Page 7 of Trapped by the Wicked Highlander (Lairds of the Loch Alliance #2)

CHAPTER SEVEN

" H ow much farther?" she asked.

"Just over that ridge," Hunter replied.

The rhythm of the horse’s movements beneath her was comforting, but the proximity of Hunter’s solid presence was anything but.

She couldn’t help but notice the warmth of his body against hers, the way his broad frame seemed to fit so perfectly beside her. There was a strange tension in the air, one that made her pulse quicken every time their gazes met, though she quickly dismissed it as unimportant.

"I've never seen so many sick before. The hall, filled with them," she said.

"Aye, neither have I. It is unsettlin’ seeing me daughter and me people with such illness as this,” he said.

"Aye, I will do all I can for her," she said. "She is a wee thing."

"She is me everythin’," he said.

As they neared the village, the sight of the small, clustered homes made Cassandra realize how small the village was. The place was quiet, too quiet, with a sense of apprehension hanging in the air. She noticed the way the villagers glanced up at them, their faces filled with a quiet fear as they caught sight of Hunter.

"They seem frightened," she said.

"Aye, ‘tis how it should be," he said.

For a brief moment, Cassandra felt a wave of confusion—why were they so frightened of the laird? She couldn’t fathom why they would be afraid of him.

Cassandra didn’t find him intimidating. His demeanor was calm, and though there was authority in his movements, there was no sign of cruelty. To her, he seemed nothing like the figure of terror the villagers appeared to see.

"The apothecary is close. I will see that ye get all ye need from him. He's an old crow but has many herbs," he said.

"Good, then I can get on with the work," she said.

As they passed the first row of houses, she noticed more faces peeking out from behind doors and windows, their eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and fear. There was no hiding her presence now, riding alongside Hunter seemed to cause ripples in the stillness of the village.

The murmurs grew louder as they continued on, and Cassandra had to suppress the urge to tell them all to calm down. But she knew it would be pointless; they would only see the laird as a force of power, not as the man she had come to know in their short time together.

"Has the village seen battle?" she asked, trying to piece together the reason for the fear.

"Aye, as have all the villages in me lands," he said.

Hunter, for his part, didn’t seem to mind the attention. He sat tall in the saddle, unbothered by the hushed whispers and wary looks from the villagers. His face remained unreadable, a mask of stoicism as they rode through the village square.

Cassandra couldn’t help but wonder how he dealt with this—how he could stand being the subject of so much fear, especially when he didn’t deserve it in her eyes.

"We're here," he said.

"That hut?" she said.

"Aye, ‘tis the apothecary," he replied.

Cassandra dismounted first, trying to shake off the disorienting thoughts swirling in her mind. Hunter followed her, his movements smooth and assured. She turned to him, finding his gaze on her again, and the intensity of his stare made her stomach flutter once more.

"Ye ready, lass?" he asked, his voice low, almost comforting despite the unease around them.

Cassandra hesitated for a moment before nodding, brushing her hair back out of her face.

"Aye, let’s get to work," she replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt. But inside, her heart was racing—not from fear, but from something else entirely, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to acknowledge.

Cassandra couldn’t shake the strange sense of curiosity that had started to grow inside her about Hunter and his family.

She had tried to bury it, to dismiss it as a fleeting attraction, but it wouldn’t go away. The way Hunter had looked at her, the way he had treated her with such respect—it was starting to crack the walls she had so carefully built around herself. But she pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task ahead. There would be no time for distractions.

Keep yer head on straight, girl.

Cassandra walked into the small hut, the musty scent of dried herbs hanging in the air. The room was dimly lit by a flickering candle on the counter, and she could hear the sound of rustling as someone rummaged through the shelves. Her eyes adjusted to the low light as she scanned the various bottles and bundles of dried plants hanging from the walls. Her task was clear—she needed specific ingredients to begin the treatment, and time was running out.

A gruff man with a scruffy beard appeared from behind a shelf, his eyes narrowing as he took in Cassandra’s presence.

“Ye lookin’ for somethin’, lass?” he asked in a thick accent, his tone flat and uninterested.

Cassandra nodded, listing the herbs she required for the treatment, all of which were crucial for curing the disease that had taken hold. She had seen the shelves full of various plants, and there was no reason why this man shouldn’t have the items she needed.

The man’s response was dismissive, almost rude. “Nay, I daenae have any of that,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Ye best go elsewhere, lass. I’m sure ye’ll find what ye need.”

Cassandra frowned, her instincts telling her that something was off. She could see the way the man avoided her gaze, and it was clear that he was lying. The way he spoke, dismissing her without a thought, only confirmed her suspicion—he simply didn’t want to serve a woman.

Her temper flared, and she couldn’t hold back. “Ye think ye can lie to me, do ye?” she snapped, taking a step forward. “Ye’ve got the herbs here, and ye ken it. I’ve seen them with me own eyes. So stop treatin’ me like I’m some fool!”

“I daenae serve healers of yer kind,” he said.

“And what kind would that be?” She huffed.

“Women folk shouldnae be healers. They daenae have the stomach for it!” he shouted.

“How dare ye say such nonsense! Women folk have the stomach to give birth, ye blabberin’ idiot!” She shouted back.

The man shuffled nervously, his discomfort palpable, but he didn’t reply. Cassandra could feel her anger rising, her fingers tightening into fists as she stood there, challenging him to refute her words.

At that moment, the door swung open, and Cassandra’s gaze snapped toward Hunter. His broad frame filled the doorway, and his piercing blue eyes locked onto the man behind the counter. There was a dangerous air about him, and his presence seemed to command the very room.

“Is there a problem, Cassandra?” Hunter asked, his voice low but filled with authority. Cassandra bit back her frustration, but before she could speak, Hunter’s gaze never left the man, and his voice hardened.

“Ye will bring her every herb she asked for, and ye will do it now.” His tone was commanding, no room for argument.

The man froze, his face paling as he stammered, trying to backtrack. “Aye, aye, I’ll fetch them right away,” he muttered, though his voice betrayed his reluctance.

Cassandra watched, stunned by the way Hunter effortlessly took control of the situation, his mere presence intimidating the man into submission.

The man scrambled to gather the ingredients from the shelves, fumbling with jars and bundles. Cassandra could tell he was far from prepared for this task and felt a sharp pang of frustration at his incompetence. She had no patience for someone who couldn’t be bothered to properly stock his stores, especially when lives were at stake. But before she could voice her thoughts, she heard Hunter’s voice once more, cutting through the air with an edge of warning.

“I daenae have the last herb on this list, Laird,” the man said.

“Ye better find the last one, and ye better bring it to the castle by tonight. Or I’ll have ye thrown in the dungeons, ye hear me?” His words were cold, and the threat was clear.

The man’s eyes widened in shock, and his hands trembled as he searched frantically through the shelves, desperately looking for the missing herb.

Cassandra couldn’t help but marvel at the authority in Hunter’s voice; it was impossible to doubt his words. He didn’t just speak with power—he had the means to back it up.

The man muttered under his breath, more to himself than to anyone else.

“It’s nae here...I’ll have to send someone to fetch it,” he said, his voice unsteady.

Cassandra’s patience was wearing thin, and she was about to speak again when Hunter moved forward, his towering presence casting a shadow over the man.

“I daenae care who ye send. If it’s nae here by nightfall, ye’ll be the one makin’ the trip.” His voice brooked no argument, and Cassandra could see the man shrinking under Hunter’s glare.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the man nodded shakily. “Aye, I’ll get it, Laird. I’ll make sure it’s delivered to the castle by tonight.” His voice quivered with fear, and it was clear that Hunter’s words had left a lasting impression.

Hunter turned to Cassandra, his stern demeanor softening slightly as he addressed her. “Ye’re nae to worry, lass. We’ll have what we need.”

Cassandra blinked in surprise, her mind racing. She had never seen such dominance in a man before, and the way Hunter commanded the situation left her feeling both unsettled and oddly reassured. She had her answers, for now, but as they turned to leave, she couldn’t shake the thought that there was more to Hunter than she had originally realized.

His presence was overwhelming, and though she didn’t know what to make of it, she couldn’t deny that it stirred something deep inside her.

Cassandra and Hunter mounted the horse once again, the familiar rhythm of the animal’s gait soothing her nerves as they rode back toward the castle. The wind ruffled her hair, and she couldn’t help but glance at Hunter, his tall figure silhouetted against the clear sky. The quiet between them was comfortable for the most part, but as they rode, she found herself wondering how to bridge the silence between them.

Finally, Hunter spoke, his deep voice breaking the stillness.

“How long ye reckon this treatment will take, Cassandra?” His question was casual, but the intensity of his gaze as he looked ahead told her that he was serious.

Cassandra thought for a moment, calculating the course of the disease in her mind.

“It could take anywhere from days to a month,” she replied, her voice steady. “The patients will need time to heal, especially since they’ve been sufferin’ for so long without proper care.”

She hoped her answer would ease any impatience Hunter might have, knowing that healing wasn’t something that could be rushed. The silence stretched again as she looked ahead, focusing on the path.

Hunter let out a low breath, his gaze never wavering from the horizon. “A month…” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “I’ll see to it ye have anythin’ ye need. Food, herbs, or anythin’ else. Just focus on gettin' them back to health.”

His tone was firm, but there was a softness in the way he offered to help, a tenderness that surprised her. She nodded, appreciating his gesture, though part of her remained wary of accepting too much from him.

“I’ll nae need much,” Cassandra said, glancing at him quickly. “I just need time and patience from the people here. And I’ll need to work without interruptions. If there are distractions…” She trailed off, unsure of how to explain her need for solitude while tending to the sick. “It could slow down the healin’ process,” she added after a beat, hoping he would understand.

Hunter turned his head to glance at her, “I’ll make sure there’s nay interruptions,” he said simply, his confidence unwavering. “The people here’ll know their place, and they’ll keep out of yer way. I trust ye to get the job done.”