Page 21 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)

Hector felt his blood turn to ice.

The man across the tavern scanned the room with the practiced eye of a predator. His gaze swept past their table, then snapped back, narrowing on Gabriella’s face.

Hector saw the exact moment recognition dawned in the man’s eyes. At first, he seemed confused, as if seeing a ghost, but then a cruel smile twisted his lips, transforming his ordinary features into something monstrous.

“He sees me,” Gabriella breathed, her voice barely audible over the noise.

Hector saw how her hands began to shake uncontrollably as ice-cold sweats beaded on her brow. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, solid and warm. He had to make her feel safe around him.

“I willnae let him near ye,” he growled, the promise fierce in his voice.

The man’s smile vanished as his eyes flicked to Hector. He assessed the Laird’s impressive frame, the unmistakable authority in his bearing, the hand resting on his weapon. Something like uncertainty crossed his features before hardening into resolve.

Without taking his eyes off them, he backed toward the rear entrance, his movements casual to anyone who wasn’t watching closely. But Hector was watching. He knew Gabriella was, too. From the way the man backed away, he was clearly going to find reinforcements.

“He’s leavin’,” Gabriella said urgently. “To tell Lewis he’s found me.”

Hector’s reaction was immediate. He surged to his feet, his chair scraping across the floor. Noah was already moving toward them, his warrior’s instincts having caught the sudden tension.

Hector caught his eye and spoke in a low, urgent voice meant only for his ears, “The back door! Red beard!”

Noah turned in the direction of the man, assessing the threat with a single glance. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword as he gave a sharp nod of understanding. He was already positioning himself to block any escape route, moving with the fluid efficiency of a seasoned warrior.

Hector strode toward the rear entrance, his powerful frame cutting through the crowd like a blade.

“I saw him, Me Laird,” Noah said. “Let me handle this.”

“He’s mine,” Hector growled, the fury in his voice sending a shiver down Gabriella’s spine.

But as he took a step toward the back door, he heard a whimper and turned back toward Gabriella.

She sat frozen at their table, terror etched on her pale features, her hands trembling as curious eyes swiveled toward them.

The patrons watched the unfolding drama with undisguised interest, whispers already beginning to spread from table to table.

His protective instincts warred with his hunger for vengeance. Every fiber of his being demanded that he pursue the bastard who had tormented her, but she needed him here. Now.

“Go,” he commanded Noah in a low, deadly voice, never taking his eyes off Gabriella’s stricken face. “Dinnae let him escape. I’ll stay with the lass.”

With a sharp nod, Noa slipped toward the back entrance, moving with practiced stealth, while Hector returned to Gabriella’s side, positioning himself between her and the growing crowd of onlookers.

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking beneath his skin as he fought his instinct to give chase. But when his gaze flicked to her, he knew he couldn’t leave her on her own.

“Come,” he said, offering his hand with a formality that seemed at odds with the urgency of the moment. “We’re leavin’.”

Gabriella placed her trembling fingers in his, grateful for the strength of his grip as he helped her to her feet. Her legs felt boneless with fear, threatening to give way beneath her. Hector’s hand moved to the small of her back, steadying her without seeming to do so.

“What about Noah?” she whispered as he guided her toward the door.

“He’ll find us,” Hector replied, his voice carrying just enough for those nearby to hear. “He’s the best tracker in the Highlands. We’ll wait somewhere safer.”

The tavern keeper emerged from the back room, approaching Hector with hurried steps. Concern was written all over his honest face. “Is aught amiss, Me Laird? The meal—”

“Was excellent as always, Finlay,” Hector cut in smoothly. He tossed several coins on the table—far more than their barely touched meal warranted. “A private matter requires our attention. Me thanks for yer hospitality.”

As they moved toward the door, Gabriella felt the weight of two dozen stares on her back. Hector maintained his dignified pace, his hand on her waist both a support and a shield. Only she could feel the tension in his fingers, the alertness in his posture that belied his casual demeanor,

“Keep yer head high,” he murmured. “Dinnae show fear.”

Gabriella straightened her spine with effort, trying to match his confident strides. The Laird of Clan McCulloch would not scurry like a frightened rabbit out of a village tavern, and neither would the woman under his protection.

But as the door closed behind them and bright daylight replaced the tavern’s dimness, Gabriella couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through her.

Rory had found her. Which meant Lewis would know that she was still in the village, and with the Laird. He would not miss another opportunity to make money off her back.

“Fresh fish! Caught at dawn!” A merchant’s cry pierced the air as Gabriella stepped into the swirling chaos of the market square.

Colorful awnings flapped in the breeze above wooden stalls that formed crooked rows across the village center.

“Best wool in the Highlands!” called another, holding up a length of plaid.

A child dashed past, nearly colliding with her skirts. She started, her hand flying to her throat as her heart thudded painfully. The boy’s laughter trailed behind him as he disappeared into the crowd, oblivious to how he’d shaken her.

Two farmers argued loudly over the price of a lamb, their voices rising above the general din. Gabriella flinched again, pressing herself harder into Hector’s side.

A woman carrying a basket of eggs bumped into her, and Gabriella had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her skirt, her knuckles white with tension.

Hector’s large hand remained on the small of her back, steady and warm. His eyes constantly swept their surroundings, alert for danger.

“We’ll head toward the blacksmith’s,” he said quietly.

Gabriella nodded, forcing herself to breathe deeply despite the tightness in her chest. She scanned the crowd, a habit born from months of captivity when awareness meant survival.

That’s when she saw him. Another of Lewis’s men. Angus, the tall, lanky one with a missing front tooth.

He stood by a baker’s stall, pretending to examine a loaf of bread while his eyes darted in their direction.

“There’s another one,” she whispered, not pointing but inclining her head slightly. “By the bread cart. The tall man with patched sleeves. His name is Angus.”

Hector’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly. “Ye ken their names,” he noted, surprise coloring his tone.

“I ken everythin’ they said while they thought I was too weak to listen,” she mumbled.

“Lewis usually keeps two men with him. Rory was the one who escaped with him the day ye found me. Angus comes to the tavern often—he is likely replacin’ the man ye caught.

They work in patterns, keepin’ watch for each other. ”

Hector glanced down at her with new appreciation. “Anythin’ else ye noticed that might help us?”

Before she could answer, a stooped older man intercepted them, bowing deeply to Hector.

“Laird McCulloch! Thank the saints I’ve found ye,” he exclaimed, breathless with urgency. “It’s Tavish again! His sheep are grazin’ on me land, destroyin’ me crops!”

Hector’s expression darkened with impatience. “This isnae the time, Callum—”

“He’s movin’ the stone markers at night, he is!” the man pressed, desperation evident on his weathered face. “The barley field me family has farmed for three generations—he claims more of it every day! I’ve four wee ones to feed, Me Laird!”

Hector’s jaw clenched. “Again, this isnae the time.”

“They’re cuttin’ timber as we speak, Me Laird!” Callum continued regardless. “Yer faither always said that any encroachment must be addressed immediately, or—”

“Or it becomes tacit agreement to the new boundary,” Hector finished, the muscle in his jaw working.

He glanced at Gabriella, clearly torn between his duty to his clan and his promise to protect her.

“Please, Laird McCulloch,” the man pleaded, wringing his cap in his hands. “I’ve spoken to him twice.”

Hector kept a protective arm around Gabriella’s waist as he listened. “And what does he say, Callum?”

“He threatens to take it to the magistrate—says I’m lyin’ about the boundaries.” The farmer’s voice cracked with frustration. “Me family’s worked that plot for three generations, Me Laird. I cannae afford to lose me land.”

As Hector’s attention fully focused on resolving the dispute, his protective hold on Gabriella naturally loosened. She remained close beside him, but when a colorful silk scarf at a nearby merchant’s stall caught her eye, she stepped just a few feet away to examine it.

That’s when she saw him—or thought she did. A familiar figure near the forge, partially obscured by the crowd.

Her heart lurched. Was that…? She couldn’t be certain from this distance.

Without thinking, she moved closer, squinting through the press of people to get a better look. And then their eyes met.

Panic shot through her. Without Hector beside her, she was vulnerable. Acting on instinct, Gabriella ducked behind a cloth merchant’s stall, using the hanging fabrics as cover.

“What are ye doin’ back here, lass?” the merchant demanded, startled by her sudden appearance.

“Please,” Gabriella began, but then fell silent as a shadow fell across the stall’s entrance.

“Excuse me,” came Angus’s oily voice. “I’m lookin’ for a lass in a blue dress. My master’s daughter. Ran off, she did.”

The merchant looked uncertainly between them. Gabriella shook her head frantically in a silent plea.