Alone at last,Gabriella sank onto her bed, her mind still racing with thoughts of Hector.
Why couldn’tshe get him out of her mind?
Heat roseto her cheeks at the memory of how she’d reacted to his touch today—the embarrassing way her body had responded when his hands steadied her.
“Oh,Gabriella. Ye foolish girl. What has gotten into ye?” She buried her face in her hands.
She couldn’t explainthe warmth that pooled low in her belly, or how she’d lain awake imagining his hands on her body, his mouth on hers. The way she’d felt in her dream when he’d almost?—
He was a laird,for heaven’s sake, and she was nothing—a tavern girl bound for France, temporary in his household and his life.
But how wouldye survive three more weeks in Castle McCulloch?
If her fathercould see how she’d behaved today—putting on that ridiculous blue dress, the rouge, the awkward flirtation—he would be mortified. She’d been raised better than this, even after his death.
Ladies didn’t pursue men,especially not men so far above their station.
Yet,each time Hector was near, her good sense had a way of abandoning her, replaced by an unfamiliar yearning that left her feeling both ashamed and alive in ways she’d never experienced before.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
Aileen enteredwith two other maids carrying a basin of water.
“The Laird thoughtye might want to freshen up after yer walk,” Aileen explained as the maids set down the basin. “They’ll bring the hot water now.”
After the maids had departed,Aileen helped her out of her dress.
“I’ll returnin half an hour to help ye dress for bed,” Aileen said, before leaving.
Gabriella waiteduntil she was alone, and let the silk robe slip to the floor. She splashed warm water on her face, letting it soothe her aching muscles and confused mind.
Then she useda cloth to wipe her body, enjoying the luxury of warm water and fragrant oils.
She rose reluctantly,reaching for a towel. Only to realize that Aileen had left it on the table close to the door. Wrapping herself hastily in her thin silk robe—the only garment within reach—she crossed to retrieve the towel.
At that moment,she heard voices in the corridor. Thinking Aileen must have returned, Gabriella opened her door, intending to ask for fresh nightclothes.
“Aileen, could ye—”
The words diedon her lips.
Instead of her maid,Hector stood in the corridor, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the torchlight. He’d clearly come from his bath, too. His hair was damp, his face freshly shaved. He wore only his léine, loosely tied at the neck, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone.
His gaze swept over her,lingering on the places where the thin fabric failed to hide skin before returning to her face. Their eyes met, and Gabriella clutched her robe tighter, acutely aware of how the silk clung to her damp skin.
“Evenin’,Laird McCulloch,” she managed, despite her racing pulse. “I was just?—”
“Leavin’yer room half-dressed?” Hector finished for her, his expression darkening.
Gabriella felt her face redden.“I thought ye were me maid,” she replied weakly.
Hector stepped closer,his towering frame making the corridor seem suddenly smaller. “Ye shouldnae wander about dressed like that, lass,” he said, his voice pitched low. “For yer own safety.”
“Me safety?”she echoed, confused. “But ye said nay one would hurt me here.”
Something flashed in his eyes—hungerso intense it made her breath catch. “Aye, I did. But I mean a different kind of… danger.”
He was close enough nowthat she could smell the soap he’d used, could see the pulse beating steadily at the base of his throat.
