Page 22 of Trapped by the Wicked Highlander (Lairds of the Loch Alliance #2)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
C assandra moved through the healing hall, checking on the wounded and the sick with steady hands. She paused by a cot near the far wall and felt a spark of surprise.
The old healer, Richard, who had been unconscious for days, now sat upright, blinking at the dim candlelight. She stepped forward and lowered herself onto the stool beside him.
“How are ye feeling?” she asked, studying his face for signs of weakness.
Richard stretched his shoulders with a grunt, then turned his gaze to her.
“Better than I was, lass. Who are ye?”
Cassandra smiled faintly. “Me name is Cassandra. I’m the healer from McAllister Castle. I came to aid the McDougal clan while ye were unwell.”
Richard’s brow furrowed in thought before his eyes brightened with understanding. “Ah, so ye’re the one.” He gave a rough chuckle. “Then I owe ye me thanks, lass. Ye’ve done me a great service.”
Cassandra waved off his gratitude. “I only did what needed doin’.” She studied him carefully. “Do ye think ye can stand?”
Richard nodded, though his movements were slow. “Aye, I’d like to get to me own bedchamber. I’ll rest there, and in a couple of days, I should be right enough to resume me duties.”
Cassandra helped him swing his legs over the side of the cot. “I’ll aid ye there.” She slipped an arm under his, steadying him as he rose.
As they walked down the corridor, Richard’s weight was heavy against her, but she bore it without complaint. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the stone walls, making the castle feel colder than it was. Each step she took felt heavier, not from the old healer’s weight, but from the realization pressing in on her.
With Richard’s recovery, me time at Castle McDougal is drawin’ to an end.
She had come here with the simple task of tending the ill yet she had not anticipated the wounds she would suffer herself. The thought of leaving should have filled her with relief, yet it did not.
Her heart ached at the idea of walking away from Hunter, from Elena, from the tangled mess of feelings she had tried so hard to suppress. She had done her duty, and soon, she would be free to go—but why did the thought of leaving feel like a fresh wound instead of a healing one?
"Here ye are. I'll have some broth sent up to ye to get yer strength back," she said.
"Aye, ye are heaven sent, lass," he said.
Cassandra left the healer in his chambers, ensuring he was comfortable before stepping into the dimly lit corridor. She reached her room, closing the door behind her, and leaned against the cool stone wall, exhaling shakily. The silence wrapped around her, and for the first time, she allowed herself to acknowledge the truth that had been creeping upon her?—
I've fallen in love with Hunter.
The realization struck her like a sudden storm, unexpected and fierce. She had not meant to, had not wanted to, but it had happened nonetheless.
She strode toward the door and pulled it open, needing air, needing movement, needing distraction. As she stepped into the corridor, she nearly collided with Heather, a young servant carrying a stack of folded linens. Heather gasped, stumbling back a step before righting herself with wide eyes.
“Och, Mistress Cassandra! I dinnae see ye there.”
Cassandra managed a small smile, relieved for the interruption. “Heather, I need yer assistance in me workshop, if ye’re available.”
Heather straightened, nodding eagerly. “Of course, Mistress.”
Cassandra glanced down the corridor, eager to keep herself occupied. “Fetch two buckets of water and meet me there, when ye’re done with what ye are doin’ now."
“Aye, I’ll have them for ye in nay time.” Heather bobbed her head before hurrying off.
Cassandra watched her go before turning on her heel and making her way to the workshop. The scent of dried lavender and rosemary greeted her as she stepped inside, familiar and comforting. She busied herself arranging supplies, her hands moving on their own while her mind wrestled with the turmoil in her heart.
Minutes later, Heather arrived, breathless and pink-cheeked, carrying the heavy buckets of water. She set them down with a grunt, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her forehead. “Where would ye like them, Mistress?”
Cassandra gestured toward the wooden basin at the center of the room. “Pour them in there.”
Heather did as she was told, the sound of splashing water filling the space. When she finished, she turned back to Cassandra, curiosity flickering in her gaze. “Are ye well, Mistress? Ye seem… troubled.”
Cassandra hesitated, then shook her head. “Just tired, is all. There’s much to do."
Cassandra rolled up the sleeves of her dress as she organized the small vials of tonics and herbs on the wooden table before her.
"Now if ye will fetch two more buckets," Cassandra said.
"Aye, I shall return," Heather said.
A few moments later Heather returned with more water.
“Ye work fast, Heather. Thank ye,” Cassandra said as she reached for a mortar and pestle.
“Aye, well, I ken ye wouldnae ask for help unless it was important,” Heather replied, peering curiously at the array of herbs laid out before them. “What else do ye need me to do?”
“First, I should tell ye that the healer, Richard, is on the mend,” Cassandra said as she began grinding dried willow bark into a fine powder.
Heather’s face brightened at the news. “That’s wonderful! Does that mean ye’ll be goin’ home to McAllister Castle soon?”
Cassandra hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Aye, it does. That’s why I need yer help. I must prepare to teach Richard how to make the tonics that helped the ill. He will need to ken every step, and I cannae do it alone.”
Heather’s expression softened, and she folded her hands in front of her. “I’ll be sad to see ye go, Mistress, but I’d be honored to help ye.”
Cassandra offered her a grateful smile. “Thank ye, Heather. Now, let’s get to work.”
They moved with purpose, Heather fetching fresh sprigs of mint and chamomile while Cassandra prepared a batch of fever-reducing tonic. The process was meticulous, requiring careful measurements and patience as they mixed the ingredients. Heather listened intently as Cassandra explained each step, repeating the instructions aloud to commit them to memory.
“This tonic is one of the most important,” Cassandra said as she poured the liquid into small glass bottles. “It eases fevers and soothes pain. I will teach Richard to ken how to make it properly, or the sick will suffer needlessly.”
Heather nodded as she worked beside her. Cassandra exhaled softly, appreciating the young woman’s dedication. “Good. Now, let’s move on to the next one.”
For a while, they worked in silence, the only sounds being the scraping of pestles against stone and the gentle sloshing of water as they mixed the remedies. Cassandra found solace in the rhythm of their labor, knowing that this work was important—even if it also meant preparing for her own departure. All the while the same thought repeated…
Can I truly leave him?
For two days, Cassandra managed to avoid Hunter, slipping through the castle halls like a ghost. She kept herself locked away in her room or buried in her work, her hands busy with grinding herbs and mixing tonics. Every moment she spent alone was a small mercy, sparing her the agony of seeing whether Hunter had reconciled with Margaret. The thought of them together made her chest tighten, so she focused on what she could control—preparing to leave.
She stood at her worktable, carefully measuring dried yarrow into a bowl when the door creaked open. Turning, she found Richard standing there, his frail form looking stronger than it had in weeks. His cheeks were no longer pale, and his once sunken eyes now held a lively gleam. Cassandra smiled at the sight, pleased to see her efforts had not been in vain.
“Ah, ye have the color back in yer cheeks, Richard,” she remarked, setting down her mortar and wiping her hands on her apron.
“Aye, lass, and it’s all yer doin’,” Richard said, stepping inside. “Ye saved me, and I cannae thank ye enough for it.”
“Daenae thank me yet. We still have work to do before I leave,” Cassandra replied, motioning for him to sit.
Richard settled into a chair with a small grunt, watching as Cassandra gathered bottles and dried herbs. “Then teach me, lass. I’m ready to learn.”
Cassandra nodded. “The most important thing ye must ken is how to cure the illness that plagued the clan. It starts with this tonic here.” She gestured to a dark glass bottle filled with the bitter medicine she had spent days perfecting.
Richard leaned forward, listening intently. “And how do ye make it?”
Cassandra explained, measuring out each ingredient. “Crush them finely, then steep them in hot water before straining it into a bottle. The patient must drink it twice a day until the fever breaks.”
The lesson continued for hours. Every once in a while, Heather stopped in to help, making her an unofficial helper to Richard. Cassandra felt confident that the healer could manage the more she worked with him.
"I've written it all down here on this parchment," Cassandra said.
Richard nodded, absorbing every word. “Aye, I understand. I’ll make certain the clan never suffers like this again.”
Cassandra met his gaze, relief washing over her. “Good. Then me work here will be done.”
Richard smiled and reached out, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Ye’ve done more than enough, lass. If ye wish to leave, ken that I will take care of things here.”
Cassandra exhaled softly, the weight of responsibility slowly lifting from her shoulders. “Thank ye, Richard.”
With that, she turned and left the workroom, her heart heavy as she walked back to her chambers. She knew it was time to pack her belongings and return home. But no matter how much she told herself it was the right thing to do, it did nothing to ease the ache in her chest.
She folded her garments neatly into her satchel, her hands moving with a practiced precision. She wanted to be quick about it, to leave before she had time to second-guess herself. But as she reached for the last of her things, her fingers brushed against the fine fabric of the dresses Hunter had gifted her. The sight of them made her pause, her throat tightening.
With a deep breath, she folded the dresses carefully and set them aside. Keeping them would only bring pain, a reminder of the feelings she needed to bury. She had come to Castle McDougal to heal others, not to leave with a broken heart of her own. If she had any hope of moving forward, she needed to let go, and that meant returning these gifts to the man who had given them.
Steeling herself, she lifted the bundle and held it close for a moment. It was foolish how much it hurt to part with them, as if the fabric itself carried the warmth of his presence. But she was no fool—she knew better than to hold on to things that would never be hers. Straightening her shoulders, she turned toward the door, determined to return them and finally put this chapter behind her.