Page 36 of Trapped By the Wicked Highlander
“The ill back at the castle,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I worry for them, wonder if they’re improvin’ as they should.”
Hunter turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes studying her. “They are,” he said after a pause. “Because of ye. Ye’re a miracle worker, Cassandra. They’re gettin’ stronger every day.”
She shifted in her saddle, feeling the weight of her dishonesty pressing against her ribs. It was not entirely a lie—she did worry for her patients—but it was not what had been consuming her thoughts.
“I thank ye. That is good to hear,” she said, forcing a small smile.
Hunter scoffed lightly. “Ye daenae need to pretend, ye ken. I can see when somethin’s gnawin’ at ye.”
Cassandra’s grip tightened on the reins. He was too perceptive, too unrelenting. She could not tell him the truth, could not admitthat she had been thinking of his past, of the woman who had left him and the child who still had a mother somewhere in the world.
“I suppose I just feel… responsible,” she said finally. “For the people at the castle. If I can help them, I must.”
Hunter gave a slow nod, his gaze returning to the road ahead. “Aye, I ken that feelin’ well. But daenae carry it alone, lass. The clan is stronger because of ye, but even the strongest need rest.”
His words settled in her chest, warm and grounding. She had spent so much of her life tending to others, rarely stopping to consider herself. “I only do what I can,” she murmured.
Hunter glanced at her again, something unreadable in his expression. “And what ye can do is more than most. Daenae doubt that.”
Cassandra felt heat rise to her cheeks, a strange mixture of gratitude and unease twisting inside her. She looked away, focusing on the rolling hills stretching toward the horizon. “Thank ye, Hunter.”
As they arrived at the castle, Cassandra swung her leg over the saddle and dismounted, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. Hunter did the same, his movements fluid and effortless. She adjusted her skirts, forcing herself to remember why she was here, why she could not let her thoughts drift toward him.
“I should get back to me work,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
Hunter nodded but did not move. “Aye, and I’ve clan matters to tend to,” he said, his voice low.
Yet neither of them stepped away. The space between them felt charged, an invisible force keeping them rooted in place.
Cassandra’s pulse quickened as she met his gaze, dark and unreadable. The memory of his lips on hers days ago sent a shiver down her spine, and she scolded herself for the longing stirring within her.
He had a wife, a woman who still walked this earth, no matter how far she was from him or their separation. And yet, she could not bring herself to step away, to break the moment before it consumed her.
Hunter took a step forward, then another, his presence overwhelming. Cassandra held her breath, unsure if she wanted to flee or close the space between them. Her heart pounded as he reached toward her, his fingers brushing a loose strand of her hair. The world around them seemed to still, and for one foolish moment, she thought he might kiss her again.
Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he plucked something from her hair and held it up.
“Ye must’ve picked this up on the ride,” he said, revealing the tiny bug between his fingers.
Cassandra’s face burned as mortification flooded her. She had been standing there, breathless, thinking he was about to kiss her—only for him to remove an insect from her hair.
“Ah… thank ye,” she muttered, her voice small.
Hunter smirked, clearly amused by her reaction. “Daenae look so troubled, lass. The little creature fancied ye, that’s all.”
Cassandra let out an exasperated breath, brushing her hands down her skirts to busy herself.
“Well, I suppose I should go inside,” she said quickly, eager to escape before she embarrassed herself further.
Hunter stepped back, though his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. “Aye, best get to it then,” he said, his voice softer than before.
Without another word, Cassandra turned and hurried inside, her face still burning. She had been a fool to stand there, to let herself get lost in the pull of him. Whatever she felt for Hunter McDougal, she needed to bury it before it destroyed her.
Hunter sat at the head of the long wooden table, his gaze steady as he listened to the murmurs of the council. The fire crackled in the grand hearth, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls of the great hall.
Around him sat his most trusted men—advisors, warriors, and elders who had stood by his side through countless battles and trials. Their expressions were mostly stern, but there was an unmistakable ease among them tonight, a rare moment of contentment.
“The sick are recoverin’ well,” said one of the elders, his grizzled beard streaked with white. “It seems the healer ye brought in was the very thing we needed. She’s worked miracles, Laird McDougal.”
