“That’s nae an answer, Laird McCulloch.”
“Hector,”he corrected, surprised by his insistence. “I told ye before—if we’re to spend a month together, ‘Laird McCulloch’ will grow tiresome.”
She nodded,a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Hector, then. Ye still havenae answered me question.”
He leaned back,considering. “I believe happy endings must be earned, nae gifted by fate or magic.”
“Like the selkie choosin’to stay.”
“Precisely.”
Gabriella turned a page,then looked up with mischief in her eyes. “Did ye ken that there’s a tale that says the McCullochs have selkie blood? That’s why yer men are such strong swimmers.”
Hector chuckled,the sound surprising even himself. It had been too long since he’d simply conversed with a woman like this. “Is that what the book says? I should have a word with the author.”
“The book doesnae say it.”Her smile widened. “That’s what they whispered at the tavern. That and other rumors about Highland lairds.”
“ShouldI ask what else they said about us?”
“Probably nae,”she teased, then sobered slightly. “Though they did say the McCullochs were fair to their people. That part seems true enough.”
“We try to be.”He watched her fingers trace the edge of the page, oddly mesmerized by the simple movement. “Did ye enjoy workin’ at the tavern? Before…”
“Before Lewis?”She didn’t flinch at the name. “It was honest work. Some days were better than others. I enjoyed the stories travelers would bring—tales of places I’d never seen.”
“Like France.”
She nodded.“France, Italy, even lands far beyond. I used to imagine what it would be like to see such places meself.”
“And now ye’llhave that chance.”
A shadow crossed her face.“God willin’.”
“Ye doubt me word?”Hector raised an eyebrow. “I promised ye passage to France, and ye’ll have it.”
“I dinnae doubt yer word,”she said. “Only the kindness of fate. I’ve learned nae to count on tomorrow’s promises.”
Something in her tone—notself-pity, but a simple statement of hard-earned wisdom—stirred an unexpected protectiveness in him.
“The McCullochs keep their promises,Gabriella. Ye’ll have yer fresh start.”
She studied him for a moment,then surprised him with a genuine smile. “I believe ye.” She gestured to the documentshe’d set aside. “But ye didnae come here to discuss folklore and promises. I’m keepin’ ye from yer duties.”
“A pleasant interruption,”he admitted. “More interestin’ than grain tallies and reports about the borders.”
“Isthat what occupies a laird’s time? I imagined more sword-wieldin’ and dramatic declarations.”
“There’s that too,on occasion. But a clan needs more than a strong arm to survive. It needs careful plannin’.”
“And a wise leader.”Her observation was matter-of-fact, not flattery.
“I strive to be.”He rose, suddenly aware they’d been talking longer than he’d intended. “I should let ye return to yer readin’.”
Gabriella nodded,though he thought he detected a hint of disappointment. “Thank ye for the company.”
Hector paused at the door,turning back to look at her. The sunlight still played in her hair, her posture relaxed but dignified. She was nothing like the painted court ladies who’d sought his attention, nor like the eager village girls who had warmed his bed on occasion.
“Ye have morecharm than I first thought, Gabriella Patterson,” he said quietly. “France will be fortunate to have ye.”
