Page 45 of Trapped By the Wicked Highlander
Cassandra straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to remain composed.
“I’m Cassandra, the healer,” she said, keeping her voice steady. She expected the woman to at least acknowledge her role, givenhow much she had cared for Elena, but Margaret’s reaction was instant and dismissive.
“Ah,” Margaret said with a slight, uninterested nod, already turning her attention back to Hunter.
The dismissal was like a slap to Cassandra’s pride, though she kept her face neutral. She had tended to Elena when no one else had, worried over her through sleepless nights, and now she was nothing more than an afterthought.
Hunter, however, frowned at Margaret’s response, his expression tightening. His lips parted as if to speak, but Cassandra had no desire to stand there and hear what he might say.
“I’ve patients to tend to,” she said abruptly, not bothering to mask her irritation. She turned on her heel, her footsteps firm as she strode away from the castle’s entrance.
Every muscle in her body was stiff with frustration, but she refused to let it show on her face. If Margaret wanted to pretend she was invisible, then fine—Cassandra had no interest in competing with a ghost from Hunter’s past.
The corridors of the castle were quieter than usual, the servants and guards clearly preoccupied with the unexpected arrival outside.
Cassandra moved through the halls with purpose, but her mind was a storm of thoughts. The warmth of the afternoon picnic, the tentative bond she had felt forming between Hunter and Elena, now felt like a distant memory. Margaret had returned, and with her presence came a stark reminder that Cassandra did not belong.
She reached the healing hall and exhaled sharply, trying to shake the tension from her limbs. She had work to do, and she would not let Hunter McDougal or his long-lost wife distract her from it. Moving to her shelves, she began preparing fresh bandages, her fingers working mechanically as she forced her thoughts away from what had just happened. Yet, no matter how she tried, the sting of Margaret’s dismissal lingered.
Cassandra had never considered herself a jealous woman, but something about the way Margaret had stepped in and effortlessly reclaimed her place unsettled her. She had spent weeks caring for Elena, watching over the girl, teaching her small things to bring her joy. She had watched Hunter struggle to be a father, had seen the way he tried, the way he softened in the presence of his daughter. And now, in the span of mere moments, Margaret had undone everything, slipping into the role of mother as if she had never left.
A sharp knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to see one of the younger servants named Heather, peeked inside. “Mistress Cassandra,” the girl said hesitantly. “Do ye need anythin’?”
Cassandra forced a small smile, shaking her head. “Nay, I’m fine,” she replied. “Just busy.” The girl nodded and hurried off, leaving Cassandra alone with her thoughts once more.
She hated how much this bothered her. Margaret had every right to be there—she was Elena’s mother, after all. But Cassandra could not shake the feeling that something about the woman was off. Her return was too sudden, too perfectly timed, and the way she had dismissed Cassandra so easily set her instincts on edge.
A movement at the doorway made her look up, and for a brief, foolish moment, she thought it might be Hunter. But it was merely another servant, bringing in fresh linens for the patients.
"Some fresh cloths for yer work, Mistress Cassandra," the woman said.
"Thank ye," Cassandra said.
"Have ye heard the news? ‘Tis a miracle. The Lady of the castle, she's alive," the servant said.
"Aye, I've heard," Cassandra said.
"Such a good thing for our little Lady Elena to have her maither back, by the grace of God," the servant said.
"Indeed," Cassandra said. "Thank ye for the cloth. Perhaps I can ask ye to bring me a bucket of fresh water?"
"Of course, Mistress," the servant said and left.
Cassandra did not need fresh water, but she needed to not hear about Margaret, so it was the easiest way to rid herself of that conversation.
As she worked, she told herself she did not care what Hunter thought. She told herself that Margaret’s return had nothing to do with her, that it changed nothing. But deep down, she knew that was a lie.
I've been a fool.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“What are ye doin’ here, Margaret? We had an agreement.” Hunter stepped closer to Margaret, his face like thunder as he leaned in. His voice was low, sharp as a blade. His scowl deepened, his hands clenched at his sides, barely holding himself back in the courtyard.
Margaret’s lips curled into a sly smile, her eyes gleaming with something that set his teeth on edge.
“Do ye want me to say it in front of our child?” Her voice was smooth, knowing, laced with an edge of amusement.
She tilted her head slightly, watching him like a cat that had just cornered its prey. Hunter’s jaw tightened, and he forced himself to look at Elena, who stood wide-eyed beside her mother.
