Page 21 of Trapped by the Wicked Highlander (Lairds of the Loch Alliance #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“ W hat are ye doin’ here, Margaret? We had an agreement.” Hunter stepped closer to Margaret, his face like thunder as he leaned in. His voice was low, sharp as a blade. His scowl deepened, his hands clenched at his sides, barely holding himself back in the courtyard.

Margaret’s lips curled into a sly smile, her eyes gleaming with something that set his teeth on edge.

“Do ye want me to say it in front of our child?” Her voice was smooth, knowing, laced with an edge of amusement.

She tilted her head slightly, watching him like a cat that had just cornered its prey. Hunter’s jaw tightened, and he forced himself to look at Elena, who stood wide-eyed beside her mother.

His heart clenched at the sight of his daughter, her small hands gripping Margaret’s sleeve as if afraid she’d disappear again. He exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing down the fury that threatened to boil over.

“I’ll see ye in me meetin’ room after ye’ve had time with Elena,” he said, his voice cold, measured.

Margaret gave a slow nod, her expression unreadable. “Aye, we’ll talk soon, then.”

She smoothed Elena’s hair, murmuring something soft that Hunter couldn’t hear. Without another word, he turned on his heel, striding toward the castle like a storm rolling in.

As soon as he stepped inside, his boots echoed sharply against the stone floor. His muscles were taut with frustration, his mind a whirlwind of anger and unease. Margaret’s sudden reappearance was an insult, a slap to the life he had tried to rebuild.

For years, he had buried her in words and stories, made peace with the consequences of her choices—and now, like a ghost, she had returned to upend it all.

He shoved open the door to his meeting room and entered, his movements stiff with fury. He needed answers, but more than that, he needed control. The past had clawed its way back into his life, and he wasn’t sure if he could force it back into the grave he had made for it. He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply, trying to settle the fire burning in his chest.

A sudden knock at the door made his head snap up. Before he could respond, the door flew open, and Daniel burst in like a gust of wind, his face pale as death.

“Hunter—” Daniel’s voice was breathless, his chest rising and falling as though he had run the length of the castle. His eyes were wild, his mouth opening and closing as if struggling to form words.

“She’s in the courtyard—Margaret—she—she’s alive!”

Hunter folded his arms, his expression dark. “Aye, I ken.”

Daniel gawked at him, blinking rapidly as if trying to process what he had just heard. “Ye kent this?” His voice cracked, disbelief plain in his tone. “How in the bloody hell could ye kent that? We all thought she was dead—ye told us she was dead!”

Hunter gestured to a chair. “Sit down, Daniel.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. When Daniel hesitated, still staring at him as if he had lost his mind, Hunter barked, “Now.”

With a wary glance, Daniel sank into the chair, though his hands still clenched at his sides. “Start explainin’,” he demanded. “Because I feel like I’m losin’ me damn mind.”

Hunter took a slow breath, forcing himself to keep his voice level.

“Years ago, when I told everyone she was dead, it was because she asked me to.” His fingers curled into fists at his sides, the memory a bitter taste on his tongue. “She was too ashamed of what she had done—ashamed of bein’ unfaithful—so she begged me to send her away. But she dinnae want anyone to ken the truth, so I told the clan she had perished.”

Daniel’s mouth fell open, his shock turning to something like outrage. “Ye mean to tell me that all this time—?” His voice was thick with disbelief, his brows drawn low over his eyes. “And ye let everyone grieve her, let Elena grow up thinkin’ her maither was dead?”

Hunter’s jaw tightened. “What was I supposed to do, Daniel? Let the clan ken their lady had run off like a coward? Let Elena live with the shame that her maither had abandoned her willfully?” His voice was sharp, the weight of his decision pressing heavy against his chest.

Daniel exhaled, shaking his head as he dragged a hand through his hair. “God above, Hunter,” he muttered. “I dinnae ken whether to call ye a fool or a martyr.” His gaze flicked up, searching Hunter’s face. “But why is she back now? What does she want?”

Hunter’s stomach twisted with the same question. “That,” he said darkly, “is what I mean to find out.”

Hunter poured the whiskey into his glass, the amber liquid sloshing gently with the tilt of his hand. He took a slow sip, the burn spreading through his throat as he leaned back in his chair. His thoughts were a swirl of frustration and confusion. He had never expected Margaret to show up again, and now that she was here, he wasn’t sure what to make of her return.

A few moments passed in silence, broken only by the clink of the glass as he set it back on the table. Then, there was a knock—lighter than before, almost tentative. Hunter’s gut tightened as he stood, setting his chair aside. With a swift motion, he crossed the room and opened the door, his scowl deepening when he saw Margaret standing there, her eyes softer now than when they had first met.

“Why, Margaret?” Hunter’s voice was thick with distrust, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “I daenae trust ye. Nae after what ye’ve done.” He wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey or the anger festering inside him, but he could feel the bitterness creeping into his tone.

Margaret’s eyes softened, and she stepped closer, her hand hesitantly reaching out to touch his arm. “Hunter,” she said in a voice far too sweet for the storm swirling between them. “Ye’re bein’ cold to me. I’ve come back to try and make things right.” Her fingers lingered on his arm, but Hunter stepped back, brushing her hand away as if it burned him.

“I cannae trust ye,” Hunter repeated, his voice low and hard. “Ye’ve lied to me, made a fool of me, and now ye show up here as if nothin’ happened. What is it ye want, Margaret? Why have ye come back after all this time?”

Margaret took a breath, steadying herself before speaking. “Gossipin’ tongues reached me ears, Hunter,” she said, her voice suddenly more serious. “I heard ye attacked a man in the village. And that man turned out to be me faither, Michael Couper.”

She paused, her expression pleading, a soft desperation creeping into her features. “Once I heard that, I kent that I had to come here. I cannae let ye hurt me faither.”

Hunter’s brow furrowed at her words, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I dinnae attack him, Margaret,” he snapped. “Michael attacked me first. He’s been lookin’ for a reason to blame me ever since ye disappeared. He thinks I killed ye, and he’s been holdin’ that grudge for years. If anyone should be askin’ for forgiveness, it’s him.”

His voice shook with barely contained anger, his fists clenching at his sides.

Margaret’s face paled at his words, and she stepped back slightly, her breath catching in her throat. “Ye’re tellin’ me... me faither thinks... ye killed me?” Her voice trembled, and for a moment, Hunter saw a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, the same eyes he had once loved, but now did not trust to be real emotions.

“I dinnae ken he thought that, Hunter. I never meant for it to go this far. I—I never wanted anyone to think ye were guilty of somethin’ ye dinnae do.”

Hunter’s frustration flared, and his voice rose, sharp and accusing. “Ye never wanted anyone to think that, but ye left me with no choice, Margaret. I had to carry that burden, and ye left me to take the blame, to suffer the consequences of yer actions.”

His hands gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white as he tried to hold back the flood of anger that threatened to overtake him.

Margaret was silent for a long moment, as if trying to come to terms with the revelation. “I dinnae—” she started, her voice cracking. “I dinnae mean for ye to suffer, Hunter. I only wanted to protect meself, to protect Elena from the shame of what I'd done. I thought that if I stayed away, if I let them believe I was dead, it would be better for everyone. But now...” She faltered, looking at him, her face torn with regret. “Now it’s all gone wrong, hasn’t it?”

“Aye, it’s gone wrong,” Hunter said, his voice bitter and raw. “Ye thought ye were protectin’ me? Protectin’ Elena? What did ye think I would do, Margaret? What did ye think I would feel, takin’ on the burden of yer lies, of yer disappearance? Ye’ve destroyed everythin’. All for what? To protect yerself from shame of yer own actions of being unfaithful to yer husband?” His voice cracked, his frustration and hurt spilling out like a river breaking free from its banks.

Margaret’s face flushed with a mixture of guilt and anger, her eyes narrowing. “Ye think I wanted this?” she spat, her voice rising now in anger. “Ye think I wanted to hurt Elena? I had nay choice, Hunter. I had to leave. Ye daenae ken the pressure I was under, the way I felt like I was drownin’. I dinnae want to be another burden, another woman who failed at bein’ a wife and maither. So I ran. And I regret it now, but ye’ve never understood that, have ye?”

Hunter’s fists clenched tighter, his whole body trembling with the force of his emotions. “I’ve never understood it? I’ve never understood the pain of losin’ the woman I married to betrayal? I’ve never understood how it felt to raise our daughter alone? I’ve spent years trying to make sense of it, Margaret, and all the while, ye’ve been hidin’ away, livin’ yer life, and now ye come back as if nothin’ happened?” His voice was rising with every word, his fury barely contained.

Margaret stepped forward, her eyes flashing with anger of her own. “Ye daenae get to speak to me like that, Hunter. Ye could’ve come after me. Ye could’ve tried to persuade me, but ye dinnae. Daenae act like I’m the only one who failed us.”

Hunter’s gaze burned with intensity as he stared at her, his chest heaving with each breath. “I dinnae come after ye because I respected yer wishes, Margaret. I respected the fact that ye wanted to be gone. I dinnae come to ye because I dinnae want a wife that was unfaithful to me. I dinnae love ye, Margaret. But now ye’ve come back, and everythin’s changed. And I’m nae sure I can ever forgive ye for what ye’ve done.”

They stood there, the tension thick between them, the weight of their past crushing down on both of them. The silence was deafening, and neither knew where to go from here.

Hunter stood rigid, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at Margaret. He had no patience left for this conversation, nor for the woman who had abandoned him years ago.

But for Elena’s sake, he had to keep his anger in check. His voice was cold, sharp as a blade.

“Ye can stay, Margaret. For Elena and for now, until I figure out how to deal with this mess. But ye shouldnae expect anythin’ more from me.” His eyes darkened, the words heavy with finality. "I am nae yer husband and ye are nae Lady McDougal."

Margaret’s lips pressed into a thin line before she lifted her chin. “I will prove to ye that I can be a good wife to ye, Hunter. A good maither to Elena. I swear it.” Her voice held a desperate determination, but Hunter did not flinch.

He let out a slow, tired breath. “It’s nae necessary.” His tone was firm, lacking any warmth. “I’ve enough on me plate explainin’ yer reappearance to everyone.” He turned away, unwilling to let her see how deeply her words cut.

Margaret took a step forward, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Then I’ll do what I must. If the council questions me, I will lie if need be.” Her voice wavered, but her intent was clear.

Hunter let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Aye, ye have such an ease with lyin’, daenae ye?” His voice was laced with scorn, his eyes hard as stone. “Seems it comes natural to ye.”

Margaret’s nostrils flared, her composure slipping. She let out a frustrated huff, turning on her heel. Without another word, she stormed out, the door slamming behind her with enough force to rattle the room. Hunter exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, already regretting letting her get under his skin.

Just as the door slammed shut behind Margaret, it swung open again. Fergus, one of the council members, stepped inside, his face ashen as if he had seen a ghost. His mouth opened and closed before he found his voice.

“So it’s true, then.” Fergus swallowed hard, his wide eyes fixed on Hunter. “Lady Margaret is alive.”

Hunter clenched his jaw, his patience wearing thin. “Aye, she is,” he said gruffly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Now, go gather the council. I will address this matter once, and only once.”

Fergus did not move. He stood there, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “I think ye owe me an explanation first, Laird,” he said, his voice carrying an edge. “The council willnae take kindly to hearin’ this.”

Hunter’s temper flared, his grip tightening at his sides. “Ye think I owe ye, do ye?” His voice dropped to a dangerous low, the warning clear in his tone. “I daenae answer to ye, Fergus. Nor to any other man who dares to question me.”

Fergus straightened, his lips pressing together, but he still did not leave. “Folks will ask why this has happened.” His words were careful but bold. “They’ll ask what else ye’ve hidden.”

Hunter took a slow, measured step forward, his presence filling the room. “I’ll handle the questions,” he said, his voice like thunder rolling through the walls. “But I willnae be questioned like some wayward lad in me own hall.” His gaze burned into Fergus, his authority absolute. “Now get out, or I will throw ye out meself.”

Fergus hesitated only a moment longer before finally stepping back. Without another word, he turned and strode out, the door closing behind him.

Hunter exhaled sharply, his jaw tight, knowing this was only the beginning.