Page 13 of Trapped By the Wicked Highlander
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.
