Page 29 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)
They were only a few words, but coming from Hector, they felt like a compliment that sent heat rushing to her cheeks.
When had anyone ever spoken to her with such respect, such genuine admiration?
Their meal arrived—tender beef, roasted vegetables, bread still warm from the oven.
As they ate, the conversation flowed more easily than it ever had.
Hector told her stories of his childhood, of learning to ride and fight alongside his father.
She shared memories of traveling with her own father, of the different villages they’d visited.
“Ye should laugh more,” Hector said suddenly, making her realize she’d been laughing—truly laughing—for the first time since her rescue.
The observation made her self-conscious, but also strangely pleased.
“I’d forgotten what it felt like,” she confessed. “To laugh without fear.”
Lightning flashed outside the window, followed by a closer rumble of thunder. The first drops of rain began pattering against the glass.
“What frightens ye most about our marriage?” Hector asked, leaning forward slightly.
The candlelight cast shadows across his strong features, making him look both dangerous and beautiful.
The wine made her honest. “That I’ll disappoint ye. That the clan will see through me and ken that I dinnae belong. That ye’ll regret yer choice.”
“I willnae,” he declared with such fierce certainty that her breath caught. “And does the marriage bed frighten ye?”
Heat exploded through her at his blunt question.
“I…” She took another sip of wine, gathering her courage. “I ken little of such things. Only what I overheard at the tavern, and most of that was crude talk from drunken men.”
His eyes darkened. “It doesnae have to be crude, Gabriella. Between husband and wife, it can be… beautiful.”
The way he said it, low and intimate, made her stomach flutter with unfamiliar sensations. She found herself leaning forward as well, drawn by the magnetic pull of his presence.
“How do ye ken?” she whispered.
“Because I’ve waited long enough to ken the difference between takin’ and givin’,” he replied, his gaze dropping to her lips.
The storm was intensifying outside, rain now lashing against the windows with increasing force. But Gabriella barely noticed, lost in the spell of his words, the heat in his eyes, the wine singing through her veins.
A brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the tavern, followed immediately by a crack of thunder that shook the windows. The rain had become a torrent, drumming against the roof with savage intensity.
“We cannae travel in this weather,” Hector said, though something in his tone suggested satisfaction rather than disappointment. “The mountain paths will be treacherous.”
Gabriella’s pulse quickened as she realized what he was suggesting. “Surely it will pass soon?”
Another lightning strike, closer this time, answered her question. The storm was worsening, not abating.
Hector glanced toward the windows, where rain lashed against the glass with increasing fury. “How bad are the roads?” he called to the tavern keeper.
The silver-haired man approached their table with concerned glances. “They’re near impassable now. Several other travelers have been forced to take rooms for the night. I fear the roads are becomin’ impassable.”
“Then we’ll need accommodation as well,” Hector replied smoothly. “Yer finest room.”
“Of course, Me Laird! We have only one available. The bridal suite—our most luxurious chamber, with a fine view and a warm fire already crackling.”
The bridal suite.
Gabriella’s cheeks burned at the implication, but she couldn’t protest without causing a scene.
“That will do perfectly,” Hector said, rising from his chair. His hand found the small of her back as he guided her toward the stairs. “Send up a bottle of yer best whisky and some of those honey cakes.”
“Right away, Me Laird!”
As they climbed up the narrow staircase, Gabriella’s heart hammered against her ribs. The wine had left her feeling warm and reckless, but now reality was crashing back. She would be alone with Hector for an entire night, in a room designed for lovers.
“Nervous, lass?” he murmured near her ear as they reached the landing.
“Should I be?” she countered, surprised by her boldness.
His low chuckle sent shivers down her spine. “That depends entirely on ye.”
The chamber was indeed luxurious. A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, hung with rich burgundy curtains. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across polished wooden floors. Rose petals were scattered across the coverlet, and candles flickered on every surface.
The door closed behind them with a soft click that seemed to echo through Gabriella’s entire body. They were alone. Truly alone. And suddenly, the careful boundaries of their arrangement felt as fragile as morning mist.
Hector moved to the window, ostensibly checking the storm, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the deliberate control in his movements.
“The bed is large enough that we can maintain propriety,” he said without turning around, though his voice carried an edge that suggested propriety was the last thing on his mind.
Lightning flashed again, illuminating his profile, and Gabriella realized with startling clarity that she no longer wanted propriety. The wine, the intimate dinner, the way he’d looked at her—it had awakened something in her that she’d never known existed.
Something that whispered she was tired of being afraid, tired of holding back, tired of denying the attraction that blazed between them like wildfire.
The storm raged outside, but inside this candlelit chamber, a different kind of tempest was about to break.
Gabriella was acutely aware of every breath, every heartbeat, every flicker of candlelight across Hector’s broad shoulders. Without really understanding why, she knew she was ready for a deeper experience with him.
With trembling fingers, she began unlacing the bodice of her dress until she finally managed to loosen it enough to slip her arms free.
Hector remained at the window, his hands braced against the frame, the tension in his body palpable. She could see his reflection in the glass—the hard line of his jaw, the storm brewing in his eyes that had nothing to do with the weather outside.
When he turned around, she watched his entire body go still. His eyes swept over her form, taking in the way her thin chemise barely covered her body, and she saw something dark and hungry flash across his features.
The careful control he had always maintained seemed to crack, his jaw tensing as his gaze lingered on the curves barely concealed by the gossamer fabric.
Heat flooded her face as she realized how she must look—the firelight making the linen nearly transparent, the garment reaching only mid-thigh. She crossed her arms over her chest in a bid to conceal her breasts.
“I thought…” she trailed off, her voice slightly breathless under the intensity of his stare. She gestured toward the pile of fabric near her feet. “I didnae… I mean I wanted to…”
But Hector was not listening to her attempts to explain. His eyes had gone dark, predatory, and he began moving toward her with slow, deliberate steps that made her pulse quicken.
There was something different about him now—the careful gentleman replaced by something more primal, more dangerous.
“I warned ye,” he said, his voice rough with barely contained desire. Each word sent shivers down her spine as he stalked closer. “I told ye what would happen if ye came to me like this again.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he approached, but she found she couldn’t—wouldn’t—back away. Every nerve in her body was alive, anticipating his touch, craving it despite the voice in her head telling her she should be frightened.
“Hector…” she whispered, his name escaping her lips before she could stop it.
Then, he was there, his large hands cupping her face with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the fierce hunger burning in his eyes. His thumbs traced her cheekbones as he tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze, and she felt herself drowning in the storm she saw there.
“Too late for modesty now, lass,” he growled, and then his mouth crashed into hers.
The kiss stole the breath from her lungs—raw, desperate, nothing like the careful restraint he’d shown before.
This was three days of pent-up desire finally unleashed, and she could taste his hunger, his need, his complete loss of the control that usually defined him.
He kissed her like he was starving and she was salvation, claiming her mouth with an intensity that left her knees weak and her heart racing.
Hector pulled back with great effort. Gabriella leaned in, wanting more, but he held her wrists firmly in his hands.
“This arrangement of ours,” he said, his voice strained. “This marriage in name only…” His gaze commanded hers to remain on him. “Are ye certain that’s what ye truly want?”
The question hung in the air between them, weighed with possibility and danger.
Gabriella’s mouth went dry as she met his intense stare, seeing the barely leashed desire there, the careful restraint that seemed to be fraying with each passing moment.
“I…” she began, then faltered, her pulse racing as he took a step toward her.
“Because if ye are,” he continued, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous rumble that sent heat spiraling through her, “then ye should ken exactly what ye’re choosin’ to refuse.”
He pulled her closer. The candlelight played across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the predatory grace in his movements.
His voice was rough, low, thick with hunger. “I’ll show ye what ye’ll be missin’ out, lass.”