Page 26 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)
The iron-bound door banged against the stone wall as Hector marched into the dungeons, his face a mask of barely contained fury. The guard jumped to attention, nearly dropping the keys he’d been holding.
“Laird McCulloch! I wasnae expectin’ ye.”
“The prisoners.” Hector did not break stride. “Now.”
“Aye, Me Laird.” The guard fumbled with the ring of keys, hurrying to unlock the heavy door that led to the cells below.
Torchlight cast long shadows as Hector descended the narrow stone steps, the chilly air carrying the unmistakable smell of damp stone and human misery.
The two men captured at the market sat in separate cells, both looking up with expressions that shifted from defiance to fear as they recognized who had come to call.
“Leave us,” Hector ordered the guard, who hesitated only briefly before retreating up the stairs.
Angus, the lankier of the two, pressed himself against the far wall of his cell. The other man, the brute whose nose Hector had broken in the market, glared with sullen hatred, though he too maintained his distance from the bars.
“Good mornin’, gentlemen,” Hector greeted, his voice deceptively soft as he moved to stand between the cells. “I trust ye’ve been enjoyin’ our hospitality.”
“Ye’ve nay right to hold us,” the brute growled. “We’ve done nothin’ wrong.”
Hector’s hand shot through the bars so quickly the man had no time to retreat. Fingers closing around his throat, Hector grabbed his throat and slammed the prisoner’s head against the bars.
“Ye attempted to abduct a woman under me protection,” he said, his tone still conversational despite his white-knuckled grip. “That alone would earn ye a hangin’ in these parts.”
He released the man, who slumped to his knees, gasping.
“But that’s nae why I’m here,” he continued, turning his attention to Angus, who had gone pale with fear. “I want Lewis. Where is he?”
“I dinnae ken,” Angus stammered. “He moves about. Changes locations every few days.”
Hector studied him for a moment, then removed his dirk from his belt. The blade gleamed in the torchlight as he examined its edge.
“Let me explain somethin’,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “I am nae a patient man. Nor am I particularly merciful when it comes to men who hunt women like game.”
He approached Angus’s cell, the dirk still in hand.
“Every moment ye waste with lies is a moment closer to discoverin’ exactly how creative I can be.”
“Ye cannae torture us,” the brute protested from the other cell, though with considerably less conviction than before. “The law—”
“The law?” Hector turned, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “Ye mean the same law that prescribes drawin’ and quarterin’ for treason?” He looked back at Angus. “Abductin’ women to sell to depraved lairds… I believe that qualifies.”
Angus broke first, as Hector had known he would. The weaker of the two, with more brains than brawn.
“He’s gatherin’ men,” he blurted, pressing himself against the wall as if trying to melt into the stone. “At the old McTavish ruins, north of Inverness. He’s convinced three lairds to support him—men who’ve participated in the hunts before. They fear ye’ll expose them.”
“Names,” Hector grunted.
“Laird MacDuff of the western hills. Laird Sutherland from the northern coast, and Laird Ferguson.”
“How many men?”
“Twenty—maybe thirty by now,” Angus continued, words tumbling out of his mouth. “Lewis plans to attack soon. He says that the lass is his property, that ye stole what was rightfully his.”
Cold rage surged through Hector at the words, though his face remained impassive. “When?”
“I dinnae ken exactly,” Angus insisted, shrinking back as Hector took another step toward the cell. “Soon! Within the fortnight, he said. But that’s all I ken, I swear it!”
Hector studied him for a long moment, then re-sheathed his dirk. “For yer cooperation, ye’ll have a quick death rather than a lengthy one. Consider it a mercy.”
He turned to leave, then paused, glancing back at the two men.
“If I discover ye’ve lied about any detail, nay matter how small, I’ll return. And ye’ll both pray for the hangman’s noose as a reprieve from what I’ll do to ye.”
Without waiting for a response, he climbed up the stairs, his mind already formulating plans based on this new information.
Lewis had gathered allies and was planning an attack. The wedding would need to happen immediately—not just for appearances’ sake, but to cement Gabriella’s position in the clan.
“Keep them locked up until ye hear directly from me,” he ordered the guard, who had remained by the entrance, nodded nervously, bowing several times.
Without another word, Hector strode through the castle corridors, away from the dungeons, his jaw set with grim determination. His boots clicked loudly on the stone floor as he ascended the narrow stairs, the air growing warmer and clearer with each step.
Gabriella’s face flashed through his mind unbidden—not frightened as he’d first seen her in the forest, but as she’d looked yesterday in the village, defiant and brave even as Lewis’s men closed in on her.
The thought of Lewis claiming her as ‘property’ made his blood boil anew.
Noah met Hector as he passed through the halls, his expression shifting to alertness at the sight of Hector’s grim countenance.
“What news?” he asked.
“I plan to wed Gabriella. Seein’ yesterday’s events, and now hearin’ that Lewis plans to take her, the weddin’ must happen sooner than planned. Tomorrow, if possible.”
Something like understanding flickered in Noah’s eyes, though he merely nodded again. “I’ll inform Lady McCulloch to make the necessary arrangements.”
“And have Aileen prepare Miss Patterson for breakfast,” Hector added. “The small dinin’ room, nae the hall. Half an hour.”
As Noah departed to carry out his instructions, Hector made his way to his chambers, ordering a bath as he went. He needed to wash away the dungeons’ stench before meeting with Gabriella.
By the time Gabriella arrived at the small dining room, Hector had bathed and changed, his still-damp hair the only evidence of his early morning activities. They discussed the plans for increased security as they ate, Gabriella offering surprisingly astute observations about Lewis and his methods.
“There’s one more matter,” Hector said as they finished their meal. “The weddin’ dance. Me maither mentioned that she spoke to ye about it yesterday.”
Gabriella’s eyes widened slightly. “Aye, she explained the tradition.”
“We should begin practicin’ today,” he stated, his tone making it clear that this was not a suggestion. “I’ve postponed me meetin’ with the clan elders this mornin’ so we can practice.”
“Surely the meetin’ is more important—”
“Few things are more important than a laird and his lady appearin’ competent before the clan,” Hector cut in. “Especially when the lady will soon need their unwaverin’ loyalty.”
Understanding flickered in her eyes. This was not merely about tradition; it was also about securing her position.
“Very well,” she agreed. “Though I warn ye, I’m far from graceful.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Hector replied, rising from his seat. “Go change into something suitable for dancing. I’ll escort ye to yer chamber.”
They walked in silence through the corridors, the servants scrambling to the sides to let them pass. At Gabriella’s door, Erica appeared, her timing suspiciously convenient.
“Off to dance lessons, are we?” she asked, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Maither told me ye’d be startin’ today.”
“Is there anythin’ in this castle that escapes yer notice?” Hector asked dryly.
“Very little,” his sister admitted cheerfully. She turned to Gabriella. “The cream dress that was delivered yesterday would be perfect. It flows beautifully with the turns of the dance.”
“Thank ye for yer advice,” Gabriella replied, her cheeks coloring slightly.
“Ye’re fortunate,” Erica told her with a grin. “Me braither may lead with confidence in battle, but he’s equally skilled on the dance floor. Faither insisted that all McCullochs master our traditions.”
“That’s enough,” Hector growled, though without real heat. “Go pester Noah for a while. I’m sure he misses yer constant chatter.”
Erica’s cheeks turned pink at the mention of Noah, a reaction Hector filed away for future consideration.
“The ballroom in half an hour,” he told Gabriella, before turning to leave. “Dinnae keep me waitin’.”
In the grand ballroom, Hector instructed a single piper to play music rather than a full band. The fewer witnesses to their first awkward attempts, the better.
The heavy doors creaked open, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Gabriella stood framed in the entrance, wearing a dress of deep cream that rippled like water with each step she took.
Her hair was loosely gathered at the nape of her neck, a few tendrils framing her face.
The sight of her sent an unexpected jolt through his chest.
She approached hesitantly, her eyes taking in the vast space with its vaulted ceiling and ancient banners hanging from the rafters.
“I’ve never been in a room so grand,” she admitted as she reached him.
Hector nodded to the piper, who began playing a slow, measured version of the traditional tune. He extended his hand to Gabriella, suddenly hyper-aware of the calluses on his palm, the breadth of his fingers compared to her delicate ones.
“It begins with an approach,” he explained, keeping his voice professional despite the quickening of his pulse. “The man advances, the woman retreats. Then, she advances, and he retreats. Like the tide.”
He demonstrated the first steps, watching as she mirrored his movements with surprising grace.
“Now we circle,” he continued, taking her hand. “Left hands joined, eyes never leavin’ each other.”
As they moved through the steps, Hector found himself captured by the concentration in her expression, the way her bottom lip caught between her teeth when she focused.