Page 27 of Trapped by the Wicked Highlander (Lairds of the Loch Alliance #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

" T is a good way to divide the grazin’ lands," Hunter said.

Hunter sat at the long wooden table, a map of the surrounding territories spread before him. Daniel leaned against the table’s edge, arms crossed, as they discussed border disputes and patrol routes.

"Aye, the farmers will be given allotments every month. That should satisfy them, for now."

The conversation was routine, but Hunter found his mind drifting. He had little patience for his duties when something far heavier weighed on his heart.

A deep, resonant toll rang through the castle keep, cutting through their conversation like a blade. Both men snapped their heads up, recognizing the alarm. Hunter pushed back his chair and strode to the window, Daniel close behind. Below, in the courtyard, the guards moved swiftly as the portcullis began to rise.

Daniel narrowed his eyes as he peered down. "Who is it?"

Hunter gritted his teeth, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. "Lady Margaret’s faither. Michael."

Daniel let out a slow breath. "This cannae be good."

Hunter didn’t reply. He turned on his heel and marched toward the door, Daniel following without question. The heavy thud of their boots echoed through the stone corridors as they made their way down to the courtyard.

Michael had just dismounted when Hunter stepped outside. The older man’s face was drawn, his eyes searching frantically as if he still couldn’t believe what he had heard. Hunter approached him with a measured stride, his face unreadable.

Hunter spoke first, his voice cold and firm. "What are ye doin' here? Last time I saw ye, ye tried to stick me with a blade."

Michael’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, his voice cracked as he asked, "Is it true? Is Margaret alive?"

Hunter’s jaw tensed. "Aye, she’s alive."

Michael’s eyes glistened, and he took a shaky breath. "Where is she? I must see her."

Hunter crossed his arms, his expression hard. "She’s within the castle. But ye’ll nae be seein' her until I ken ye will be safe."

Michael let out a heavy sigh and rubbed a hand down his weathered face. "I thought she was dead. I mourned her, Hunter. I buried an empty grave in her memory. I wasnae in me right mind."

"I heard the whispers. A traveler passed through me land, speakin' of a woman at Castle McDougal claimin’ to be Margaret. I couldnae believe it, but I had to see for meself."

Hunter studied him for a long moment, searching his face. "She returned on her own accord. She dinnae send for ye."

Michael straightened, his expression darkening. "She’s me daughter. I have a right to see her."

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. "Ye had a right to ken she was alive long ago. But she dinnae tell ye. That should tell ye somethin’."

Michael clenched his fists, frustration flashing in his eyes. "I only wish to speak with her."

The castle doors burst open, and Margaret rushed forward, her skirts billowing behind her. Without hesitation, she flung herself into Michael’s arms, clutching him tightly.

Hunter crossed his arms, his face unreadable, as he observed the reunion. The older man remained stiff at first, as if unsure this was real, but then his arms slowly wrapped around his daughter.

"Faither, I missed ye so much," Margaret murmured against Michael’s shoulder.

Michael pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes searching her face. "How… how is this possible?" he asked, his voice raw with emotion.

Margaret sniffled, blinking rapidly. "Come inside. I will explain everythin’," she said, grasping his hands tightly.

Michael hesitated, glancing over at Hunter as if expecting some kind of answer from him. But Hunter remained silent, watching with cold detachment. He knew Margaret well enough to suspect she wouldn’t tell the whole truth. Instead, she would weave a story that painted her as the victim.

Margaret turned back to Michael, tugging him toward the entrance. "Please, Faither. We have much to discuss."

Michael gave Hunter one last glance before nodding. "Aye, lass. Lead the way."

Hunter clenched his jaw as he watched them disappear into the castle. His gut twisted with unease, knowing Margaret’s version of events would be far from honest. He had no doubt she would leave out the part where she had betrayed him and abandoned her own child simply so she would not have shame staining her name.

Daniel stepped up beside him, arms crossed. "Reckon she’ll tell him the truth?"

Hunter let out a humorless chuckle. "Nae a chance. She’ll spin a tale that puts her in the best light."

Daniel exhaled sharply. "The lass always was a fine liar."

Hunter said nothing, his gaze fixed on the castle doors. He should have felt relief that Margaret was dealing with her own mess now, but instead, frustration boiled within him. She had returned, turned his world upside down, and now her father was here, demanding answers she would never give.

Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. "Ye should let it be, Hunter. Whatever she tells him, it doesnae change what we ken."

Hunter nodded stiffly, but it did little to ease the weight in his chest. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Cassandra. She would never have lied like Margaret. She had left with her head high, without deception or manipulation.

Later that evening, Hunter was restless. He had some whiskey as he sat at the table. Before long he fell into a slumber with his head on the table fully clothed.

When a loud banging at his door woke him, he jumped and grabbed his dirk.

"Come quickly, it's Elena," Heather the servant girl said as he opened the door.

Hunter clenched his fists as he stormed through the corridors, his boots echoing against the stone floor. Heather scurried behind him, nervously wringing her hands.

Now, as he neared Cassandra’s old room, his fury burned hotter with every step.

The sight before him sent his blood boiling. Margaret stood in the doorway, her face twisted in anger, while Elena sobbed, clutching her reddened cheek. The little girl trembled, her tear-filled eyes darting toward Cassandra’s empty room as if it might offer some form of comfort.

Without hesitation, Hunter strode forward and yanked Elena into his arms, shielding her from Margaret’s wrath.

Margaret crossed her arms, her lips curling. "She broke me necklace!" she snapped.

Hunter’s voice was sharp as a blade. "I’ll nae hear excuses, Margaret. Ye will never lay a hand on Elena again!"

Margaret scoffed. "The lass ran from me like a wild beast, screamin’ for that healer woman! All the way to this room. She needed to be disciplined!"

Hunter’s jaw clenched as he tightened his grip on Elena. "Aye, she ran. Because she feels safer with Cassandra than with her own maither—ye!"

Margaret’s nostrils flared. "And why is that, Hunter? Because ye let that woman fill her head with nonsense? How am I supposed to teach me own daughter if ye willnae let me correct her?"

Hunter sneered. "She doesnae need correction, she needs kindness! Elena can learn without a hand to her cheek!"

Margaret threw up her hands in exasperation. "Och, kindness will make her weak! A proper woman needs discipline, needs structure!"

Hunter’s grip on his daughter tightened protectively. "A proper woman needs love. But I suppose ye wouldnae ken that, would ye, Margaret?"

Margaret’s eyes flashed with fury. "Do ye mean to insult me in front of me own child?"

Hunter’s voice dropped to a deadly calm. "Ye insult yerself, Margaret, with the way ye treat her."

Elena sniffled against Hunter’s chest, and he rubbed her back soothingly. Margaret’s anger flared hotter. "So, this is how it is, then? Ye’d rather have that healer raisin’ our daughter than me?"

Hunter’s eyes were like steel. "I’d rather have anyone else raisin’ her than ye, if this is how ye plan to maither her."

Margaret gasped, placing a hand on her chest. "Ye dare speak to me this way? After all I’ve been through?"

Hunter’s lips curled into a sneer. "Aye, and ye brought it upon yerself. Now, get out of me sight. I'm sendin’ ye away for good."

Margaret’s face twisted with rage as she glared at Hunter. "Ye’re a bampot if ye think I’ll be cast out like some common wench!" she spat.

Elena sniffled against Hunter’s chest, her small hands clutching his tunic. "I want Cassandra!" she cried, her voice cracking with heartbreak. "I want this mean woman gone!"

Margaret’s eyes widened in shock. "Och, the lass doesnae mean that," she said quickly, forcing a brittle smile. "She’s just upset. Children say things they daenae understand."

Hunter’s jaw tightened, his grip on Elena protective and firm. "Nay, she kens exactly what she’s sayin’," he said, his voice hard as stone. "And so do I. Ye will prepare to leave the castle immediately."

Margaret’s eyes blazed with defiance. "I willnae leave!" she snapped. "This is me home—Elena is me daughter!"

Hunter scoffed. "Aye, and yet ye’ve done naught but bring her misery since ye returned." His expression darkened as he took a step closer. "I only let ye stay for her sake, but she doesnae need ye here. Ye’ve lost any right to call this yer home."

Margaret clenched her fists, her nostrils flaring. "Ye cannae force me out, Hunter!"

Hunter’s lips curled in a cold sneer. "If ye daenae leave of yer own free will in one hour, I’ll have the guards see ye away."

Margaret’s breath hitched, fury and disbelief warring on her face. She knew he meant it. She had pushed too far, and there was no winning against him now.

With a huff, she spun on her heel. "Fine," she spat. "I’ll collect me things—and me faither—and be on me way."

Hunter didn’t respond, only held Elena closer as Margaret stormed down the hall, her footsteps echoing with finality.

Elena’s tiny fingers clutched at his tunic, her face buried against his shoulder as she sobbed. He ran a soothing hand over her back, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. The castle had felt heavy with Margaret’s presence, but now, with her leaving, it was as if a weight had been lifted.

He kissed Elena’s hair and whispered, "Daenae fash, lass. She’ll nae trouble ye again." His voice was low but firm, a silent promise to protect her.

Elena hiccupped and sniffled, her small arms tightening around his neck. "I miss Cassandra," she mumbled against his chest.

Hunter exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching at the mention of Cassandra’s name. He missed her too, more than he dared to admit.

Elena pulled back slightly, her tear-streaked face peering up at him. "Can we go find her?" she asked hopefully, her big eyes pleading with him.

Hunter’s chest ached at her words. He had tried to tell himself that Cassandra had left by her own choice, that she had walked away from him willingly. But seeing Elena’s pain only deepened the truth he had been avoiding—he had let Cassandra go without a fight. "I daenae ken if she wants to see us, lass," he admitted softly.

Elena frowned, her small brows furrowing. "She loves us," she insisted. "She wouldnae leave if she dinnae think she had to."

Hunter swallowed hard, guilt pressing against his ribs. "Aye," he murmured. "Mayhap she thought she had nay choice." He had given her no reason to stay, had stood silent when she left instead of asking her to remain.

Elena wiped her nose on his tunic and nodded. "Then we have to tell her she does," she said firmly.

Hunter chuckled despite himself, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. "Ye’ve got a strong heart, wee one," he said. He could not ignore the truth any longer—Cassandra belonged with them. And this time, he would not let her go so easily.

He turned on his heel and strode down the corridor, Elena still nestled in his arms. Margaret would be gone within the hour, and after that, he had only one thing left to do. He would find Cassandra. And he would bring her home.