Page 8 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)
The oatcakes, smoked fish, and black pudding were distinctly Scottish. Gabriella had heard whispers of lairds who had surrendered their swords but kept their spirits through such small rebellions.
Servants moved silently around them, replacing empty dishes and pouring juice into goblets that sparkled in the morning light. For Gabriella, they had prepared a simpler fare—porridge with fruit and honey, as Mistress Agnes had recommended for her recovering body.
“This blue shade suits ye wonderfully,” Lady McCulloch complimented, motioning for a servant to refill her cup with imported tea. “Mistress Ross has always had an eye for matchin’ colors to complexions.”
“Thank ye,” Gabriella murmured, watching as Hector cut into a thick slice of venison. “It’s the finest dress I’ve ever worn.”
“If ye think that’s fine, wait until ye see what Mistress Ross is creatin’ now!
” Erica laughed. “I sneaked into her workroom yesterday—dinnae tell Mrs. Bard, or she’ll have me hide—and saw the most magnificent green gown with silver thread.
The Mackenzie girls would turn as green as the fabric if they saw ye in it at the summer gatherin’. ”
“Erica,” Hector barked, motioning for a servant to remove his empty plate. “Must ye always meddle?”
His sister grinned, unrepentant. “It’s nae meddlin’. It’s takin’ interest.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Their faither’s been tryin’ to arrange a match between Hector and the eldest for months.”
Gabriella nearly choked on her porridge. A match?
Of course, Hector would be sought after. He was a powerful laird with vast lands, after all.
Still, the thought of Hector with another woman—some pampered Highland lass who’d never known hunger or fear—sent an unexpected rush of irritation through her.
Her fingers tightened around her spoon as she imagined some faceless noble girl touching his arm, laughing at his words, sharing his bed. It was absurd to feel this territorial about a man she barely knew, a man who was nothing to her but a temporary protector.
“I’m sure the gown is meant for some special occasion.” She forced her voice to remain light. “But I’ll be long gone before any summer gatherin’.”
“We shall see.” Erica’s smile faltered slightly. “Plans often change in the Highlands.”
“Do ye like to read? Our library has books from as far as France and Italy.”
“I do,” Gabriella admitted, watching as Noah helped himself to a third serving of eggs.
She twisted the napkin in her lap, a habit from childhood when discussing her father.
“Me faither taught me letters when I was young. We had three books—a Bible, a volume of Scottish history, and a book of poetry.”
“Only three?” Erica’s eyes widened. “Our library has hundreds! Ye must see it. We could read together. Though Hector finds me selections ‘frivolous.’” She mimicked her brother’s deep voice with surprising accuracy.
“Poetry isnae frivolous,” Hector countered, breaking a piece of bread. “Yer particular preference for romantic verses, however…” He straightened suddenly. “But that is nae a discussion for this moment.” His tone brooked no argument as he reached for his goblet.
Erica pressed her lips together, well accustomed to that particular timbre, which signaled that a matter was closed.
They spoke of estate matters, village gossip, plans for the day—ordinary concerns that seemed extraordinary to Gabriella’s ears after a lifetime of living with a withdrawn and ailing father, followed by months serving as a tavern girl before being abducted.
She caught herself staring at Erica, noting the girl’s unblemished hands, confident posture, and the way she laughed without restraint. Here was someone who had never known true fear, never gone hungry, never wondered if she’d live to see morning.
A pang of something like envy twisted in Gabriella’s chest before she pushed it away.
“Gabriella.” Hector’s voice drew her attention. “After the meal, prepare yerself for a ridin’ lesson.”
The conversation around the table halted. Erica’s eyebrows shot up, and even Lady McCulloch looked startled.
“A ridin’ lesson?” Gabriella repeated, confused by their reaction. Her spoon clattered to her bowl. “I’ve never ridden before. I wouldnae ken the first thing about—”
“Then it’s time ye learn,” Hector said in a tone that brooked no argument. He drained his cup and set it down firmly. “I’ll meet ye at the stables in an hour.”
Lady McCulloch’s teacup halted halfway to her lips. Erica’s mouth formed a perfect “O” of surprise before morphing into a knowing smile. Noah suddenly developed an intense interest in a spot of jam on his sleeve.
“I… aye, of course,” Gabriella agreed, bewildered.
Hector rose from his seat. “Until then.”
His eyes met hers briefly, something unreadable in their depths. Then, he was gone, striding out of the hall with purpose.
“Well,” Erica said into the silence that followed, a smile playing on her lips. “That’s interestin’.”
“Indeed,” Lady McCulloch murmured, studying Gabriella with fresh curiosity.
Gabriella glanced between them, certain she’d missed something significant. Why would a simple riding lesson cause such a reaction? Was it improper somehow?
“Why? Did I say somethin’ wrong?” she whispered to Erica.
Erica leaned close. “Me braither hasnae personally taught anyone to ride since—”
Lady McCulloch cleared her throat pointedly, and Erica straightened, but not before adding, “Well, let’s just say it’s unusual.”
“Come,” Erica said, rising from her seat once the others had departed. “I’ll show ye the way back to yer chamber.” Her eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement.
In the corridor, she looped her arm through Gabriella’s, ignoring how Gabriella stiffened at the unexpected contact.
“Me braither never gives ridin’ lessons,” Erica whispered conspiratorially. “Nae even to me when I was learnin’. He always says that he doesnae have the patience for beginners.”
“Perhaps he feels responsible for me,” Gabriella suggested, uncomfortable at the implication.
Erica laughed, the sound bright in the stone hallway. “Hector feels responsible for everyone in the Highlands. That doesnae mean that he personally teaches them to ride.” She studied her with keen interest. “Ye must be special.”
“I’m an obligation, nothin’ more,” Gabriella replied firmly.
“If ye say so.” Erica’s smile suggested she believed otherwise. “Since ye’re to keep me out of trouble for a month, we should get to ken each other. Come to the library tomorrow after yer lesson. I’ll show ye me favorite books—the ones Hector calls ‘frivolous.’”
She glanced over her shoulder to ensure they were alone, then added with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes, “Me braither believes ye’re here to temper me wildness, but I’m beginnin’ to see that it may be for another reason.
There’s much about Castle McCulloch—and its Laird—that ye’ve yet to discover.
Perhaps I’m meant to be yer guide rather than yer charge. ”