“The dance,”Gabriella reminded him, breaking the moment.
“Aye,”Hector agreed, resuming the lesson with renewed focus. “Next comes the separation. We move apart, then return to each other.”
As they practicedthe complex pattern of approaches and retreats, Hector found himself surprisingly content. There was an ease to their movements, a harmony that belied their short acquaintance.
“Yer maither mentioneda moment in the dance,” Gabriella said as they practiced the final turn. “The Promise moment.”
Hector nodded,remembering that most intimate part of the dance. “At the climax of the dance, when the music dies down, each couple shares a private vow.”
“What sortof vow does one make in a marriage of convenience?” she asked, her directness catching him off guard.
“A genuine one,”he answered, after a moment’s consideration. “Perhaps nae the traditional promises of love and devotion, but somethin’ we can both honor.”
Their eyes metas the dance brought them face to face, their hands joined between them. Even in practice, the moment carried weight—a glimpse of the ceremony to come and the public declaration they would make before the clan.
“Protection,”Gabriella suggested. “Ye could promise me protection.”
“And what wouldye promise in return?” Hector asked, genuinely curious.
She consideredfor a long moment before answering, “Loyalty. For as long as our arrangement lasts.”
The simplicityand honesty of her answer struck him deeply. Not love, not passion, but loyalty. Something far more valuable in the Highlands.
“A worthy exchange,”he agreed, his voice low.
As they finishedthe final steps of the dance, Hector realized two significant truths: first, Gabriella learned quickly and would perform admirably before the clan; and second, holding her in his arms for the full duration of the wedding dance would test his resolve in ways he could not anticipate.
19
Her door flew open. “Gabriella, I?—”
Hector’s words froze,his entire body going rigid in the doorway. His gaze locked on her, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Gabriella saton a stool near the window, half-dressed in her chemise and stays, her hair loose around her shoulders, waiting for Aileen to braid it. Heat flooded her cheeks at being caught in such a state of undress.
“I should have knocked,”he said roughly, though he made no move to leave.
His eyes darkenedin a way that made her pulse quicken. She raised a questioning eyebrow, breaking the spell that seemed to hold them both captive.
“What did ye need?”she asked, proud that her voice remained steady.
He cleared his throat,stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him—a liberty that would have scandalized her weeks ago.
“Ye rememberI ordered ye a gown? The seamstress sent word that she needs ye for the final fittin’. We leave within the hour.”
“Very well.”She reached for her dress, acutely aware of his piercing gaze. “Anythin’ else?”
“Aye.”His voice carried that edge of satisfaction she’d grown familiar with. “The weddin’ will be tomorrow.”
The words hither like a physical blow.
Tomorrow.
Her hands stilledon the fabric of her gown, and she felt the blood drain from her face.
“So soon?”she whispered.
“The banns have been read.The preparations are nearly finished.” He moved closer, and she could see the possessive gleam in his eyes. “Unless ye’ve changed yer mind about acceptin’ me protection?”
