Page 24 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)

“Ye’ll catch yer death in these wet clothes, Me Lady,” Aileen fussed, helping Gabriella out of her sodden dress.

The maid had been waiting in her chamber, a bath already drawn and steaming by the fire.

Gabriella didn’t answer, her mind still reeling from Hector’s parting words.

“Ye will beg for me touch, wife.”

The memory sent an unwelcome shiver through her that had nothing to do with her damp skin.

“The forest-green dress, I think,” Aileen decided, pulling the gown out of the wardrobe. “It goes well with yer hair, and ye’ll want to look yer best for supper with the family.”

Gabriella stepped into the warm bath, grateful for the chance to wash away the day’s tension. By the time Aileen had helped her into the dress and arranged her hair in a simple style, a footman had arrived to escort her to the Great Hall.

“The family awaits ye, Me Lady,” he said with a respectful bow.

The Great Hall was warm, a roaring fire casting dancing shadows across stone walls hung with clan tartans and ancient weapons. Andrea and Erica were already seated at the high table, their conversation halting abruptly as Gabriella entered.

Hector rose from his chair at the head of the table, his expression unreadable.

“Ye’re just in time,” he said, gesturing to the empty chair at his right—the place where she had sat before, though tonight it seemed to carry new significance.

Gabriella slid into the seat, acutely aware of Andrea and Erica’s curious glances. A servant immediately appeared to fill her goblet with wine, another placing a trencher of steaming venison stew before her.

“Maither, Erica,” Hector began without preamble, his deep voice filling the hall. “I have an announcement. Gabriella has agreed to become me wife. We’ll be married within the week.”

The stunned silence that followed was broken by the clatter of Erica’s spoon on the table.

“Married?” Surprise crossed Andrea’s features before smoothing into a smile. “Well! This is unexpected news, indeed.”

“Unexpected?” Erica laughed, her eyes bright with excitement. “It’s a bloody miracle! I’d resigned myself to livin’ with a grumpy old bachelor forever!” She beamed at Gabriella. “I’ve always wanted a sister.”

Heat flooded Gabriella’s face as both women turned their full attention upon her. What must they think of this sudden engagement? Would they see through the charade to the arrangement beneath?

She took a quick sip of wine, buying time to compose herself.

“The decision was made today,” Hector continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “After events in the village made it clear that Gabriella needs the full protection of the McCulloch name.”

Something in his phrasing made Gabriella glance up sharply. He’d made their arrangement sound almost noble rather than the desperate bargain it was.

Their eyes met briefly over the rim of her goblet, and the intensity of his gaze sent her pulse racing all over again.

“When did this happen?” Erica demanded, leaning forward eagerly. “Was it romantic? Did ye go down on one knee, Braither?” She looked between them, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“Erica,” Andrea chided gently, though her own expression held unmistakable curiosity. She turned to Hector. “Within the week, ye say? That hardly leaves time for proper preparations.”

“We want a simple ceremony,” Hector replied, cutting into his venison with precise movements. “Nothin’ elaborate.”

“Nothin’ elaborate?” Erica looked scandalized. “But it’s the Laird’s weddin’! The clan will expect a celebration.”

Gabriella stared at her plate, suddenly unable to eat despite her hunger. She hadn’t considered the clan’s expectations. Of course, there would be witnesses, traditions, and celebrations. This wouldn’t be a private arrangement between them.

“A small gatherin’ will suffice,” Hector insisted. “Given the circumstances.”

Andrea studied them both, her shrewd gaze missing nothing. “At the very least, we must observe the essential traditions. The handfastin’ ceremony in the old stone circle. The clan tartan for the bride. The weddin’ feast.”

“And the dance!” Erica added. “Ye cannae forget the openin’ dance. Every McCulloch weddin’ begins with the couple’s dance. It’s been a tradition since Great-Grandmaither Ailsa’s time.”

Gabriella nearly choked on her wine. “Dance?” she echoed weakly.

She barely knew the steps to the simplest country dances, let alone whatever formal traditions the McCullochs observed.

“Och, it’s beautiful,” Erica continued, oblivious to her distress. “The couple enters the Great Hall together, and everyone watches as they dance alone before joinin’ in. It’s meant to symbolize how ye move through life together before becomin’ part of the larger clan.”

Andrea nodded approvingly. “We’ll need to arrange lessons, of course. There’s the special turn at the midpoint that’s unique to McCulloch weddings.” She turned to Gabriella with a reassuring smile. “Dinnae fret, dear. Ye’ll learn quickly enough.”

“The dress,” she then mused. “Perhaps we could alter me weddin’ gown. There’s hardly time to commission somethin’ new, though Mistress Ross might manage a simpler design if we send word tonight.”

“I have something special in mind already,” Hector interjected, surprising Gabriella. “Arrangements have been made.”

Andrea raised an eyebrow but didn’t question her son further. Instead, she turned her attention to the ceremony itself. “Faither MacKenzie should perform the blessin’, of course. And we’ll need to prepare the stone circle. It hasnae been used since Cousin Malcolm’s weddin’ three summers ago.”

“Stone circle?” Gabriella found her voice, at last.

“Aye.” Andrea nodded. “The old traditions hold that a marriage blessed within the sacred stones will endure. It’s been a McCulloch custom for generations.”

Sacred stones. Ancient vows. Clan witnesses. The reality of what Gabriella had agreed to pressed down upon her with each passing moment. This was no simple legal arrangement to be quietly established and later dissolved. These people—this clan—took marriage as seriously as they took battle.

“And naturally,” Andrea continued, “ye’ll move into the Laird’s chambers after the ceremony.”

Gabriella’s gaze flew to Hector, panic flaring in her chest. His expression remained impassive, but she noted the slight tightening of his fingers around his goblet.

“There will be time to go over such details,” he said smoothly. “For now, we focus on the ceremony itself.”

“But there’s so much to arrange!” Erica protested. “The feast, the musicians, the decorations for the hall—”

“Enough.” Hector’s tone was firm. “Ye’re overwhelmin’ me bride.”

The next morning, Gabriella woke up to the sound of excited voices and a firm knock at her chamber door. Sunlight streamed through the windows, suggesting she’d slept later than usual after a night of restless dreams.

“Come in,” she called, hastily sitting up and smoothing her tousled hair.

The door swung open to reveal Andrea and Erica, followed by Aileen and two other maids carrying bolts of fabric, measuring tapes, and various sewing tools.

“Good mornin’, soon-to-be sister!” Erica greeted cheerfully, plopping down onto the edge of Gabriella’s bed. “We’ve come to begin preparations.”

Andrea moved with more dignity, seating herself in a chair near the window. “I hope we havenae disturbed your rest, dear, but there’s much to do before the ceremony.”

Before Gabriella could gather her thoughts, the maids were setting up a sewing frame, spreading fabrics across the furniture, and opening boxes of ribbons and lace.

“Take the measurements,” Andrea directed.

“I thought Hector said arrangements had been made,” Gabriella reminded her, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden flurry of activity.

“For the weddin’ dress, aye,” Andrea relented. “But ye’ll need a proper nightgown too, and clothes befittin’ a laird’s wife.”

Nightgown. The word reminded Gabriella of the reality that awaited beyond the ceremony. Though Hector had promised a marriage in name only, others would expect otherwise.

Aileen pulled her out of bed and helped her onto a small platform as the other maids began taking her measurements, calling out numbers that Andrea recorded in a small book.

“The McCulloch women have always worn this particular shade of blue with the clan tartan,” Andrea explained, holding up a length of rich fabric. “It represents the lochs and skies of our lands.”

“It’ll look lovely with yer colorin’,” Erica added. “Though nae as lovely as our braither will find ye regardless of what ye wear.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Erica!” Andrea scolded, though there was little heat in her voice.

“What?” Erica laughed. “I’m only statin’ the obvious. Hector’s been watchin’ her since she arrived like a hawk watches a hare. McCulloch men have always been possessive of their women.”

“It’s true,” Andrea admitted with a small smile. “Me husband, God rest his soul, would scarcely let me out of his sight the first year of our marriage. Said he couldnae bear to have me beyond arm’s reach.”

“And Great-Grandfaither rode three days without rest to reach Great-Grandmaither when he heard she’d been taken ill,” Erica added. “Nearly killed his favorite horse in the process.”

“McCulloch men love deeply if nae always wisely,” Andrea said, her voice softening with memory. “Once they choose, they’re as steadfast as the mountains themselves.”

Gabriella stood silent as the women continued their work, pins and fabric moving around her like a colorful tempest. Their stories of devoted McCulloch husbands only heightened her anxiety.

This arrangement wasn’t meant to be real, at least not in the way they described.

“Tell her about Grandfaither and the cattle raids,” Erica prompted, handing a measuring ribbon to one of the maids.

“Ah, yes.” Andrea smiled. “Me faither-in-law once fought off twelve thieves who’d attempted to steal nae just cattle but me maither-in-law’s prized rose bushes. He took three arrows but wouldnae yield until every last rose was safe.”