miracles, Laird McDougal.”

“Aye,” another man added with a nod. “I’ve seen men near death on their feet again, eatin’ and speakin’ like they were never ill. ‘Tis nay small feat. The lass is skilled, that much is clear.”

Hunter leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the table’s surface.

“She is,” he admitted. “I ken she had talent, but even I dinnae expect such a swift recovery for so many. She’s been tireless in her efforts.”

"A small penchant for her work then. I believe we can part with some coin, furs and the like. We daenae want McAllister to think us ungrateful," the elder said.

"Aye, ‘tis something I agree with. We shall send her back with a bounty when she does depart us," the other elder said.

There were murmurs of agreement around the table, a few of the men exchanging approving glances.

“’Tis a shame she’s only on loan from Castle McAllister,” one of the younger council members remarked, shaking his head. “Would be a great thing if we could keep her here.”

Hunter’s jaw tightened, though he forced his expression to remain neutral. The thought of Cassandra leaving twisted something deep in his chest, a discomfort he did not care to examine too closely. She had become a part of life at Castle McDougal, her presence as familiar as the stone walls that surrounded them.

“Aye,” said another elder, nodding sagely. “When our own healer recovers, it would be wise to have Cassandra teach him her ways before she departs. Would be a waste to let all that knowledge leave with her.”

Hunter swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to respond. The mere mention of Cassandra leaving sent an unexpected wave of unease through him. He had always known she was meant to return to McAllister lands, but the idea of watching her ride away, of losing her presence in the castle, felt more intolerable than he cared to admit.

“She’s made a place for herself here,” Hunter said finally, his voice measured. “I will speak to her about sharin’ her methods with our healer when he recovers.”

“Aye,” the elder said, satisfied. “Tis a good plan. We’d be fools to let such knowledge slip through our fingers.”

Hunter nodded, but his thoughts remained troubled. He had always believed himself to be a man of logic, of duty before all else. But the more time he spent with Cassandra, the more he found himself questioning what he truly wanted.

One of the councilmen, a man named Fergus, gave Hunter a knowing look. “Ye seem troubled, Laird. Is there somethin’ on yer mind?”

Hunter exhaled slowly. “Nothin’ of concern,” he lied. “Only considerin’ the best course of action for the clan.”

Fergus smirked but said nothing more. The meeting continued, with talk shifting to other matters—land disputes, upcoming trade agreements, and the approaching winter preparations. But no matter how many topics were discussed, Hunter’s mind kept drifting back to Cassandra.

The thought of her leaving left an ache in his chest he did not understand, nor did he want to. Yet, every day it became harder to ignore.

Later that night, Hunter sat in his dimly lit bedchamber, his hands clenched into fists on the armrests of his chair. The fire burned low in the hearth, casting flickering light across the stone walls.

His thoughts swirled like a storm, refusing to settle long enough for him to find peace. The attack from Michael had him thinking about his ex-wife, Margaret. He knew he had made a mistake listening to her and granting her wish to be exiled into secrecy.

That grave mistake meant that Elena did not have her mother and he feared what that was doing to the wee lass.

With a frustrated sigh, he pushed himself up and strode toward the whiskey decanter on the table—only to find it empty.

Scowling, he grabbed the crystal bottle and shook it as if willing it to fill itself. When it remained stubbornly dry, he muttered a curse under his breath. The day had been long, filled with more tension than he cared to admit, and now he couldn’t even enjoy a drink to ease his mind. Determined, he left his chambers and made his way toward the kitchens, his bare feet silent against the stone floors.

When he entered the kitchen, the scent of warm bread and spices greeted him. Jessica stood near the large hearth, her sleeves rolled up and her hands dusted with flour. She glanced up as he walked in, arching an amused brow at his appearance.

“Och, cousin, ye look as if ye lost a battle. What brings ye creepin’ about at this hour?”

Hunter crossed his arms over his chest, leveling her with a stern look. “I could ask ye the same, lass. Ye should be abed, nae bakin’ in the dead of night.”

Jessica smirked as she kneaded a lump of dough. “And ye should be restin’ in yer fine bedchambers instead of skulkin’ about lookin’ for whiskey.”

Hunter exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Aye, well, seems we both have our reasons for bein’ wakeful.” His voice lost its usual edge, settling into something weary.

Jessica glanced at him, her expression softening. “What troubles ye, then? Ye look as though ye carry the weight of the whole clan on yer shoulders.”

He hesitated, then sighed, leaning against the wooden counter. “It’s me daughter, Elena.”

Jessica wiped her hands on her apron and turned to face him fully. “What about the lass? She seems well enough.”

Hunter ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched into his features.

“She’s growin’ up without a maither. I see it in her eyes, Jess. She watches the other children cling to their maithers, and I can feel her wantin’ the same.”

Jessica folded her arms, her expression unreadable. “And what have ye done about it?”

Hunter tensed at her question. “What can I do? I cannae be a maither to her.”

Jessica huffed, shaking her head. “Ye say that, but have ye even tried? The lass doesnae need a maither—she needs ye. She needs to ken she’s loved, that she’s safe, that ye are more than just her laird, but her faither.”

Hunter let her words sink in, the weight of them settling uncomfortably in his chest. He had done his duty, made sure Elena had everything she needed, but had he truly been there for her?

He thought back to the times she had reached for his hand, the moments she had looked up at him with hopeful eyes, only for him to push her toward the maids or tutors. Shame prickled at his skin.

Jessica’s voice softened. “Ye can be both maither and faither to her, Hunter. But that choice is yers to make. So far, ye’ve done nothin’ but push her away.”

Hunter swallowed hard, staring at the fire. The truth burned as much as the flames.