“Join us,”he urged, his deep voice breaking the silence.
Gabriella slid into the seat,her hands folded tightly in her lap.
“Ye must be Gabriella,”old Lady McCulloch said, her voice gentle. “Welcome to our home. I’m Andrea Muir. Me daughter is, of course, Erica, and this is Noah.”
“Thank you, Me Lady,”Gabriella replied, the title feeling strange on her tongue.
She reached for the napkin,unsure which of the two beside her plate to use.
Lady McCullochsubtly nudged the smaller one toward her with a warm smile. “The linen is for yer lap, dear.”
Heat rushedto Gabriella’s cheeks. “Of course. I?—”
“Isit true that ye fought off one of the hunters?” Erica interrupted, leaning so far forward that her sleeve nearly dipped into her porridge. “Hector mentioned ye have quite the spirit. He said that ye nearly threw yerself off a cliff so as nae to be captured!”
“Erica,”Lady McCulloch chided softly.
“It’s all right,”Gabriella said. “I… tried to escape. Nothin’ brave about it.”
“I disagree,”Noah spoke up, his tone somber. “Fightin’ when the odds are against ye takes courage. All four of ye were very brave.”
A servant appeared,filling Gabriella’s bowl with porridge drizzled with honey. She stared at the steaming food, suddenly unsure if she should wait for the others.
“Please, eat,”Lady McCulloch encouraged, noticing her hesitation.
Gabriella carefully took a spoonful,savoring the rich flavors. The healer’s warning echoed in her mind—eat slowly, in small portions.
The tablebefore her was laden with morning bounty. English customs might have reached some tables after the recent troubles, but Castle McCulloch maintained traditions that predated Culloden.
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 thinkthat’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 chokedon 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 tightenedaround 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’msure 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.”
