Page 20 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)
Hector guided Gabriella to a corner table with a clear view of both the door and the hearth. He pulled out a chair for her, positioning her with her back to the wall—a protective habit he’d developed during years of skirmishes.
Noah took up a position near the door, his stance relaxed but his eyes alert.
“Bring yer best stew,” Hector instructed the tavern keeper. “Bread, cheese, and whatever greens ye have fresh today.” He glanced at Gabriella. “And cider rather than ale.”
“Right away, Me Laird,” the man replied, hurrying off to fulfill the order.
Gabriella sat stiffly in her chair, her eyes darting around the room before landing on the scarred wooden table. Hector studied her, noting the way her fingers twisted together in her lap, how her shoulders had hunched slightly forward.
“Does this place remind ye of where ye worked?” he asked quietly.
She glanced up, surprise flickering in her eyes. “Aye,” she admitted. “Though this is finer. The Spotted Hare was smaller, darker.”
“The Spotted Hare,” Hector repeated, committing the name to memory. Another clue to trace Lewis’s whereabouts. “Is that where ye worked before Lewis took ownership?”
Her face shuttered at the mention of his name. “Aye. Fergus, the previous owner, was kind. But when he died…” she trailed off, her gaze dropping again to the table.
The tavern keeper returned with two mugs of spiced cider, placing them down with a flourish. “Stew’s coming right up, Me Laird. Just pulled fresh bread from the oven too.”
Hector nodded his thanks, then returned his attention to Gabriella. She’d taken the mug but hadn’t drunk from it, her knuckles white as she gripped the handle.
“Lewis cannae harm ye now,” Hector reassured her, keeping his voice low. “Nae when I’m here to protect ye.”
“I ken,” she whispered, but her eyes kept flitting nervously around the tavern.
The food arrived—steaming bowls of venison stew rich with root vegetables, a platter of fresh bread still warm from the oven, slices of sharp cheese, and a small bowl of early spring greens. The scent was mouth-watering after their morning activities.
“Eat,” Hector encouraged, breaking off a piece of bread. “Ye’ll need yer strength for the ride back.”
Gabriella picked up her spoon obediently, but merely stirred the stew without taking a bite. Her face had grown paler, and a fine sheen of sweat had appeared on her brow despite the tavern’s comfortable temperature.
Something was wrong. Hector followed her gaze as it darted around the room, trying to identify what had caused her distress. The tavern was busy but not noisy, the clientele respectable. Nothing that should cause such fear in a woman who had already endured far worse.
Unless it wasn’t the place itself, but a memory it evoked, or perhaps a person she’d spotted.
Hector tensed, his hand instinctively moving to the dirk at his belt as he scanned the room more carefully.
“What is it, lass?” he asked, leaning closer. “What’s troublin’ ye?”
Gabriella shook her head slightly, her eyes still not meeting his. “Nothin’. I’m just… nae very hungry.”
Hector frowned. The lass was still too thin, her wrists as delicate as bird bones. She needed nourishment to regain her strength, yet she’d barely touched the hearty stew before her.
“Ye need to eat,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “Ye’ve hardly had a bite.”
“I’m full, truly,” she insisted, finally meeting his gaze. The lie was obvious in her eyes.
Hector debated whether to press her further. As a laird, he was accustomed to having his commands obeyed without question. But Gabriella wasn’t one of his warriors or servants. She was a woman who’d endured months of captivity, whose will had been crushed beneath others’ demands.
He wouldn’t add to that burden, no matter his concern for her health.
“At least drink yer cider,” he urged, pushing the mug closer to her. “The journey back will be cold if the wind picks up.”
She nodded, reaching for the mug with visible effort. Her fingers trembled as she grasped the handle, causing the amber liquid to slosh dangerously close to the rim.
Hector continued eating, though his attention remained focused on her. Something specific was troubling her—something beyond the general discomfort of being in a tavern again. Her posture had grown increasingly rigid since they’d entered, her complexion paling to an alarming shade.
“Would ye prefer to leave?” he asked quietly. “We can return to the castle if ye’re unwell.”
“Nay,” she answered too quickly. “I… I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t fine. Her eyes darted repeatedly to a corner of the room near the back entrance. Each time they did, her breathing would quicken noticeably, her chest rising and falling in short, sharp movements.
Hector casually shifted in his seat, angling himself to better view the area that had captivated her attention. He saw nothing unusual—just merchants discussing their wares, a maid collecting empty mugs, and the occasional patron entering or leaving through the rear door.
What did she see that he didn’t? What phantom from her past haunted her in this ordinary tavern?
“Gabriella,” he said, lowering his voice further, “if there’s danger, ye must tell me. Is there someone ye recognize here?”
Gabriella’s eyes darted once more to the corner. Her face drained of what little color remained, and the mug slipped from her grasp, clattering against the table. Cider spilled across the scarred wood, but neither of them moved to stem the flow.
“That man,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the noise. “The one with the red beard and scar across his cheek.”
Hector followed her gaze, assessing the man with a warrior’s eye. Tall, lean, with the weathered look of a man who spent much time outdoors. Nothing particularly threatening about his appearance, yet Gabriella’s fear was unmistakable.
“Who is he?” Hector demanded, his hand moving instinctively toward his dirk.
Gabriella leaned forward suddenly, her fingers clutching his arm with surprising strength. Her eyes, wide with terror, locked onto his as she whispered urgently, “He’s Lewis’s second-in-command. The man who helped him take me.”