Gabriella foundherself studying his profile, the strong line of his jaw, his imposing figure, and the intensity of his gaze as he assessed the progress below.
In the morning light,with the Highland wind tousling his hair, he looked every inch the powerful Laird. Her thoughts drifted to her dream, to those same strong hands cupping her?—
“Somethin’amiss, lass?”
She started,realizing he’d caught her staring. “Nay, nothin’.”
“Ye’re flushed again,”he observed, his eyes narrowing. “Are ye certain ye’re nae ill?”
“Just the climb,”she lied, looking away.
Hector made a noncommittal sound,clearly unconvinced, then began describing the watchtower plans. As he spoke of defense strategies and sightlines, Gabriella found herself drawn not to the words but to the passion behind them—the fierce protectiveness he felt for his clan and lands.
A gustof wind caught one of the blue flowers in her hair, loosening it. Before she could reach for it, Hector’s hand moved with surprising speed, catching the bloom before it could fly away. The motion brought him unexpectedly close, his body blocking the wind, creating a pocket of stillness between them.
Their eyes locked,and time slowed down.
“Ye dinnae need these,”he said, his voice rough as he held up the flower before letting the wind blow it away. “Nor the rouge on yer cheeks. Ye’re bonny enough without it.”
The words,so unexpectedly direct, left her momentarily speechless.
“Ye should hear the MacLeods,”he continued, abruptly changing the subject as he turned back toward the construction site. “They’ve been tryin’ to marry off their eldest daughter to me for months. Tricked out like a festival pony, she was, when they brought her to dinner last month.”
“And did ye find her… appealin’?”Gabriella asked, trying to sound merely curious.
Hector snorted.“I find ambition wrapped in silk as distasteful as any other trap.”
They approached a particularlyrocky section of the path, and Gabriella’s ankle caught on a loose stone.
She pitched forwardwith a small gasp, her arms flailing instinctively. Hector moved with impressive speed, catching her before she hit the ground. His strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her against his chest to steady her.
Gabriella foundherself pressed against him, her hands clutching his shoulders, their faces inches apart.
His masculine scent engulfed her,catapulting her back into her dream from the night before. Heat flooded her body, and her gaze locked on his mouth before she quickly turned away.
Hector went completely still,his eyes darkening as he watched her. For one breathless moment, Gabriella thought he might close the distance between them. Instead, his hands tightened on her waist, keeping her steady but also maintaining that crucial space.
“Careful, lass,”he murmured, his voice rougher than before. “Or ye’ll hurt yerself.”
The double meaningwasn’t lost on her. But the heat she saw in his eyes caused her to shut down emotionally.
“Perhaps I simply wanted to feel likemeself again,” she murmured, meeting his gaze with newfound composure. “After months of captivity, to dress as I please, to look as I once did… it reminds me of who I truly am.”
The explanation hung between them.Not quite a confession, but honest in its own way.
Hector studiedher face for a long moment, his expression hardening into something more resolute. “Whatever game ye’re playin’, lass, remember this—I’m nae easily caught. And a woman bound for France shouldnae be tryin’ to trap a Highland laird unless she means to stay.”
His words hither with unexpected force.
France.Her plan to leave. In the confusion of these strange new sensations, she’d momentarily forgotten her determination to escape to a new life.
“I’m nae playin’games,” she scoffed, lifting her chin. “And perhaps it wasnae the smartest choice for riding, but it was the right choice for me to remember who I am beyond just a captive or perhaps a future nun.”
Hector’s mouthquirked at one corner as his eyes traveled over her face and down her neck, causing her to blush.
“For all yertalk of convents, I cannae see ye as a nun, lass. Ye’re far too bonny to be hidden behind stone walls, and deep down, ye have too much fire in yer spirit for a life of quiet contemplation.”
Gabriella stiffened slightly,her fingers nervously smoothing the fabric of her skirt. “Perhaps that’s exactly why I need theconvent,” she replied, her voice softer now. “Life has offered little but disappointment when it comes to men. The kind of men that frequent the tavern, then… what happened…”
