Page 48 of Trapped By the Wicked Highlander
“How are ye feeling?” she asked, studying his face for signs of weakness.
Richard stretched his shoulders with a grunt, then turned his gaze to her.
“Better than I was, lass. Who are ye?”
Cassandra smiled faintly. “Me name is Cassandra. I’m the healer from McAllister Castle. I came to aid the McDougal clan while ye were unwell.”
Richard’s brow furrowed in thought before his eyes brightened with understanding. “Ah, so ye’re the one.” He gave a rough chuckle. “Then I owe ye me thanks, lass. Ye’ve done me a great service.”
Cassandra waved off his gratitude. “I only did what needed doin’.” She studied him carefully. “Do ye think ye can stand?”
Richard nodded, though his movements were slow. “Aye, I’d like to get to me own bedchamber. I’ll rest there, and in a couple of days, I should be right enough to resume me duties.”
Cassandra helped him swing his legs over the side of the cot. “I’ll aid ye there.” She slipped an arm under his, steadying him as he rose.
As they walked down the corridor, Richard’s weight was heavy against her, but she bore it without complaint. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the stone walls, making the castle feel colder than it was. Each step she took felt heavier, not from the old healer’s weight, but from the realization pressing in on her.
With Richard’s recovery, me time at Castle McDougal is drawin’ to an end.
She had come here with the simple task of tending the ill yet she had not anticipated the wounds she would suffer herself. The thought of leaving should have filled her with relief, yet it did not.
Her heart ached at the idea of walking away from Hunter, from Elena, from the tangled mess of feelings she had tried so hard to suppress. She had done her duty, and soon, she would be free to go—but why did the thought of leaving feel like a fresh wound instead of a healing one?
"Here ye are. I'll have some broth sent up to ye to get yer strength back," she said.
"Aye, ye are heaven sent, lass," he said.
Cassandra left the healer in his chambers, ensuring he was comfortable before stepping into the dimly lit corridor. She reached her room, closing the door behind her, and leaned against the cool stone wall, exhaling shakily. The silence wrapped around her, and for the first time, she allowed herself to acknowledge the truth that had been creeping upon her?—
I've fallen in love with Hunter.
The realization struck her like a sudden storm, unexpected and fierce. She had not meant to, had not wanted to, but it had happened nonetheless.
She strode toward the door and pulled it open, needing air, needing movement, needing distraction. As she stepped into the corridor, she nearly collided with Heather, a young servant carrying a stack of folded linens. Heather gasped, stumbling back a step before righting herself with wide eyes.
“Och, Mistress Cassandra! I dinnae see ye there.”
Cassandra managed a small smile, relieved for the interruption. “Heather, I need yer assistance in me workshop, if ye’re available.”
Heather straightened, nodding eagerly. “Of course, Mistress.”
Cassandra glanced down the corridor, eager to keep herself occupied. “Fetch two buckets of water and meet me there, when ye’re done with what ye are doin’ now."
“Aye, I’ll have them for ye in nay time.” Heather bobbed her head before hurrying off.
Cassandra watched her go before turning on her heel and making her way to the workshop. The scent of dried lavender and rosemary greeted her as she stepped inside, familiar and comforting. She busied herself arranging supplies, her hands moving on their own while her mind wrestled with the turmoil in her heart.
Minutes later, Heather arrived, breathless and pink-cheeked, carrying the heavy buckets of water. She set them down with a grunt, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her forehead. “Where would ye like them, Mistress?”
Cassandra gestured toward the wooden basin at the center of the room. “Pour them in there.”
Heather did as she was told, the sound of splashing water filling the space. When she finished, she turned back to Cassandra, curiosity flickering in her gaze. “Are ye well, Mistress? Ye seem… troubled.”
Cassandra hesitated, then shook her head. “Just tired, is all. There’s much to do."
Cassandra rolled up the sleeves of her dress as she organized the small vials of tonics and herbs on the wooden table before her.
"Now if ye will fetch two more buckets," Cassandra said.
