Page 20 of Trapped by the Wicked Highlander (Lairds of the Loch Alliance #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY

T he next day, Cassandra could not stop thinking about what happened the day before. Though she tried to focus on her work as she ground herbs, it was not enough to keep her mind off of it.

Every time she closed her eyes, she felt Hunter's lips on her breast. She felt the memory of the tingle of release and it made her blush.

A knock at the door of her workshop tore her from her thoughts.

"Enter," she said.

Hunter entered the door with a large basket. Cassandra felt the color rise to her cheeks even more than before.

"Hunter… I…" but it was all she could say.

"I've thought about what ye said before," he said.

"And what is that?" she asked.

"About me wee bairn," he said. He opened the door wider and revealed Elena in a day dress, her hair braided, with Leonora the hound at her side.

"Mistress Cassandra, would ye be so good as to have a bit of an afternoon in the meadows with me?" Elena asked.

Cassandra turned to Hunter with wide eyes.

"I thought about what ye said, that Elena should move about. Ye are right. She needs fresh air and sunshine, nae to mend fully. Nae surrounded by the remainin’ sick," he said.

Cassandra smiled.

I cannae believe I got through to him.

"It would be me honor, Lady Elena. Thank ye for the offer," Cassandra said.

With that Elena smiled, which made Cassandra's heart warm. She had come to love the little child very much.

The Scottish meadows stretched endlessly before them, a sea of emerald green speckled with wildflowers swaying in the breeze.

Rolling hills embraced the horizon, their peaks crowned with wisps of mist that clung stubbornly to the land. The scent of heather and damp earth filled the air, carried by the gentle wind that rustled through the tall grass. Birds soared overhead, their songs blending with the distant trickle of a brook winding through the valley.

Cassandra spread out a thick woolen blanket beneath a sturdy oak tree, its sprawling branches offering dappled shade from the sun.

Elena sat cross-legged beside her, eyes darting curiously between the wildflowers around them.

"Now daenae feel ashamed to rest and have lay down on the blanket if need be," Cassandra said.

"I understand, Mistress," Elena said.

Hunter, on the other hand, stood stiffly, arms crossed, as though unsure of what to do with himself.

Cassandra bit back a smile at his discomfort—he was a warrior, a laird, a man who faced battle without hesitation, yet a simple picnic with his daughter left him utterly lost.

“Come sit, Hunter,” Cassandra said, patting the space beside her. “Ye look like a man who just walked into an ambush.”

Hunter exhaled sharply but obeyed, lowering himself onto the blanket with all the ease of a man settling into an unfamiliar world.

He cleared his throat and glanced at Elena, who was watching him with hesitant curiosity.

Cassandra could feel the tension between them, thick and awkward, like two strangers forced into each other’s company. Determined to ease the distance, she reached for a handful of flowers and began braiding them together.

“Do either of ye ken how to make a flower crown?” she asked, lifting the delicate chain of blossoms for them to see.

Elena shook her head, her curls bouncing with the motion. “Nay, I’ve never tried.”

Hunter scoffed, folding his arms. “A flower crown? I think nae.”

Cassandra gave him a pointed look. “If a laird can wield a sword, surely he can manage a few flowers.”

Elena giggled at that, and Hunter huffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if suppressing a smile.

With a resigned sigh, he reached for a daisy, his large hands fumbling with the delicate stem. Cassandra watched in amusement as he struggled to braid the flowers together, his large fingers clumsy and unsure.

Elena leaned closer, watching her father’s attempts with wide eyes. “Da, ye’re terrible at this,” she said with a giggle.

Hunter scowled playfully. “Watch yerself, lass, or I’ll be puttin’ ye to work plaitin’ the horse’s mane every mornin’.”

Elena shrieked with laughter, shaking her head. “Nay, I take me words back! Ye’re the best at makin’ flower crowns.”

Cassandra chuckled as she reached for Hunter’s mess of tangled stems, gently guiding his hands.

“Here, let me help,” she murmured, her fingers brushing against his.

The warmth of his skin sent a spark through her, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Together, they wove the flowers into a proper crown, and when it was finished, Cassandra placed it atop Hunter’s head with a triumphant grin.

Elena burst into laughter, clapping her hands in delight. “Ye look like a fairy prince, Da!”

Hunter grumbled but made no move to remove the crown, his expression caught between exasperation and amusement. “Aye, well, if I’m a fairy prince, then what does that make ye?”

Elena grinned. “A warrior princess, of course.”

Cassandra watched the exchange with warmth in her chest. The barriers between father and daughter, so rigid before, were beginning to soften.

“Then it’s only fittin’ that a warrior princess gets a crown too,” Cassandra said, crafting another flower chain and placing it gently on Elena’s head.

Elena beamed, her fingers brushing the petals as if they were made of gold. She turned to Hunter, her usual shyness around him momentarily forgotten. “Do ye think it suits me, Da?”

Hunter smiled, a rare, unguarded expression that made Cassandra’s breath catch. “Aye, lass, it suits ye just fine.”

For a moment, there was silence, the three of them simply existing together in the meadow. The wind whispered through the grass, the sun bathed them in golden light, and the laughter of a child echoed across the hills. It was a fragile thing, this peace, but Cassandra held onto it, knowing how precious it was.

Hunter stretched out on the blanket, finally relaxing. “Perhaps flower crowns are nae so bad after all,” he admitted. “But if ye tell anyone back at the castle about this, I’ll deny it.”

Elena giggled. “I’ll tell everyone!”

Hunter groaned, covering his face with his hands, and Cassandra laughed, shaking her head.

It was a simple moment, but in that laughter, in the lightness between them, something unspoken settled into place.

As they made their way back to Castle McDougal, Cassandra noticed the change. A small crowd had gathered at the castle’s entrance, whispers moving through the people like a restless wind.

Hunter’s steps quickened, his jaw tight with frustration, and Cassandra followed holding Elena's hand, an uneasy feeling stirring in her chest.

At the center of the commotion stood a woman draped in fine, dark fabrics, her striking beauty untouched by the dust of the road. Her golden hair, neatly pinned, framed a face Cassandra had never seen before but instinctively knew, because the woman looked like Elena. Her heart dropped to her stomach.

The moment Hunter laid eyes on her, his entire body went rigid, his expression darkening like a storm rolling over the hills. The woman’s gaze locked onto him, and without hesitation, she flung herself forward.

“Hunter!” she cried, her voice thick with emotion. “Oh, me love, I’ve returned!”

Cassandra watched as Margaret threw herself against Hunter’s chest, clinging to him as if she’d never left. He stiffened, his arms remaining at his sides, his expression unreadable.

Around them, the murmurs of the gathered crowd grew louder, everyone bearing witness to the ghost of a woman they had all believed dead.

Cassandra’s stomach twisted as it was clear that this woman was indeed, Margaret, Hunter’s ex-wife, the mother of his child.

Margaret pulled back just enough to look up at him, her blue eyes shimmering with well-practiced tears.

“Please, forgive me,” she pleaded. “I cannae bear another day away from ye or our daughter.”

Before Hunter could respond, a small voice cried out in disbelief. “Mama?”

Cassandra turned just in time to see Elena rush forward, her little legs moving faster than Cassandra had seen since the girl was on the mend.

The girl flung herself into Margaret’s arms, her face pressed against her mother’s shoulder as she sobbed with joy.

“I kent ye’d come back,” Elena whispered, her small fingers clutching at Margaret’s dress as if afraid she might vanish again.

Margaret wrapped her arms around Elena with an ease that sent a sharp pang through Cassandra’s chest. “Aye, me sweet girl,” she cooed. “I went on a long, long journey, but I’ve returned to ye.”

Elena pulled back slightly, her bright eyes searching Margaret’s face. “But I thought ye went to heaven,” she said, confusion laced in her innocent voice.

Margaret smiled, smoothing a hand over Elena’s curls. “That’s what everyone thought, but they were wrong,” she said. “I was lost, but now I’m found.”

Cassandra felt the breath leave her lungs as she watched the scene unfold. She had never seen Elena look so joyful, so utterly whole. The girl who had once been timid and uncertain in her father’s presence was now glowing, clinging to the mother she had long thought dead.

It was as if Cassandra had become invisible, as if the moments she had shared with Hunter and Elena earlier that day had never happened.

Hunter finally found his voice, his tone hard and edged with anger.

“What game are ye playin’ at, Margaret?” he demanded.

Margaret let out a shaky breath, her lips trembling. “I made mistakes, Hunter,” she said, her voice breaking in all the right places. “But I’ve come back to make things right. Our daughter deserves her maither.”

Cassandra felt her fists tighten at her sides, jealousy twisting through her like a knife.

Margaret was beautiful, poised, and she knew exactly what to say to make Elena love her and to make Hunter hesitate. Cassandra had been fooling herself, thinking she belonged here, thinking she could ever be part of this family. Margaret had returned.

Elena turned to her father, her expression pleading. “Da, please,” she said. “She’s back! I have me mama again. We can be a family now, cannae we?”

Hunter looked down at his daughter, and for the first time since Cassandra had met him, uncertainty clouded his eyes. He had always been a man who stood firm, who never wavered in his decisions, but now, with his daughter looking up at him, he was lost.

Cassandra could see the battle raging within him—his anger at Margaret, his love for Elena, and the weight of the past pressing down on him.

Margaret seized the moment, reaching out to touch his arm. “Please, Hunter,” she murmured. “I ken I daenae deserve yer kindness, but I’m beggin’ ye. Let me stay.”

Cassandra took a step back, the lump in her throat growing. She felt like an outsider, like a foolish woman who had let herself believe she could be something more. Elena had her mother now, and Hunter… well, perhaps he had never been hers to begin with.

Margaret’s gaze finally shifted from Hunter and Elena, landing squarely on Cassandra. Her blue eyes raked over Cassandra’s simple garb, the scrutiny clear in her expression.

With a graceful tilt of her head, she asked, “And who might ye be?” Her tone was casual, but there was an underlying sharpness to it, as if she already deemed Cassandra unimportant.

Cassandra straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to remain composed.

“I’m Cassandra, the healer,” she said, keeping her voice steady. She expected the woman to at least acknowledge her role, given how much she had cared for Elena, but Margaret’s reaction was instant and dismissive.

“Ah,” Margaret said with a slight, uninterested nod, already turning her attention back to Hunter.

The dismissal was like a slap to Cassandra’s pride, though she kept her face neutral. She had tended to Elena when no one else had, worried over her through sleepless nights, and now she was nothing more than an afterthought.

Hunter, however, frowned at Margaret’s response, his expression tightening. His lips parted as if to speak, but Cassandra had no desire to stand there and hear what he might say.

“I’ve patients to tend to,” she said abruptly, not bothering to mask her irritation. She turned on her heel, her footsteps firm as she strode away from the castle’s entrance.

Every muscle in her body was stiff with frustration, but she refused to let it show on her face. If Margaret wanted to pretend she was invisible, then fine—Cassandra had no interest in competing with a ghost from Hunter’s past.

The corridors of the castle were quieter than usual, the servants and guards clearly preoccupied with the unexpected arrival outside.

Cassandra moved through the halls with purpose, but her mind was a storm of thoughts. The warmth of the afternoon picnic, the tentative bond she had felt forming between Hunter and Elena, now felt like a distant memory. Margaret had returned, and with her presence came a stark reminder that Cassandra did not belong.

She reached the healing hall and exhaled sharply, trying to shake the tension from her limbs. She had work to do, and she would not let Hunter McDougal or his long-lost wife distract her from it. Moving to her shelves, she began preparing fresh bandages, her fingers working mechanically as she forced her thoughts away from what had just happened. Yet, no matter how she tried, the sting of Margaret’s dismissal lingered.

Cassandra had never considered herself a jealous woman, but something about the way Margaret had stepped in and effortlessly reclaimed her place unsettled her. She had spent weeks caring for Elena, watching over the girl, teaching her small things to bring her joy. She had watched Hunter struggle to be a father, had seen the way he tried, the way he softened in the presence of his daughter. And now, in the span of mere moments, Margaret had undone everything, slipping into the role of mother as if she had never left.

A sharp knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to see one of the younger servants named Heather, peeked inside. “Mistress Cassandra,” the girl said hesitantly. “Do ye need anythin’?”

Cassandra forced a small smile, shaking her head. “Nay, I’m fine,” she replied. “Just busy.” The girl nodded and hurried off, leaving Cassandra alone with her thoughts once more.

She hated how much this bothered her. Margaret had every right to be there—she was Elena’s mother, after all. But Cassandra could not shake the feeling that something about the woman was off. Her return was too sudden, too perfectly timed, and the way she had dismissed Cassandra so easily set her instincts on edge.

A movement at the doorway made her look up, and for a brief, foolish moment, she thought it might be Hunter. But it was merely another servant, bringing in fresh linens for the patients.

"Some fresh cloths for yer work, Mistress Cassandra," the woman said.

"Thank ye," Cassandra said.

"Have ye heard the news? ‘Tis a miracle. The Lady of the castle, she's alive," the servant said.

"Aye, I've heard," Cassandra said.

"Such a good thing for our little Lady Elena to have her maither back, by the grace of God," the servant said.

"Indeed," Cassandra said. "Thank ye for the cloth. Perhaps I can ask ye to bring me a bucket of fresh water?"

"Of course, Mistress," the servant said and left.

Cassandra did not need fresh water, but she needed to not hear about Margaret, so it was the easiest way to rid herself of that conversation.

As she worked, she told herself she did not care what Hunter thought. She told herself that Margaret’s return had nothing to do with her, that it changed nothing. But deep down, she knew that was a lie.

I've been a fool.