Page 55 of Trapped By the Wicked Highlander
He quickly changed the subject, his mind working furiously. "Has yer maither been good to ye, Elena?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.
Elena looked away, her face briefly clouding over. "She hasnae come to see me."
The words hit Hunter like a blow to the chest. He stiffened, his jaw tightening in anger. He bit down on the urge to shout, to demand why Margaret had been neglecting Elena.
Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath to steady his emotions. The whole reason he’d allowed Margaret to stay was because he feared he couldn’t provide Elena with what a mother could—gentleness, understanding, the soft nurturing that only a woman could offer.
But now, knowing that Margaret hadn’t been fulfilling her duties, his frustration boiled over. How could he have been so naive?
He knelt beside Elena again, forcing a smile onto his face. "I’m sorry, lass," he said softly, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the head, trying to calm the growing storm inside him. "But I’ll take ye for a walk in the meadows later."
Elena’s eyes lit up, and a bright smile spread across her face. "Ye will, Da? A walk in the meadows?" she asked eagerly, her voice filled with excitement. Hunter’s heart softened, the love for his daughter shining through the frustration he felt about Margaret’s actions.
"Aye, lass. Leonora will come with us," he promised, his voice warm.
He kissed her goodbye and set out to find Margaret and give her some sound words. As Hunter’s footsteps echoed through the stone corridors, his thoughts preoccupied with the Elena's admission that Margaret was neglecting her.
But then, a harsh sound caught his attention—a sharp slap, followed by the sound of a woman’s voice raised in anger. He quickened his pace, rounding the corner just in time to see Margaret striking Heather, one of the servants, across the cheek. His blood boiled at the sight, and he stepped forward, his voice low but firm.
"Margaret," Hunter called, his tone sharp, catching her hand in his mid-swing. "Ye may have forgotten how things go here, but ye have nay right to lay a hand on me servants."
Margaret’s face twisted in a sneer, and she glared at him, clearly unrepentant. "She dropped a tray, Hunter," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "She deserves it for her clumsiness. I willnae have incompetence in me household." She raised her chin defiantly, her stance not one of remorse but of arrogance.
Hunter’s jaw tightened with restrained fury. He turned his gaze to Heather, who stood trembling, her eyes wide with fear. "Heather," he commanded softly, his voice gentler now, "ye can go."
The young woman didn’t hesitate for a moment, fleeing down the hall, eager to escape the tension in the air. Hunter didn’t blame her.
Turning his attention back to Margaret, he fixed her with a hard look. "Ye will return to yer rooms," he said coldly, his voice carrying authority. "And I willnae tolerate any more of this behavior." He didn’t wait for her response, his words final, demanding obedience.
Margaret, however, wasn’t one to be silenced so easily. "Oh, I’ll go, will I?" she spat, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I think ye forget yer place, Hunter. I’m nae one to be ordered around by the likes of ye." Her posture was stiff with anger, her eyes burning with defiance.
Hunter’s temper flared, but he fought to keep his composure. He stepped forward, his voice steady but filled with the weight of his authority. "Ye will go to yer rooms, Margaret," he repeated, his words firm. "Or I’ll have ye escorted there by the guards. It’s yer choice."
Margaret’s eyes flashed with a mix of fury and pride, but she remained silent for a moment, her anger warring with her stubbornness. She turned away abruptly, her skirts swishing with the force of her motion, but not without one last cutting remark. "I willnae be treated like a servant in me own home, Hunter. I am the Lady of the house."
Hunter stood rooted in place as she walked off, her defiance trailing behind her like a shadow. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders releasing bit by bit, but his anger remained simmering beneath the surface.
He had allowed Margaret to stay in the castle for Elena’s sake, but moments like these only reminded him of the mistake he’d made. His grip on control was slipping, and he knew he had to keep a tighter rein on the situation before things got out of hand.
Hunter stood in the doorway of Cassandra’s old room, his eyes sweeping over the emptiness that now defined the space. The bed was neatly made, the curtains drawn tight against the morning light, and yet it all felt wrong.
His gaze fell on the trunk at the foot of the bed, its lid slightly ajar. With a sigh, he crossed the room and lifted the lid, revealing the delicate dresses Cassandra had left behind. He ran his fingers over the soft fabric, his mind wandering to the memories of her laughter and the warmth she brought to the castle. A pang of regret hit him, sharper than he expected, and he cursed under his breath, wishing Margaret had never returned.
As he stood there, holding the dresses in his hands, an overwhelming realization settled over him. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he admitted the truth to himself?—
I want Cassandra to be me wife.
The thought of her with someone else made him sick to his stomach, and the idea of her never returning to the castle twisted in his gut. He clenched his jaw, a surge of anger coursing through him at the thought of losing her to anyone that caught her heart at McAllister castle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Cassandra sat by the window of her chamber, staring out at the familiar landscape of McAllister Castle. She had been welcomed back with open arms, Elias and Holly making her feel as if she had never left. Yet, despite the warmth of her home, something felt off—something was missing. No matter how hard she tried to push it aside, her thoughts kept drifting back to Hunter.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. She took a steadying breath, composing herself before speaking.
“Enter,” she called softly.
Holly stepped inside, her sharp gaze immediately settling on Cassandra.
