Page 12 of Trapped By the Wicked Highlander
Hunter’s eyes didn’t leave her as she spoke, and Cassandra could feel the weight of his gaze on her. She wondered if he noticed the way her words were clipped, her movements more purposeful. She couldn’t help but feel that, despite the professionalism she tried to maintain, something within her had shifted.
"Aye, I’ll make sure ye get everythin’ ye need," Hunter said, his voice steady. “We’ll leave at once. I’ll have a guard accompany us, in case there’s trouble along the way.”
He stood, his hand resting briefly on Elena’s head.
"I'll return soon, me wee bairn," he whispered.
Then he turned to Cassandra. "Let's make haste, lass."
Cassandra nodded quickly, trying to suppress the flicker of something that felt far too personal. She stood, brushing the dust from her skirts, and glanced around the hall. It was a flurry of activity, the sick being tended to by various servants and guards, but there was still a sense of calmness in the way they all moved, a sense of purpose.
Hunter moved, commanding order even in chaos. She followed him out of the hall, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts, each one more difficult to suppress than the last. As they reached the courtyard, the air felt cooler, and Cassandra shivered despite herself.
Cassandra's heart raced as she sat with Hunter, once again on the same horse. Hunter, seemingly unaware of the storm of emotions brewing inside her, spoke of the state of the land and the difficulties the village had been facing due to the illness.
She had one goal: to help Elena. Hunter’s presence, his family life, all of it would have to be ignored for now.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"How 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.
