Page 10 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)

This time, it was Hector who found himself watching her rather than the familiar landscape. The wonder in her expression, the way the sunlight caught in her hair.

“Aye,” he whispered. “Beautiful, indeed.”

The path widened again as they crested the hill, and he decided to test her further.

“Would ye like to try a trot?”

Her eyes lit up with excitement and trepidation. “Is it difficult?”

“A bit bouncier than a walk,” he admitted. “But I think ye’re ready.”

He instructed her on how to urge Moira into a trot and how to move to the horse’s rhythm. Then, he urged his mount ahead slightly to demonstrate.

“Like this,” he called over his shoulder. “Rise and fall with her strides.”

Gabriella followed his instructions, and Moira broke into a trot. For a moment, she bounced awkwardly in the saddle. Then, she found her rhythm, rising and falling with the horse’s motions.

And then she laughed.

The sound caught Hector by surprise—bright and free and joyous. He turned in his saddle to look at her, and the sight took his breath away. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her eyes sparkling, her lips curved in genuine delight.

At that moment, all traces of her ordeal vanished, leaving only a beautiful young woman reveling in her newfound freedom.

Something shifted in Hector’s chest—a loosening of a knot he hadn’t realized was there. He wanted to hear that laugh again. Wanted to be the one who caused it.

The path ahead curved sharply, and Gabriella, distracted by her success, didn’t react quickly enough. Moira veered too close to the edge, sending small stones skittering down the hillside.

“Pull right!” Hector called, spurring his stallion forward.

He reached her just as Moira stumbled slightly, throwing her off-balance. Without thinking, Hector leaned across the gap between their horses and caught her around the waist, steadying her in the saddle. For a heartbeat, she was half in his arms, her face inches from his own.

Time seemed to slow down. Hector could count every freckle on her nose, see the flecks of darker blue in her eyes, and feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest. His hand spanned her waist, feeling the warmth of her through the fabric of her dress.

“I’ve got ye,” he murmured, his voice rough.

“I ken,” she whispered.

They reached the castle courtyard as the midday sun climbed high overhead. Stable boys rushed forward to take their mounts, with Hector dismounting in one fluid motion. He turned to help Gabriella, placing his hands on her waist and lifting her down from the saddle.

Her cheeks were flushed from the ride, her eyes bright with lingering excitement, and her lips slightly parted as she caught her breath.

Hector lowered her slowly, their bodies brushing against each other as her feet touched the ground. His hands remained on her waist, and hers on his shoulders. The bustle in the courtyard seemed to fade around them, narrowing to just this moment, this woman.

Her eyes searched his, a question forming in their depths.

“Thank ye for the lesson,” she whispered, her fingers unconsciously tightening on his shoulders.

“Ye did well,” he replied, his voice rougher than usual. “A natural, as I said.”

Neither moved. The air between them seemed to thicken and become charged with something compelling. Hector found his gaze straying to her lips, wondering if they would taste as sweet as they looked.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, his tone deliberately professional.

She nodded, a hint of confusion flickering across her face. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” He took a step back, needing distance from the pull she exerted. “Duncan will show ye back to your chambers.”

Duncan approached at Hector’s gesture.

“Until tomorrow, then,” Hector said, more curtly than he’d intended.

Hector paced his chamber, forcing his mind to focus on the meeting with the wool merchants tomorrow. Shipments to France, negotiations about prices—these were matters worthy of a laird’s attention.

Not the memory of Gabriella’s laugh as she trotted across the hillside. Not the softness of her waist beneath his hands. Not the flush on her cheeks when he’d set her down in the courtyard.

He yanked off his léine, the room suddenly too warm despite the cool Highland evening. He leaned forward, splashing water from the basin onto his face and chest. Cold water. What he needed.

Tomorrow, he would maintain a proper distance during her riding lesson. No unnecessary touching. No lingering gazes. He was a McCulloch, not some untried lad unable to control his urges.

The door burst open without warning.

“Hector! I cannae get this—”

Hector turned around to see a silver comb snagged in her thick waves, twisted at an awkward angle that forced her head to tilt.

She stopped mid-sentence, frozen in the doorway, with her hands tangled in her hair. Her eyes widened as she took in his state of undress.

“I didnae mean—” she stammered, backing away while trying to pull out the comb.

She bumped against the doorframe, wincing as the movement yanked at her scalp.

Hector moved toward her. “Stay still before ye hurt yerself.”

She stumbled forward, unable to see clearly with her head pulled to the side. Her foot caught on the edge of the rug, sending her lurching directly into his path.

His hands shot out to steady her, catching her by the upper arms. At the same moment, her palms landed flat against his bare chest, her fingers splaying across his skin. Her hands were cool against his heated skin, sending an electric current through his veins.

They both froze at the shock. She tilted her face up, her lips parted in surprise, every rapid breath bringing her chest close to his. The soft curves of her body pressed against him in all the right places, testing his control.

“I…” Gabriella trailed off as her eyes dropped to his mouth.

The warmth of her body mere inches from his bare torso set his skin aflame. One of her curls had fallen forward, brushing his forearm.

Hector leaned closer, the space between them narrowing to a whisper. Her eyelids fluttered shut, her breath catching in her throat. His body hardened in response, urging him to close that final inch.

He turned his head to see the twisted comb more clearly. His fingers found the silver teeth embedded in her hair, working deftly to untangle the strands.

“Almost,” he murmured, his breath stirring the tendrils at her temple.

With one final twist, the comb came free. Her hair tumbled down her back in a cascade of brown waves, some strands brushing his wrist. His fingers lingered, unwilling to break contact.

“Done.” His voice was thick with the need pulsing through him.

Gabriella’s eyes flew open, clouded with what seemed to Hector like disappointment, before awareness returned. She yanked her hands from his chest as if burned, leaving cold patches where her warmth had been.

“I—thank ye—I should—” she stammered, backing toward the door, nearly stumbling again in her haste.

Hector remained rooted in place, fighting the urge to pull her back, to claim the mouth that had been so close to his.

His body raged against his restraint, demanding satisfaction.

Only years of iron discipline kept him from crossing the room in two strides and showing her exactly what she did to him.

“Goodnight,” she finally managed, then fled, the door closing behind her with a decisive click.

Hector released a deep breath. Sleep would be impossible now.