Gabriella swayed toward him,her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes half-closed with desire. Her chemise had slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing the elegant line of her collarbone, and her hair was thoroughly mussed from his fingers.
She’d never looked morebeautiful, or more dangerous, to his resolve.
“Hector,”she whispered, reaching for him again.
Her voice washusky with passion, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to crush her to him again.
He caughther wrists gently but firmly, preventing her from touching him. If she did, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to stop a second time. Her pulse raced beneath his fingers, and he could see the confusion and hurt beginning to cloud her passion-darkened eyes.
“Go back to yer chambers,”he said, his voice rough. “Now.”
Confusion and hurt flickeredacross her face. “What? But?—”
“Bea good lass and go to yer chambers,” he growled, releasing her wrists and stepping back. The physical distance was necessary for his sanity. “And dinnae appear in front of me like this again?—”
He paused,unable to resist adding the dangerous truth.
“Unless ye wantme to devour ye. Be sure that is what ye want next time ye come into me chambers.”
12
“Nay, nay!” Andrea’s firm voice cut through her conflicted thoughts. “Ye cannae stab at the cloth like ye’re skewerin’ a haggis, lass. The thread must flow like water.”
She demonstrated with practiced ease,her weathered hands creating a perfect Scottish thistle with just a few deft movements.
Gabriella bit her lower lip,struggling to master the delicate art before her as unwelcome memories of Hector’s fierce kiss three nights prior intruded on her concentration. She fought against the memory, hating how her body had responded to him despite all her hard-learned wariness of men.
Erica smirkedfrom her seat by the hearth. “Dinnae fret, Gabriella. It took me years to satisfy Maither’s exactin’ standards. The McCullochs demand perfection in all things—whether it’s embroidery or battle.”
Gabriella’s cheeksflushed hot with embarrassment as she awkwardly attempted to mimic Andrea’s technique.
Despite her efforts to forget,she could still feel Hector’s strong hands on her waist, the commanding press of his mouth against hers. The memory made her fingers slip, sending the needle through the wrong section of fabric. She cursed inwardly at her weakness, at how easily her mind betrayed her resolve to keep her distance.
“I’ve madea proper mess of it,” she sighed, displaying the tangled threads of what was meant to be a simple border pattern.
“‘Tis only yer first lesson,”Andrea reassured her, taking the hoop to correct her mistake. “We can fix this easily enough.”
Gabriella nodded gratefully,though her thoughts remained troubled. Six months of captivity had taught her that men’s desires meant pain and fear. Yet, somewhere in this castle, strode Hector, a man whose touch had awakened feelings she’d never experienced before. Feelings she didn’t trust and couldn’t afford to indulge if she meant to protect her heart and eventually escape to France.
“Here now,”Andrea said, returning the embroidery. “Try again. Keep yer stitches small and even.”
With a steadying breath,Gabriella forced herself to focus on the task at hand rather than the confusing pull she felt toward the castle’s intimidating laird.
“Ye see these interlockin’knots?” Andrea traced the pattern on her own fabric. “Each clan has its own special designs. The McCullochs have favored this twisted rope pattern since before Robert the Bruce claimed the throne.”
Her fingers movedwith practiced precision, the blue thread weaving through the linen in perfect, even stitches.
Gabriella studiedthe intricate pattern and then attempted to recreate it on her own fabric. Her first attempt was clumsy, the thread puckering the fabric. With a frown of concentration, she unpicked the stitches and tried again, more slowly this time.
“Better.”Andrea nodded approvingly. “Ye have steady hands when ye put yer mind to it.”
Erica leaned closer,inspecting Gabriella’s work. “Ye’ve improved so much already! Ye’re a quicker study than I am. Maither despaired of me ever masterin’ the simplest chain stitch.”
Gabriella smiled despite herself.The repetitive motion was becoming almost soothing, helping to quiet the tumult of her thoughts. She completed a full line of the pattern, her confidence growing with each stitch.
“There now,”Andrea said warmly. “Ye have a natural talent. Once ye stopped tryin’ to murder the fabric.”
A maid enteredwith a tray of tea and freshly baked oatcakes drizzled with heather honey. The rich, sweet scent filled the solar as Andrea poured three cups of the steaming brew.
