Page 11 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)

The insistent knock on the door startled Gabriella awake. Her heart raced in her chest, her skin flushed with heat from the dream that had filled her sleeping hours.

“Come in,” she croaked.

Aileen entered with a breakfast tray, her cheerful face bright in the morning light. “Good mornin’, Me Lady! A beautiful day for yer ridin’ lesson.”

Gabriella sighed. The memory of her dream still lingered—how his fingertips had grazed her neck, sending shivers down her spine. How the atmosphere between them had shifted to something far more dangerous.

His strong hands had cupped her face, his lips claiming hers with a hunger that matched her unexpected desire. Dream-Hector had pressed her against the wall, his body hard against hers as his mouth traveled down her neck, drawing sounds from her she hadn’t known she could make.

“Ye look quite flushed, Me Lady.” The maid placed the tray on a table and turned to her. “Are ye feelin’ well today?”

Her scrutiny made Gabriella blush even more. But then she sat up, suddenly struck by an idea. “Aileen, which of me dresses is the finest?”

The maid looked surprised. “For ridin’? Ye’ll want the brown one with the split skirt, surely.”

“Nay.” Gabriella shook her head. “The blue one, I think. The one I wore to breakfast that first day.”

Aileen furrowed her brow. “But Me Lady, that’s nae suitable for—”

“The blue one,” Gabriella repeated firmly. “Please.”

The maid’s confusion was evident, but she nodded. “As ye wish. Though it may be difficult to mount with a full skirt.”

Gabriella ignored her concern. She rose from the bed and approached the dressing table, studying her reflection in the polished metal mirror. Her cheeks were flushed from desire. Her hair hung in waves around her shoulders, her eyes bright with determination.

“And me hair,” she said, picking up the silver brush. “Nae just a simple braid today. Somethin’… more elaborate.”

Aileen’s eyebrows rose higher. “For ridin’, Me Lady?”

“Aye,” Gabriella replied, not meeting the maid’s questioning gaze. “And perhaps some rouge for me cheeks and lips?”

At that, Aileen could no longer contain her surprise. “Rouge? For a mornin’ ride with the Laird?”

Gabriella flushed. “Is it so strange to want to look presentable?”

“Nay, Me Lady,” Aileen ventured carefully. “But… well, it’s just that… the Laird isnae one to notice such things. And ridin’ tends to mess up everythin’ anyway.”

“Nevertheless,” Gabriella insisted, lifting her chin, “that’s what I want today.”

Aileen shrugged, clearly recognizing the futility of further protest. “Very well, Me Lady. The blue dress it is.”

As the maid busied herself with getting her ready, Gabriella questioned her motives and what she hoped to accomplish. To attract Hector’s attention? And if she succeeded, what then?

She had no answer, only the persistent desire to see that heated look in his eyes again. The one she’d glimpsed when her hands had landed on his bare chest. The one that made her feel something other than fear for the first time in months.

The one that had captured her dreams with so much intensity.

An hour later, Gabriella descended the steps toward the training yard, her heart fluttering beneath her ribs. The blue dress hugged her figure more snugly than she remembered, its neckline lower than anything else she’d worn since arriving at Castle McCulloch.

Aileen had arranged her hair in an intricate style, with curls framing her face and small blue flowers woven into the braided crown. Then, she’d put on the final touches by adding a hint of rouge that brightened her lips and cheeks.

Hector stood in the yard beside Moira, his back to her as he adjusted the mare’s saddle. The stable boy beside him saw Gabriella first, his eyes widening in surprise. Hector turned, following the boy’s gaze.

For one gratifying moment, he looked stunned. His eyes swept over her, from the flowers in her hair to the full length of the skirt swishing around her ankles. Something flashed in his expression—appreciation, certainly, but also confusion.

Then, his eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “That’s nae a ridin’ habit.”

Gabriella feigned innocence. “Is it nae? It’s the most comfortable of me dresses.”

It was a blatant lie. The bodice was snug, the sleeves fitted, the skirt impractical for anything but formal occasions. They both knew it.

Hector dismissed the stable boy with a curt nod, waiting until the lad was out of earshot before turning back to her. His gaze traveled over her once more, lingering long enough to send heat rushing to her cheeks.

“Ye’ll break yer neck if ye try to mount in that dress,” he said flatly. “We’ll nae be ridin’ today.”

Disappointment washed over her, but before she could respond, he continued.

“I need to inspect the new watchtower construction on the eastern ridge. Ye’ll walk with me instead.”

It wasn’t a request.

Gabriella nodded, trying not to show her relief at not being dismissed entirely.

Hector barked orders at the stable boy to return Moira to her stall, then gestured for Gabriella to follow him. His long strides forced her to hurry to keep pace, her skirt swishing around her ankles as they headed toward the eastern part of the castle grounds.

“The MacDonalds raided three farmsteads last month,” Hector explained as they walked. “The new watchtower will give us earlier warning of approach from the east.”

Gabriella struggled to match his pace on the uneven ground, her impractical shoes catching on stones. When her ankle turned slightly, causing her to stumble, Hector’s hand shot out, steadying her by the elbow. Even through the fabric of her sleeve, his touch sent warmth spreading up her arm.

“Perhaps ye should have worn comfortable footwear with the comfortable dress,” he remarked dryly, though he didn’t release her arm immediately.

“I didnae realize we’d be hiking across the Highlands,” she retorted, trying to ignore the lingering heat where his fingers had touched her.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips before vanishing. “McCullochs are always prepared for any terrain.”

“I’m nae a McCulloch,” she reminded him, then immediately regretted the words when his expression shuttered.

“Nay,” he agreed, his voice gruff. “Ye’re nae.”

They continued in silence until they crested a small hill.

Below them was a construction site where men hauled stone and timber, the foundations of a tower already taking shape.

Hector surveyed the scene with a critical eye, his broad shoulders squared with the confidence of a man accustomed to command.

Gabriella found herself studying his profile, the strong line of his jaw, his imposing figure, and the intensity of his gaze as he assessed the progress below.

In the morning light, with the Highland wind tousling his hair, he looked every inch the powerful Laird. Her thoughts drifted to her dream, to those same strong hands cupping her—

“Somethin’ amiss, lass?”

She started, realizing he’d caught her staring. “Nay, nothin’.”

“Ye’re flushed again,” he observed, his eyes narrowing. “Are ye certain ye’re nae ill?”

“Just the climb,” she lied, looking away.

Hector made a noncommittal sound, clearly unconvinced, then began describing the watchtower plans. As he spoke of defense strategies and sightlines, Gabriella found herself drawn not to the words but to the passion behind them—the fierce protectiveness he felt for his clan and lands.

A gust of wind caught one of the blue flowers in her hair, loosening it.

Before she could reach for it, Hector’s hand moved with surprising speed, catching the bloom before it could fly away.

The motion brought him unexpectedly close, his body blocking the wind, creating a pocket of stillness between them.

Their eyes locked, and time slowed down.

“Ye dinnae need these,” he said, his voice rough as he held up the flower before letting the wind blow it away. “Nor the rouge on yer cheeks. Ye’re bonny enough without it.”

The words, so unexpectedly direct, left her momentarily speechless.

“Ye should hear the MacLeods,” he continued, abruptly changing the subject as he turned back toward the construction site. “They’ve been tryin’ to marry off their eldest daughter to me for months. Tricked out like a festival pony, she was, when they brought her to dinner last month.”

“And did ye find her… appealin’?” Gabriella asked, trying to sound merely curious.

Hector snorted. “I find ambition wrapped in silk as distasteful as any other trap.”

They approached a particularly rocky section of the path, and Gabriella’s ankle caught on a loose stone.

She pitched forward with a small gasp, her arms flailing instinctively. Hector moved with impressive speed, catching her before she hit the ground. His strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her against his chest to steady her.

Gabriella found herself pressed against him, her hands clutching his shoulders, their faces inches apart.

His masculine scent engulfed her, catapulting her back into her dream from the night before. Heat flooded her body, and her gaze locked on his mouth before she quickly turned away.

Hector went completely still, his eyes darkening as he watched her. For one breathless moment, Gabriella thought he might close the distance between them. Instead, his hands tightened on her waist, keeping her steady but also maintaining that crucial space.

“Careful, lass,” he murmured, his voice rougher than before. “Or ye’ll hurt yerself.”

The double meaning wasn’t lost on her. But the heat she saw in his eyes caused her to shut down emotionally.

“Perhaps I simply wanted to feel like meself again,” she murmured, meeting his gaze with newfound composure. “After months of captivity, to dress as I please, to look as I once did… it reminds me of who I truly am.”

The explanation hung between them. Not quite a confession, but honest in its own way.

Hector studied her face for a long moment, his expression hardening into something more resolute. “Whatever game ye’re playin’, lass, remember this—I’m nae easily caught. And a woman bound for France shouldnae be tryin’ to trap a Highland laird unless she means to stay.”

His words hit her with unexpected force.

France. Her plan to leave. In the confusion of these strange new sensations, she’d momentarily forgotten her determination to escape to a new life.

“I’m nae playin’ games,” she scoffed, lifting her chin. “And perhaps it wasnae the smartest choice for riding, but it was the right choice for me to remember who I am beyond just a captive or perhaps a future nun.”

Hector’s mouth quirked at one corner as his eyes traveled over her face and down her neck, causing her to blush.

“For all yer talk of convents, I cannae see ye as a nun, lass. Ye’re far too bonny to be hidden behind stone walls, and deep down, ye have too much fire in yer spirit for a life of quiet contemplation.”

Gabriella stiffened slightly, her fingers nervously smoothing the fabric of her skirt.

“Perhaps that’s exactly why I need the convent,” she replied, her voice softer now.

“Life has offered little but disappointment when it comes to men. The kind of men that frequent the tavern, then… what happened…”

She swallowed, looking away. “The convent offers safety from such memories—a life where I willnae have to place me trust in someone who’ll only betray it in the end.”

Hector’s expression darkened at her words, something protective flickering in his eyes. But when he spoke, his tone remained challenging. “And yet here ye are, dressed to catch a man’s attention.”

“I can assure you, Hector, I’m nae tryin’ to snare ye,” she protested. She felt her cheeks flush again at the lie.

“Are ye nae?” His skepticism was plain.

“The stumble was real,” she insisted, tilting her head up.

“And the rest?” he challenged, finally setting her back on her feet, though his hands remained on her waist a moment longer before he let go.

Gabriella looked away, unable to maintain eye contact under his scrutiny. “I told ye, I simply wanted to look nice,” she said, reiterating her earlier defense.

Nae just for ye, but for me too.

“For a horse ride? Yer dress turned it into a walk that ye are hardly managin’ to keep up with.”

His disbelief was evident, but something else flickered in his eyes—something that might have been amusement.

Perhaps nae just for the ride, then.

Hector studied her face for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he stepped back, resuming his Laird’s posture.

“A month passes quickly, Gabriella. We should return,” he said, his voice controlled once more. “The wind’s pickin’ up, and that dress will provide little protection against it.”

With that, he gestured for her to continue walking, maintaining a careful distance between them for the remainder of their journey.