Something wasdifferent about his tone. There was no anger there. Not even the gleeful sadism she’d learned to expect from the men who visited the tavern. Just… certainty. This man was clearly accustomed to being obeyed.
His other handfirmly grasped her shoulder, stilling her struggle.
Despite everything,despite knowing what awaited her, something in that steady hold calmed the wild panic in her chest. His hands didn’t wander. Didn’t grope. They simply held.
Gabriella sagged against him.With her head against his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of him. He had a strong jaw, with thick, brown waves that framed features set in grim determination rather than triumph or lust.
Even in her exhaustion,she caught his scent—a mixture of pine and leather that was strangely comforting after months of damp prison air.
None of it mattered.He’d caught her. She belonged to him now. Whatever small comfort she found in his manner would vanish soon enough.
“Just kill me,”she whispered. “Please. Have mercy and be done with it.”
His breath stirredher hair as he leaned closer.
“I got ye,lass. I willnae let anyone hurt ye.”
2
“Isaid stop, lass!”
“Nay!”She thrashed weakly against his hold. “Let me go!”
Hector tightened his grip,lifting her off the ground. Her back pressed against his chest as he held her, shocked at how little she weighed.
He murmured near her ear,“Dinnae make this harder than it has to be and stay still.”
He maintained a commanding tone,so she’d obey. It didn’t work. Instead, she shifted, using her elbow to jab at his ribs. The desperation in her movements stirred something protective within him that he had never felt toward a lass before.
Hector started backtoward the meeting point. Each glance at her revealed more evidence of whatever she’d been through:rope bruises on her wrists and ankles, long gashes along her arms that hadn’t quite healed, sharp angles that were evidence of starvation.
Hector realizedshe hadn’t moved, which concerned him more than her earlier struggle.
“Stay with me, lass,”he murmured, quickening his pace. “Nae much farther.”
The trees thinnedas they approached the edge of the forest. Hector whistled to his horse and listened for its neighing response.
“That’sa fine specimen ye’ve caught,” a voice called from his right. “And I want her for meself.”
Hector turned,keeping the lass tight against him.
“I caught her fair,”he replied coldly. “She’s mine, according to the rules of the hunt.”
The rival Lairdmoved until he was blocking Hector’s path.
“Rules?”He laughed, his hand moving to the dirk at his belt. “These women are meant for men who can keep them. And I’ve taken a particular likin’ to this one.”
Hector was leftwith no choice. He set the lass down gently by the trunk of an oak tree. “Stay,” he commanded, hoping she was too weak to attempt another escape.
The Laird lungedthe moment Hector’s hands left her, slashing with his blade. Hector stepped to the side, caught his wrist, and drove his fist into the man’s jaw with enough force to send him staggering backward.
“Try that again,”he growled, “and ye’ll nae leave these woods standin’.”
The man wipedblood from his lip, hatred burning in his eyes. “This isnae over,” he spat, before retreating into the trees.
Hector turned backto where he’d left the lass, only to find her gone.
“Bloody hell,”he swore, scanning the tree line.
