Andrea nodded approvingly,then set down her embroidery hoop. Her expression grew more thoughtful as she poured more tea.
“There’s somethin’I’ve been wonderin’, lass,” she said casually. “Was there a special lad back in yer village? Someone who might be searchin’ for ye still?”
The question struckGabriella like a physical blow. Her fingers froze on her embroidery, the needle suspended mid-air. The warmth drained from her face as Lewis’s face surfaced unbidden in her mind—his cold eyes watching her across the tavern, the way his gaze had lingered on her body, the slow curl of his lips when he’d announced he was the new owner.
“Nay,”she managed, her voice suddenly thin. “There was nay one.”
“Truly?”Andrea pressed gently. “A bonny lass like yerself must have caught the eye of many a young man.”
“There was…”Gabriella’s throat constricted as she forced herself to continue. They were being kind to her. They deserved something of the truth. “It was only Lewis. He—he said he wanted me.” The words came out strangled. “But nae in the way of honest courtin’.”
Her hands beganto tremble visibly, the embroidery frame shaking in her lap. The room seemed to shrink around her, the walls pressing close as panic rose in her chest.
“He watched me,”she whispered, unable to stop now that she’d begun. “Said I belonged to him. I always locked me door, but the night he took me, he got in and said that important men would pay dearly for me. He intended to sell me like some piece of linen.” The thread snapped between her fingers.
Andrea’s expressionshifted to one of deep concern. “Gabriella, lass, it’s all right.”
“I’m sorry.”Gabriella stood up abruptly, the embroidery falling to the floor in a tangle of blue and white threads. “I find I’m more tired than I thought. Forgive me.”
She gatheredher skirts with trembling hands, desperate to escape before they saw how thoroughly broken she was.
“Thank ye for the lesson,”she managed, her voice unnaturally high-pitched. “Ye’ve both been so kind.”
“Lass, wait,”Andrea called after her, but Gabriella was already at the door, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“Let her go, Maither.”Erica’s voice, uncharacteristically gentle, followed her into the corridor. “She needs time.”
Gabriella fledthrough the stone passages, barely seeing the servants who stepped aside as she passed. Her breath came in short, painful gasps, tears threatening to spill over. She’d said too much. Revealed too much.
When she reached her chamber,she slammed the door behind her and pressed her back against it, sliding slowly to the floor. The cool stone beneath her offered no comfort as panic clawed at her throat.
What wouldthey think of her now? Would they tell Hector how damaged she truly was? How the memories reduced her to this trembling wreck?
Hector.
His namealone sent a shiver of conflicting emotions through her. He’d saved her from one nightmare, but could she trust him with the darkest shadows of her past? Could she trust anyone?
Gabriella drewher knees to her chest and closed her eyes, alone with the ghosts she couldn’t escape.
13
Hector raised his fist to Gabriella’s door, knocking firmly enough to be heard, but not so hard as to startle her. The lass had seemed as skittish as a filly since their encounter in his chambers. Not that he could blame her after what she’d endured.
When no answer came,he knocked again, more insistently this time. His patience was wearing thin—he had a clan to run and couldn’t stand about all morning.
Decidinghe’d waited long enough, Hector pushed the door open.
The sightthat greeted him made him pause. Gabriella lay asleep, her hair spread across the pillow like dark silk, her lips slightly parted. The morning light caressed the curve of her cheek, making his blood quicken despite himself.
His eyes tracedthe delicate column of her throat, where it disappeared beneath the covers. Then, he noticed her browcreasing even in sleep, as if she was battling demons in her dreams.
For a moment,a thought crossed his mind—would his protection ever be enough to chase away the haunted look in her eyes?
“Gabriella,”he called, his voice rough. “Are ye awake, lass?”
She started violently,bolting upright with a small gasp. Her eyes flew open, wild and unfocused, before settling on him. Recognition dawned, followed by a flush that spread across her cheeks as she clutched the bedcovers to her chest.
“Laird McCulloch,”she stammered, pressing herself against the headboard. “I didnae expect ye in me chambers?—”
