Page 27 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)

“Ye’re a natural,” he complimented, genuinely impressed by how quickly she was learning.

“I had a good teacher yesterday,” Gabriella replied. “Yer maither was very patient.”

“Me maither excels at patience. It’s nae a trait I inherited,” Hector admitted.

They completed another circuit, their bodies moving closer as the dance required.

“Ye seem patient enough with me,” Gabriella ventured. “Despite the mistakes I made.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Hector said. “The key is learnin’ from them.”

“Are ye speaking from experience?” she asked, her eyes meeting his as they spun around.

“Aye. One of many,” he replied, guiding her through a more complex step. “Me previous betrothal taught me much about mistakes.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. It was not a topic he’d intended to raise, especially not during a dance lesson.

His words caught her off-guard enough that she missed her step, stumbling slightly. His arm tightened around her waist instinctively, steadying her. The brief press of his body against hers sent an unexpected warmth through her cheeks.

“Previous betrothal?” Curiosity flickered in Gabriella’s eyes as she tried to regain her footing. “Ye were to be married before?” When he did not answer, she murmured, “Forgive me.”

“Nay need,” Hector replied, resuming the dance as if nothing had happened, though his hand remained firmly on her waist.

He considered deflecting, but something in her open expression compelled honesty.

“It was four years ago,” he relented, his jaw tightening. “To Caitlyn Grant. The match was arranged by our faithers for political alliance.”

“What happened?” Gabriella asked quietly as they continued the slow, circling steps of the dance.

“She broke the betrothal,” Hector said, the old wound less painful now but still present. “Decided I wasnae worth waitin’ for. Me faither was still Laird, ye see, and I was merely the heir.”

“That’s terrible,” Gabriella said, genuine indignation flashing in her eyes. “To abandon a commitment for such a shallow reason.”

Her reaction surprised him. There was no pity, but anger on his behalf.

“The true irony came after me faither’s death,” he continued, finding it unexpectedly easy to speak with her as they moved through the dance. “When I became Laird, she suddenly reappeared, full of regret and renewed interest.”

“Ye didnae take her back,” Gabriella stated rather than asked, her tone suggesting she approved.

“I have nay use for people who value title above character,” Hector replied. “It taught me to be wary of those who seek position rather than the person.”

“Is that why ye’ve remained unwed?” Gabriella hesitated, then asked more boldly, “Because ye dinnae trust women’s motives?”

Hector considered her question as they completed another turn, his hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the movement.

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged. “Though if distrust was me only reason, our current arrangement would make little sense.”

Something flickered in Gabriella’s expression.

“I trust ye,” he clarified, the admission surprising even himself. “Despite knowin’ ye for less than two weeks.”

“Why?” The question was simple but weighted.

“A woman who would risk death rather than captivity values freedom above all else,” Hector answered. “Such a woman wouldnae feign affection for safety.”

Their dance had slowed, the steps nearly forgotten as the conversation deepened.

“Isnae that exactly what I’m doing?” Gabriella asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Tradin’ freedom for safety?”

“Nay,” Hector replied with certainty. “Ye’re acceptin’ protection while maintainin’ yer independence. There’s a difference.”

The piper continued playing, but they had stopped moving entirely now, standing close enough that Hector could see the faint freckles across her nose, the precise shade of blue in her eyes.

“The dance,” Gabriella reminded him, breaking the moment.

“Aye,” Hector agreed, resuming the lesson with renewed focus. “Next comes the separation. We move apart, then return to each other.”

As they practiced the complex pattern of approaches and retreats, Hector found himself surprisingly content. There was an ease to their movements, a harmony that belied their short acquaintance.

“Yer maither mentioned a moment in the dance,” Gabriella said as they practiced the final turn. “The Promise moment.”

Hector nodded, remembering that most intimate part of the dance. “At the climax of the dance, when the music dies down, each couple shares a private vow.”

“What sort of vow does one make in a marriage of convenience?” she asked, her directness catching him off guard.

“A genuine one,” he answered, after a moment’s consideration. “Perhaps nae the traditional promises of love and devotion, but somethin’ we can both honor.”

Their eyes met as the dance brought them face to face, their hands joined between them. Even in practice, the moment carried weight—a glimpse of the ceremony to come and the public declaration they would make before the clan.

“Protection,” Gabriella suggested. “Ye could promise me protection.”

“And what would ye promise in return?” Hector asked, genuinely curious.

She considered for a long moment before answering, “Loyalty. For as long as our arrangement lasts.”

The simplicity and honesty of her answer struck him deeply. Not love, not passion, but loyalty. Something far more valuable in the Highlands.

“A worthy exchange,” he agreed, his voice low.

As they finished the final steps of the dance, Hector realized two significant truths: first, Gabriella learned quickly and would perform admirably before the clan; and second, holding her in his arms for the full duration of the wedding dance would test his resolve in ways he could not anticipate.