Noah shook his head,recognizing the dismissal. “Nothin’ yet. But we’ll find him, Hector. I promise ye that.”
“See that ye do.The man has much to answer for.”
After Noah left,Hector remained at his desk, staring at the documents without seeing them.
The frustrationhe felt wasn’t just about Lewis’s escape. It was about his own inability to control these unwelcome feelings for a woman who would soon be gone from his life.
He neededto remember his responsibilities, his vows, his position. He was Laird McCulloch, and lairds didn’t abandon their duties for fleeting desires.
No matterhow tempting those desires might be.
11
Hector retreated to his chambers, crossing to the cabinet where he kept his whisky, and poured a measure into a crystal tumbler. His father’s whisky.
The irony wasn’t loston him as he took a searing swallow. How many times had the old man warned him about the dangers of letting a woman distract him from his duties?
“A laird thinkswith his head, nae his heart,” his father had told him bluntly on the eve of his betrothal to Caitlyn. “Ye marry a lass for alliance, nae for love. Remember that.”
Hector had heededthat advice back then, keeping Caitlyn at arm’s length despite her occasional attempts to seduce him before their wedding. When she’d broken their betrothal, his pride had been wounded, but not his heart.
But Gabriella…
Gabriella was different.She stirred something inside him that was unfamiliar and unwelcome. It was the way she faced each day with quiet courage despite everything she’d endured. The determination in her eyes when she’d spoken of her dreams. The genuine way she’d laughed.
“Bloody fool,”he muttered, taking another sip of whisky.
He stood before the hearth,staring into the flames. He’d made a vow after Caitlyn—the clan would come first, always. A laird had responsibilities that couldn’t be compromised by personal desires.
And Gabriella was leavingfor France. She had her own plans, her own future to build. What right did he have to complicate that with whatever this unwelcome attraction might be?
No,there was only one honorable path. He would maintain his distance. Would keep his promise by protecting her, by keeping her safe until it was time for her to leave. Would ignore the hunger that gnawed at him whenever she was near.
Mind made up,Hector straightened, squaring his shoulders. He had a clan to lead. Lewis to hunt down. Duties that wouldn’t wait while he indulged in pointless fantasies about a woman who would soon be gone.
A soft knockat his chamber door pulled him from his distraction.
“Enter,”he called, expecting a maid with the evening meal he’d requested.
The door opened slowly,and he froze at the sight that greeted him.
Gabriella stood in the doorway,her slender form illuminated by the torches in the corridor. She wore nothing but a thin chemise with a light robe hastily belted over it.
The fabric was nearlytranslucent in the firelight, revealing the outline of her body. The gentle curve of her waist, the soft swell of her breasts, the long line of her legs—all were tantalizingly visible through the delicate material. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, still damp from a bath.
For a moment,neither spoke. Hector fought to keep his expression neutral despite the sudden tightness in his groin.
“I found this in the stables.”She was holding up his léine—the one he’d discarded during training. “I thought ye would want it back.”
A flimsy excuse,and they both knew it. Any servant could have returned the garment. Her presence in his chambers, dressed the way she was, could mean only one thing.
“Ye shouldnae be here,”he said, his voice rough.
She stepped inside anyway,closing the door behind her. The soft click of the latch was unnaturally loud in the quiet room. The sound seemed to echo through him, final and deliberate—sealing them alone together in the intimate space.
“I just wanted to thank ye,”Gabriella said, moving closer. “For the ridin’ lessons. I’ve never felt so… free.”
Hector remained seated,his hands gripping the arms of his chair to keep from reaching for her. The beast within him strained against its chains, urging him to close the distance between them, to taste the lips that had haunted his dreams. His knuckles were white with restraint, every muscle in his body coiled tight as a bowstring.
