Page 25 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)

“Over roses?” Gabriella asked, momentarily distracted from her worries.

“They were a weddin’ gift,” Andrea explained. “And to a McCulloch, anythin’ given in marriage is sacred.” Her eyes met Gabriella’s, something knowing in their depths. “Includin’ vows.”

The weight of those words settled heavily in Gabriella’s chest. These people took marriage vows as seriously as blood oaths. What would they think if they knew the truth of her arrangement with Hector?

“Arms up, please,” one of the maids requested, measuring across Gabriella’s shoulders.

“The clan expects the Laird’s weddin’ to reaffirm our traditions,” Andrea continued. “Each element of the ceremony has meanin’. The handfastin’ with the clan tartan represents how yer lives become interwoven. The blessin’ at the stones connects yer union to our ancestors.”

“And the beddin’ ceremony ensures that ye and Hector—” Erica said with a mischievous grin.

“There will be nay beddin’ ceremony,” Andrea cut in firmly. “That tradition was set aside generations ago.”

Gabriella’s momentary panic subsided, though she still felt hot with embarrassment. Her gaze landed on the massive bed that dominated the chamber—a bed she would soon be expected to share, at least in appearance, with the Laird.

“Every McCulloch bride since the time of Robert the Bruce has worn this,” Andrea said, opening a small wooden box. Inside lay a delicate silver brooch, Celtic knotwork surrounding a polished blue stone. “It will fasten yer tartan sash during the ceremony.”

Gabriella stared at the ancient piece of jewelry, suddenly overcome by the history it represented. Generations of McCulloch brides, all of them entering their marriages, believing in forever. Unlike her.

“I cannae—” she began, then faltered at Andrea’s expectant expression. “I mean, I’m honored.”

“It’s tradition.” Andrea closed the box. “And ye are to be a McCulloch.”

In name only.

But as preparations continued around Gabriella, the line between pretense and reality seemed to blur with each passing moment.

Me bride.

The words sent a tremor through her that she couldn’t quite name. Not quite fear, not quite anticipation, but something in between.

“Forgive us, dear,” Andrea said, noticing her pallor. “We’re simply overjoyed. Hector has been alone for far too long.”

“Aye,” Erica agreed with a grin. “Though none of us expected him to choose so suddenly. Or so well,” she added with a warm smile.

These women were welcoming her with genuine joy, believing she would truly become one of them. The deception felt suddenly cruel, a betrayal of their sincere affection.

Yet, as she thought of Hector, she wondered if perhaps she was the one being deceived. Not about the arrangement itself, but about the nature of what she’d agreed to.

“Now,” Andrea said, once the maids had completed their measurements and begun gathering their tools, “we must discuss the wedding dance.”

Gabriella, who had been lost in her troubled thoughts, looked up sharply. “The dance Erica mentioned last night?”

“Aye.” Andrea nodded. “It’s one of our most important traditions. After the ceremony at the stones and the feast, the bride and groom open the celebrations with the Dance of Promise.”

“The entire clan watches,” Erica supplied, her eyes bright with excitement. “Everyone forms a circle around the couple, and nay sound is made until the dance is over.”

Gabriella’s stomach tightened with anxiety. “I dinnae ken how to dance,” she reminded them, her voice small.

“Most brides dinnae,” Andrea reassured her. “Which is why we will begin lessons immediately.” She turned to the maids. “That will be all for now. Return after the midday meal with the fabric samples.”

The maids curtseyed and departed, leaving only Erica and Andrea with Gabriella.

“The Dance of Promise dates back to the days when the McCullochs first settled these lands,” Andrea explained, rising from her chair with surprising grace for a woman her age.

“It’s said that our ancestress, Ailsa McCulloch, created it as a way to show her devotion to her husband when words failed. ”

“It’s more than just steps,” Erica continued. “It tells the story of meetin’, courtship, and joinin’ as one.”

Gabriella’s apprehension grew. This sounded far more complex than simply moving to music.

“Come,” Andrea said, moving to the center of the room where the maids had cleared a space. “Stand here, and I will show ye the bride’s part. Erica will stand in for Hector.”

For the next hour, Andrea guided Gabriella through the intricate patterns of the dance. The movements themselves weren’t overly complicated—a series of approaches and retreats, turns and bows—but each carried symbolic weight that Andrea explained in detail.

“This turn here”—she demonstrated, extending her arm as she moved in a slow circle—“represents the moment of acceptance. And then when the groom approaches…” She nodded to Erica, who stepped forward with an exaggerated masculine swagger, making Gabriella smile despite her nervousness.

“…you allow him to take yer hand, symbolizing trust.”

As Gabriella practiced, her initial clumsiness gradually gave way to more fluid movements. Still, the prospect of performing these steps before the entire clan filled her with dread.

“What if I make a mistake?” she asked, her voice betraying her fear. “Everyone will be watchin’.”

“Ye’ll nae be alone,” Andrea reminded her. “Hector will lead ye through it. He’s known this dance since childhood.”

“Wait until ye reach the Promise moment,” Erica said with a meaningful glance at her mother. “That’s when the real magic happens.”

“The Promise moment?” Gabriella repeated, pausing mid-step.

Andrea nodded. “At the dance’s climax, the music falls away, and the couple must share a private promise. One spoken softly so only they can hear it. It seals their commitment before the celebration truly begins.”

“What sort of promise?” Gabriella asked, her mouth suddenly dry.

“That’s between husband and wife,” Andrea said with a gentle smile. “Each couple chooses their own. Me husband promised to bring me wildflowers every spring, and he never once failed, even in our last year together.”

“It doesnae have to be grand,” Erica added. “Just genuine.”

Genuine.

The word hung in the air between them, a small knife twisting in Gabriella’s conscience.

After Andrea and Erica finally departed, promising to return the next day to continue her lessons, Gabriella sank onto the edge of her bed, exhaustion and anxiety warring within her.

The Dance of Promise. A public display that would require her to move in perfect harmony with Hector, allowing him to hold her, turn her, and guide her before the watchful eyes of his entire clan.

And at its heart, a moment of intimacy where promises were exchanged—promises meant to last a lifetime.

She closed her eyes, remembering how her body had responded when Hector helped her dismount the previous day, the heat that flared between them when their eyes met across the dinner table. This dance would demand that same closeness, but sustained, deliberate, witnessed by all.

And what promise would she give him in that sacred moment? What lie would she whisper as his clan looked on, believing they witnessed the sealing of a real marriage?

Gabriella pressed her hands to her face, shame washing over her. Andrea and Erica had welcomed her with open hearts, sharing family treasures and traditions meant for a true McCulloch bride. With each preparation, each lesson, and each story shared, the deception grew more painful to keep up.

Yet most troubling of all was the small, treacherous part of her that wondered what it might be like if this marriage were real—if the promise she spoke during their dance could be one she actually intended to keep.