Page 12 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)

Gabriella took a detour to her chamber to wash her face with cold water before she found her way to the library. The vast room still took her breath away—walls lined with more books than she’d ever imagined existed, leather-bound spines catching the warm glow of the fire crackling in the hearth.

Erica was already there, curled up in a window seat with a book open on her lap. She brightened when Gabriella entered. “Gabriella! How was the ridin’ lesson?” Erica asked, closing her book. “Did me braither prove to be a patient teacher?”

Gabriella almost laughed out loud, imagining Erica’s reaction when she told her what she’d done today, and how utterly foolish she’d been during the riding lesson.

“We took…” She paused, unsure how to describe her morning without revealing the confusing emotions it had stirred. “… a walk instead.”

“A walk?” Erica studied her with narrowed eyes. “Did anythin’ special happen, lass?”

Ye have nay idea.

Gabriella shook her head, reaching for the book Erica offered. “Just tired from the exertion.”

“Well, this should lift yer spirits. The Knight’s Secret Heart—quite scandalous in parts.” Erica’s eyes twinkled. “Hector would be horrified if he kenned I had it.”

Gabriella opened the book to a random page, but the words swam before her eyes. She realized Erica had asked her a question only when the silence stretched uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry, what did ye say?”

“I asked if ye prefer tales of adventure or romance,” Erica repeated, watching her curiously. “Though perhaps I should ask what’s captured yer thoughts so thoroughly instead? Did me braither say something to ye?”

“Nothin’ of importance,” Gabriella replied too quickly. “Livin’ in the castle can be… overwhelming. So much to adjust to.”

Just then a servant appeared at the door.

“Lady Erica, yer maither requests yer presence in her chambers. Somethin’ about the arrangements for the harvest festival.”

Erica sighed dramatically, rising with reluctance.

“Duty calls, it seems.” She paused at the door, glancing back at Gabriella.

“Whatever—or whoever—has ye so distracted, I hope it brings ye joy rather than trouble.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“Though in me experience, the two often walk hand in hand.”

Alone at last, Gabriella sank onto her bed, her mind still racing with thoughts of Hector.

Why couldn’t she get him out of her mind?

Heat rose to her cheeks at the memory of how she’d reacted to his touch today—the embarrassing way her body had responded when his hands steadied her.

“Oh, Gabriella. Ye foolish girl. What has gotten into ye?” She buried her face in her hands.

She couldn’t explain the warmth that pooled low in her belly, or how she’d lain awake imagining his hands on her body, his mouth on hers. The way she’d felt in her dream when he’d almost—

He was a laird, for heaven’s sake, and she was nothing—a tavern girl bound for France, temporary in his household and his life.

But how would ye survive three more weeks in Castle McCulloch?

If her father could see how she’d behaved today—putting on that ridiculous blue dress, the rouge, the awkward flirtation—he would be mortified. She’d been raised better than this, even after his death.

Ladies didn’t pursue men, especially not men so far above their station.

Yet, each time Hector was near, her good sense had a way of abandoning her, replaced by an unfamiliar yearning that left her feeling both ashamed and alive in ways she’d never experienced before.

A knock interrupted her thoughts.

Aileen entered with two other maids carrying a basin of water.

“The Laird thought ye might want to freshen up after yer walk,” Aileen explained as the maids set down the basin. “They’ll bring the hot water now.”

After the maids had departed, Aileen helped her out of her dress.

“I’ll return in half an hour to help ye dress for bed,” Aileen said, before leaving.

Gabriella waited until she was alone, and let the silk robe slip to the floor. She splashed warm water on her face, letting it soothe her aching muscles and confused mind.

Then she used a cloth to wipe her body, enjoying the luxury of warm water and fragrant oils.

She rose reluctantly, reaching for a towel. Only to realize that Aileen had left it on the table close to the door. Wrapping herself hastily in her thin silk robe—the only garment within reach—she crossed to retrieve the towel.

At that moment, she heard voices in the corridor. Thinking Aileen must have returned, Gabriella opened her door, intending to ask for fresh nightclothes.

“Aileen, could ye—”

The words died on her lips.

Instead of her maid, Hector stood in the corridor, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the torchlight. He’d clearly come from his bath, too. His hair was damp, his face freshly shaved. He wore only his léine, loosely tied at the neck, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone.

His gaze swept over her, lingering on the places where the thin fabric failed to hide skin before returning to her face. Their eyes met, and Gabriella clutched her robe tighter, acutely aware of how the silk clung to her damp skin.

“Evenin’, Laird McCulloch,” she managed, despite her racing pulse. “I was just—”

“Leavin’ yer room half-dressed?” Hector finished for her, his expression darkening.

Gabriella felt her face redden. “I thought ye were me maid,” she replied weakly.

Hector stepped closer, his towering frame making the corridor seem suddenly smaller. “Ye shouldnae wander about dressed like that, lass,” he said, his voice pitched low. “For yer own safety.”

“Me safety?” she echoed, confused. “But ye said nay one would hurt me here.”

Something flashed in his eyes—hunger so intense it made her breath catch. “Aye, I did. But I mean a different kind of… danger.”

He was close enough now that she could smell the soap he’d used, could see the pulse beating steadily at the base of his throat.

“What kind of danger?” she whispered, hardly recognizing her own voice.

Hector’s eyes trailed down until they stopped at the valley between her breasts. Gabriella gasped, thinking he might reach for her. Instead, his jaw tightened, and he stepped back, his expression shuttering.

“Go back to yer chambers, Gabriella,” he ordered, his tone almost too casual, belied by the tension in his shoulders. “And dinnae wander around dressed like that again. Unless ye want me to ravish ye.”

Without waiting for her response, he turned on his heel and went back to his room, the door closing with a decisive thud behind him.