Page 25 of Trapped by the Wicked Highlander (Lairds of the Loch Alliance #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

H unter strode across the castle grounds, his boots crunching against the damp earth. He had hoped for a quiet moment of reflection, to simply breathe and feel the land beneath his feet. But his peace was shattered when Fergus, one of his councilmen, stepped into his path, his expression sharp with purpose.

Fergus wasted no time, his tone laced with expectation. “Laird, we must discuss the matter of Margaret.” His eyes narrowed, studying Hunter as though he were a stubborn child refusing to see reason. “What will be done about her? Will ye take her back and do what’s right for the clan?”

Hunter’s jaw tightened, his patience already wearing thin. “Do what’s right?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. He took a step closer, towering over the older man.

Fergus huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Aye, she made mistakes, but that doesnae change the fact that the McDougal line needs an heir. A strong son to carry on yer name.” His sharp gaze flicked toward the castle. “Ye have one daughter, and while she may be precious, she cannae lead the clan when the time comes.”

Hunter’s fists clenched at his sides, but he held his temper in check. “Elena is me flesh and blood, and she’ll always have me protection,” he growled. “As for an heir, that is me concern, nae yers.” His gaze darkened. “Ye’d do well to remember that.”

Fergus scoffed, unimpressed by Hunter’s resistance. “Ye cannae ignore this, Laird. The council willnae sit idle while the future of the clan remains uncertain.” He shook his head, a tinge of frustration in his voice. “If ye willnae reconcile with Margaret, then who will bear ye a son?”

Hunter’s frustration boiled over, and his voice came out like a whip. “Margaret is dead to me, Fergus, and I’ll nae hear her name spoken again.” He stepped closer, his presence imposing. “And I’ll nae be ordered about like a lad who doesnae ken his own duty.” His tone lowered to a growl. “Mind yer own concerns.”

Fergus’ lips pressed into a thin line, but he did not back down. “The future of Clan McDougal is me concern,” he said, voice firm. “Without a male heir, we risk instability. Others will see it as weakness, and it could invite threats ye’d rather nae face.”

Hunter exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I have already chosen me path,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm. He met Fergus’ gaze, steel in his eyes.

Fergus blinked, momentarily taken aback. “The council willnae be pleased,” he muttered. “They expected an heir that would strengthen our?—”

Hunter cut him off with a sharp glare. “The council serves the Laird, nae the other way around,” he reminded him. “And I have made me decision. I willnae sire a child with Margaret.” His voice dropped to a warning growl. “If the council cannae accept that, then they’ll soon learn where their place is.”

Fergus’ mouth tightened, but he said nothing more. With a stiff nod, he turned and walked away, his shoulders tense with lingering frustration. Hunter watched him go, his own anger still simmering beneath the surface. He had no doubts about his choice, but he knew this would not be the last time he had to defend it.

Turning back toward the castle, Hunter took a steadying breath. Let the council grumble all they wanted—he had won battles before, and he would win this one too.

However, as he entered the castle and his meeting chamber, another lecture seemed to await him.

"Aye, what’s this about?" Hunter asked, his voice still carrying the frustration of his encounter with Fergus.

He was surprised to find Daniel and Jessica sitting there, waiting for him. He frowned slightly, unsure of what to expect.

Daniel leaned forward in his chair, crossing his arms. “We noticed ye’ve been a bit off lately, Hunter,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of concern and blunt honesty. “Ye’ve seemed... different since Cassandra left. Ye two had gotten close, and now that she’s gone, well... we can see the shift in ye.” His eyes held a quiet understanding, as though he knew exactly what Hunter was going through.

Hunter sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Aye, it’s true,” he admitted, his voice rough. “But it’s nae just about Cassandra. It's Margaret and the mess she's brought. What am I to do? Elena missed her maither. I cannae take her away from Margaret again. I cannae put Cassandra in a position where she could be hurt... nae with Margaret here.” He looked at them both, his gaze filled with the conflict that had been weighing on him for days now.

Daniel cursed under his breath, his frustration clear. “I ken ye’re tryin’ to protect Elena, but ye’re refusin’ yer own needs,” he said, shaking his head. “Cassandra brought somethin’ to the castle that we all needed. She lightened up the mood, Hunter—somethin’ we’ve been lackin’ for so long.” His voice grew more intense, his concern for Cassandra and Hunter both evident. “And Margaret—she’s a poison, lad. We all see it.”

Hunter clenched his jaw, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I daenae like her either,” he muttered. “But Elena’s needs have to come first. She wants Margaret here. I cannae let Margaret’s darkness threaten anyone under me roof, least of all Cassandra.”

His eyes flickered with a painful resolve, his hands resting on his desk, knuckles white with the tension of his thoughts. “I daenae have a choice, Daniel.”

Jessica, who had been quietly observing, finally reached out and placed a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. Her touch was gentle, but there was a firmness to it that let him know she understood, even if it pained her.

“Hunter, I ken this isnae easy for ye,” she said softly, her Scottish brogue thick with sympathy. “We understand yer reasonin’, but ye need to make sure that ye’ve thought this through.” Her voice softened as she continued, “If ye feel Margaret poses a threat to Cassandra’s safety, then it's best she stays at McAllister Castle and nae return here.”

Hunter looked down at the desk, his mind racing. He knew what they said was true. Cassandra had brought light into the castle, something he hadn't realized he’d been missing until she was gone. But Cassandra's safety came first—he couldn't afford to put her in danger. Margaret’s cruelty had already caused enough harm, and Hunter would be damned if he allowed it to hurt anyone else.

"I daenae want to lose Cassandra," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "But I cannae let me priorities slip... Elena is me heart. I’ve already lost too much.”

He looked up at Jessica and Daniel, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and determination. “Ye may think me wrong, but this is what I believe is best. I cannae risk it."

Daniel met his gaze, the frustration still lingering, but now tempered with understanding. “I ken, Hunter. I really do,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still firm. “Just ken that we’re with ye. But daenae forget what Cassandra brought to this place. She was good for us... and for ye.”

Hunter took a deep breath, trying to reconcile his feelings. The decision had been made, but the weight of it still pressed heavily on him. “I willnae forget,” he whispered.

Jessica nodded, her expression softening with empathy. "Then we stand with ye, Hunter." She gave his shoulder a final reassuring squeeze before standing up with Daniel. “But ye need to make sure that this decision to keep Cassandra away doesnae break ye, aye?”

Hunter nodded slowly, watching them leave. Alone again, he felt the weight of his choices pressing down on him, but he knew, deep down, that he had done what was necessary.

Hunter lay tossing and turning in his bed, restlessly turning over thoughts of Cassandra in his mind. Days had passed since she left, but he could not shake the feeling that something was missing.

He could still feel the warmth of her presence, the way her laughter had filled the hallways, the way she had lightened even the darkest moments. But now, all that remained was a hollow ache in his chest that he couldn’t ignore.

A sharp knock at his door cut through the silence of the night. Hunter stiffened, irritation surging through him as he swung his legs off the bed. He grabbed his kilt from the chair beside the bed, quickly draping it over his naked body before heading to the door. With his jaw clenched, he swung the door open, expecting nothing more than a servant or another intrusion, but instead, Margaret stood there, her eyes lowered in a feigned innocence.

Margaret stepped forward, her voice soft and smooth. “I thought ye might be lonely, Hunter,” she purred, her eyes flicking up to meet his. “Might ye’d want some company.”

Her lips curled into a subtle smile as she batted her lashes, her gaze lingering on his bare chest. Hunter’s stomach turned as he stared back at her, disgusted by the sight.

Hunter’s voice came out low and hard as he clenched his jaw. “I daenae desire ye, Margaret,” he said, his words sharp with anger. “Go back to yer own room. Ye’re nae welcome here.”

His tone left no room for debate, but Margaret only tilted her head, seemingly unbothered by his refusal.

Margaret pouted, a childish gleam in her eyes. “Do ye nae remember, Hunter?” she said, stepping closer, her voice a sickly sweet whisper. “Ye’ve had me before, so why nae once more for old times’ sake?”

She placed a hand on his chest, pressing against him, but her touch only made him more furious. Hunter’s pulse quickened, his anger boiling beneath the surface.

Hunter’s patience snapped. He stepped back, his voice now a shout as he glared at her. “I said, go back to yer room, Margaret!” he growled, his hands trembling with restraint. Without giving her a chance to respond, he slammed the door shut, locking it with force. His chest heaved as he stood there, heart pounding with frustration and fury.

It wasn’t just Margaret that was causing his anger. It was the constant ache for Cassandra, the regret for letting her leave, and the impossible weight of the choices he had made.

Days passed since Cassandra’s departure, and Hunter found himself feeling more irritable and a shell of his former self. That day he wandered the halls of the castle, lost in his thoughts.

His steps led him toward Elena’s nursery. When he pushed open the door, Elena’s face lit up as she dashed toward him, throwing her arms around him in an embrace.

Hunter knelt down and wrapped his arms around Elena, feeling the warmth of her small frame against his. "How’s me wee lass today?" he asked softly, his voice full of concern. Elena pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes and smiled. "I feel good, Da," she replied, her voice filled with innocence. But then her brow furrowed, and she asked, “Will we ever see Mistress Cassandra again?”

“I daenae ken, lass,” he said.

"Did she leave because I became better?”

Hunter’s heart twisted at the mention of Cassandra. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Tis nae yer fault she left, lass. Cassandra was nae meant to stay here, Elena," he said gently. "She was just visitin', lass. It was her time to go home." He hoped the answer would satisfy her, but the sadness in her eyes told him it wouldn’t.

Elena’s small face turned serious as she asked, "Why dinnae she stay? She was kind to me, Da. I liked her."

Hunter fought to keep his composure as he stroked her hair, not wanting to upset her further. "She’s needed elsewhere, lass," he said, his voice softer now. "But ye’ll nae forget her, will ye?" He hoped Elena would remember Cassandra fondly, even though she couldn’t stay.

He quickly changed the subject, his mind working furiously. "Has yer maither been good to ye, Elena?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Elena looked away, her face briefly clouding over. "She hasnae come to see me."

The words hit Hunter like a blow to the chest. He stiffened, his jaw tightening in anger. He bit down on the urge to shout, to demand why Margaret had been neglecting Elena.

Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath to steady his emotions. The whole reason he’d allowed Margaret to stay was because he feared he couldn’t provide Elena with what a mother could—gentleness, understanding, the soft nurturing that only a woman could offer.

But now, knowing that Margaret hadn’t been fulfilling her duties, his frustration boiled over. How could he have been so naive?

He knelt beside Elena again, forcing a smile onto his face. "I’m sorry, lass," he said softly, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the head, trying to calm the growing storm inside him. "But I’ll take ye for a walk in the meadows later."

Elena’s eyes lit up, and a bright smile spread across her face. "Ye will, Da? A walk in the meadows?" she asked eagerly, her voice filled with excitement. Hunter’s heart softened, the love for his daughter shining through the frustration he felt about Margaret’s actions.

"Aye, lass. Leonora will come with us," he promised, his voice warm.

He kissed her goodbye and set out to find Margaret and give her some sound words. As Hunter’s footsteps echoed through the stone corridors, his thoughts preoccupied with the Elena's admission that Margaret was neglecting her.

But then, a harsh sound caught his attention—a sharp slap, followed by the sound of a woman’s voice raised in anger. He quickened his pace, rounding the corner just in time to see Margaret striking Heather, one of the servants, across the cheek. His blood boiled at the sight, and he stepped forward, his voice low but firm.

"Margaret," Hunter called, his tone sharp, catching her hand in his mid-swing. "Ye may have forgotten how things go here, but ye have nay right to lay a hand on me servants."

Margaret’s face twisted in a sneer, and she glared at him, clearly unrepentant. "She dropped a tray, Hunter," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "She deserves it for her clumsiness. I willnae have incompetence in me household." She raised her chin defiantly, her stance not one of remorse but of arrogance.

Hunter’s jaw tightened with restrained fury. He turned his gaze to Heather, who stood trembling, her eyes wide with fear. "Heather," he commanded softly, his voice gentler now, "ye can go."

The young woman didn’t hesitate for a moment, fleeing down the hall, eager to escape the tension in the air. Hunter didn’t blame her.

Turning his attention back to Margaret, he fixed her with a hard look. "Ye will return to yer rooms," he said coldly, his voice carrying authority. "And I willnae tolerate any more of this behavior." He didn’t wait for her response, his words final, demanding obedience.

Margaret, however, wasn’t one to be silenced so easily. "Oh, I’ll go, will I?" she spat, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I think ye forget yer place, Hunter. I’m nae one to be ordered around by the likes of ye." Her posture was stiff with anger, her eyes burning with defiance.

Hunter’s temper flared, but he fought to keep his composure. He stepped forward, his voice steady but filled with the weight of his authority. "Ye will go to yer rooms, Margaret," he repeated, his words firm. "Or I’ll have ye escorted there by the guards. It’s yer choice."

Margaret’s eyes flashed with a mix of fury and pride, but she remained silent for a moment, her anger warring with her stubbornness. She turned away abruptly, her skirts swishing with the force of her motion, but not without one last cutting remark. "I willnae be treated like a servant in me own home, Hunter. I am the Lady of the house."

Hunter stood rooted in place as she walked off, her defiance trailing behind her like a shadow. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders releasing bit by bit, but his anger remained simmering beneath the surface.

He had allowed Margaret to stay in the castle for Elena’s sake, but moments like these only reminded him of the mistake he’d made. His grip on control was slipping, and he knew he had to keep a tighter rein on the situation before things got out of hand.

Hunter stood in the doorway of Cassandra’s old room, his eyes sweeping over the emptiness that now defined the space. The bed was neatly made, the curtains drawn tight against the morning light, and yet it all felt wrong.

His gaze fell on the trunk at the foot of the bed, its lid slightly ajar. With a sigh, he crossed the room and lifted the lid, revealing the delicate dresses Cassandra had left behind. He ran his fingers over the soft fabric, his mind wandering to the memories of her laughter and the warmth she brought to the castle. A pang of regret hit him, sharper than he expected, and he cursed under his breath, wishing Margaret had never returned.

As he stood there, holding the dresses in his hands, an overwhelming realization settled over him. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he admitted the truth to himself?—

I want Cassandra to be me wife.

The thought of her with someone else made him sick to his stomach, and the idea of her never returning to the castle twisted in his gut. He clenched his jaw, a surge of anger coursing through him at the thought of losing her to anyone that caught her heart at McAllister castle.