Page 9 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)

Hector stood in the castle’s courtyard, one hand resting on the neck of the dappled gray mare he’d personally selected from the stables.

Moira was the gentlest horse in his possession. She was placid enough for a beginner, yet spirited enough to be enjoyable once Gabriella gained confidence. If she had enough time to gain confidence.

The heavy oak doors of the castle swung open, and Gabriella emerged, hesitating at the top of the stone steps. She’d changed into a simpler gown of soft brown, though it was still far too fine for riding lessons.

She scanned the courtyard, squinting against the sun. Her eyes found his across the distance, and for a heartbeat too long, neither looked away. The intensity in her blue gaze made heat pool low in his belly, before a blush colored her cheeks and she broke eye contact.

“Good mornin’, Laird McCulloch.” She approached him, her accent softening the formal greeting.

“Hector,” he corrected, the word escaping before he could consider it. At her startled look, he added gruffly, “If we’re to spend a month together, ‘Laird McCulloch’ will grow tiresome. At least when we’re speaking in private.”

“Hector, then,” she conceded, her voice faltering on his name.

The sound of it on her lips sent a warmth through his chest.

He turned abruptly to the horse, running a hand down its flank.

“This is Moira,” he said, his voice deliberately businesslike. “She’s even-tempered and patient. A good mount for a beginner.”

Gabriella approached cautiously, one hand extended toward the mare. “She’s beautiful. I’ve never been this close to a horse before.”

“Never?” Hector raised an eyebrow.

She shook her head. “Me faither and I could barely afford food most winters, let alone a horse.”

Hector studied her profile. “Yet ye dinnae seem bitter.”

“Toward me faither? What good would that do? He did his best.” She straightened and lifted her chin slightly. “Besides, some dreams find their way to ye eventually, just nae when ye expect them.”

Their eyes met briefly, before Moira nudged Gabriella’s hand with her soft muzzle, breaking the moment and making her smile.

The genuine expression transformed her face, softening the wariness that usually shadowed her features. Once again Hector glimpsed the woman she was deep inside—someone who was beginning to hold his interest.

“That dress willnae do,” he said, forcing his thoughts back to the present. His eyes traveled over her figure before he could stop himself. “Too long. Ye’ll need proper ridin’ clothes. I’ll have somethin’ made for ye.”

A flush crept up Gabriella’s neck at his scrutiny. “This was all Aileen brought me.”

“It doesnae matter for today’s lesson.” He stepped closer. “Ready to mount?”

She nodded, though uncertainty flickered in her eyes.

“Place yer left foot here,” he instructed, tapping the stirrup. “I’ll lift ye up, and ye’ll swing yer right leg over. Ready?”

Another nod, more determined this time.

Hector positioned himself beside her, hands hovering near her waist. “On three. One, two, three.”

His fingers closed around her middle as he lifted her, feeling the narrowness of her waist in his palms, the curve where it flared to her hips.

Gabriella’s breath caught as she found herself atop the horse, her hands clutching nervously at the pommel. Hector’s breathing had quickened, though not from the simple task of lifting her.

“Relax,” he said, his voice rougher than intended. “Moira can sense yer fear. Sit straight, breathe deeply.”

He reached up to adjust her posture, his hand finding the small of her back. Her spine straightened at his touch, and he heard her draw in a steadying breath.

“Good,” he murmured, willing his racing pulse to slow. “Now, let’s begin.” He stepped closer to Moira. “Hold the reins like this. Nae too tight, but firm enough to communicate.”

Gabriella’s slender fingers wrapped awkwardly around the leather straps. She furrowed her brow in concentration, a small crease forming between her eyes that Hector found inexplicably charming.

“Nay, like this.” He reached up, covering her hands with his own.

Her skin was soft and delicate against his callused palms. When she inhaled sharply, his body responded in ways inappropriate for a riding lesson.

“There,” he said, his voice low. “Feel the difference?”

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. The pulse at her throat fluttered visibly, drawing his attention to the delicate curve of her neck. He imagined pressing his lips to that pulse point, feeling it quicken beneath his mouth.

“Shoulders aligned with yer hips,” he continued, stepping back.

Gabriella attempted to follow his instructions, but her posture remained tense, her back too rigid. Hector moved beside the horse, placing his hands on her waist.

“Relax here,” he urged, steadying her as Moira shifted. His fingers splayed wider than intended, nearly spanning her middle. His thumbs rested at the base of her spine, where he could feel her heat through the fabric. “Move with the horse, nae against her.”

His body was responding to her nearness with a hunger that threatened to shatter his composure. He could smell the lavender in her hair, could feel the warmth radiating from her body.

His hands seemed to act of their own accord as his thumbs traced small circles on her waist. For a moment, his thumb brushed the curve where her waist met her ribs, deliberately this time, and he heard her breath catch.

“Like this?” she gasped, her voice husky in a way that sent blood rushing south.

Hector swallowed hard, fighting the urge to pull her down from the mare and press her against him, to let her feel exactly what she was doing to him.

“Aye,” he managed, stepping away before he could do something they’d both regret. “Much better.”

After several more adjustments—each requiring physical contact that tested his resolve—Hector deemed her ready to try walking the horse. He took Moira’s reins and began leading them around the yard in slow circles.

“Ye’re a natural,” he offered as Gabriella’s posture gradually relaxed. The praise brought color to her cheeks.

“It feels… freein’,” she admitted. “Almost like flyin’.”

“Wait until ye’re gallopin’ across open fields,” Hector said, allowing himself a rare smile. “Nothin’ like it in the world.”

Once she seemed comfortable with the horse’s motion, Hector guided them through the castle gates and onto the path that led toward the loch.

“Do all lairds give ridin’ lessons, or is it just ye?” Gabriella smiled, giving him a quick glance. She adjusted her grip on the reins as Moira responded to a gentle tug.

“Most wouldnae bother,” Hector replied, watching her hands with approval. “They’d leave it to the stable masters or the servants.”

“Then why did ye?”

Hector considered her question. “Some things are worth doing by yerself.”

The morning sun had burned away the mist, revealing rolling hills carpeted in heather and gorse. In the distance, the mountains rose blue-gray against the horizon.

Gabriella stared in wonder, momentarily forgetting her wariness. “Beautiful,” she murmured.

“Aye,” Hector replied, his deep voice breaking into her thoughts.

They were silent for a moment, then he turned and caught her watching him rather than the view. Gabriella turned away, heat rushing to her cheeks.

“I meant the land,” she clarified hastily, though she wasn’t entirely sure she had.

The corners of his mouth twitched, but he only nodded, returning his gaze to the horizon. “McCulloch territory stretches from the loch to the eastern ridge.”

He continued leading the horse, gradually extending the reins to give Gabriella more control. She adapted quickly, her initial fear giving way to cautious enjoyment.

“I think ye’re ready to try on yer own,” he said, stopping at a flat stretch of ground. “Just a gentle walk at first.”

Gabriella’s eyes widened. “Are ye certain?”

“I’ll be right beside ye,” he assured her. “Just kick her flanks gently with yer heels to start, and pull the reins slightly to stop.”

He released Moira’s bridle and stepped back, watching carefully as Gabriella gathered her courage. She kicked her heels into the mare’s flanks, and the horse obediently began to walk.

“I’m doin’ it!” she exclaimed, a smile breaking across her face.

“Aye, ye are,” Hector replied. He hadn’t expected the pride that swelled in his chest at her accomplishment.

He walked alongside them, ready to intervene if necessary, but Gabriella quickly found her rhythm. After several minutes, he gestured to the stable boy, who had been following behind with a powerful black stallion, who handed him the mount.

“We’ll ride together now,” he said, effortlessly swinging himself up into the saddle. “Just follow me lead.”

They rode side by side along the path that circled the loch, keeping the horses at a slow pace. Gabriella’s confidence grew with each passing minute, her posture becoming more natural, less forced.

“Me faither used to tell me stories about Highland myths,” she recalled as they rode.

“What sort of stories?” Hector asked, genuinely curious.

“Tales of brave clan chiefs, of battles and legends.” She smiled softly, lost in memory. “He said the hills had magic in them.”

“Some say they do,” Hector replied, guiding his horse closer to hers as the path narrowed. “Especially the old stones near the eastern ridge.”

“Have ye seen this magic?”

He considered her question seriously. “I’ve seen things I cannae explain. Lights dancing over the loch on Midsummer’s Eve. Voices in the mist when nay one’s there.”

She looked at him with renewed interest. “Ye believe in such things?”

“A wise laird respects the old ways even as he embraces the new ones,” Hector said, quoting his father. “The land remembers longer than we do.”

Their path climbed a gentle rise, offering a spectacular view of the valley below. Gabriella gasped at the sight, momentarily forgetting her nervousness.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.