his desire for something more…substantial…than imaginings.
He had hoped to speak with her at the evening meal, but she accompanied Lady Mary to attend a sick child in the village. Now she had returned, he saw his chance and rose from his seat. He quickened his pace across the great room while she slipped between the heavy wooden tables crowded with men finishing their meal.
A long, muscular arm whipped out from one of the tables and caught her about the waist. Bruce Campbell dragged her down onto his lap.
Grace stared at the clansman, her eyes large and startled.
Too far away to hear what was said, Gabriel bore down on the couple in time to see Grace shake her head and push against Bruce’s shoulder.
The other men at the table laughed, and her cheeks flushed berry red. She pushed against the edge of the table and attempted to lever herself out of his grasp, but the man held on. Ignoring her struggles, he buried his face against her neck.
With the speed of a loosed crossbow bolt, an emotion Gabriel had never experienced shot through him. Mine! The word reverberated through his entire being.
Outrage fueled his temper, while every protective instinct in him took aim at the man holding Grace. As he reached them, he gripped Bruce Campbell’s wrist and peeled it loose from her waist. He grasped her forearm and, with an easy tug, plucked her free of the man’s lap.
Pushing her behind him, he turned to face Bruce. Irritation clouded the clansman’s face as he half rose. Gabriel shoved him back into his seat and thrust his own face close. “I’d hate t’ split your head over a woman, but I wll do it if you press the matter, Bruce.”
The surprise on Bruce’s face, as well as those of the other men at the table, brought Gabriel’s temper under control. He had as good as laid claim to the lass in front of the entire company.
For one long, tense moment, silence reigned.
Bruce spread his hands in an acquiescent gesture. “There are always other lasses, and I winna have t’ suffer a broken noggin’ t’ have them.”
Gabriel nodded. “’Tis a wise decision, my friend.” He turned to capture Grace’s hand and tugged her toward the antechamber on one side of the great hall.
Grace’s breath shuddered and hitched while Gabriel tugged her into Lord Campbell’s antechamber. With the door finally closed behind them, he released her and began to pace the room, his movements agitated.
He had fought for her. Fought over her. What if he had done so simply out of kindness? She struggled to suppress her excitement.
A huge table and chairs dominated the room. Just off center sat a basket filled with wild hyacinth blossoms. Wary of the anger still vivid on his face, she moved to touch the flowers and stir their fragrance.
“Your basket dinna survive your treatment,” Gabriel said. “Since ’twas my fault, I thought t’ replace it.”
“Oh—Gabriel—” Grace’s heart beat a frantic rhythm. Tears blurred her vision and her fingers dwelt upon the lip of the new basket. No man had ever given her a gift. But what if she should misunderstand his meaning?
“Do the flowers please you, then?”
“Aye.” Her attention focused on him as a small niggling hope bubbled up inside her. “Aye, a great deal”
“That day upon the path, you were lying amongst them—” Color touched his cheekbones. “I have been thinking about that.”
He saw her. He finally saw her. Joy whipped through her, and she smiled.
His gaze settled upon her lips, and his features took on an intent expression filled with heat and promise. “Walk with me.” He offered his hand.
Her heart beat a heavy rhythm against her throat as she grasped it, and the heat of his callused palm warmed her hand while he drew her from the room to the front entrance.
Gabriel paused upon the stone stairs just outside the great hall door. “Why me, Grace?”
Grace breathed in the cool, moist air, relishing the scent of hay and livestock, of smoke and freshly turned earth.
She averted her eyes. If she looked at him, she could not broach the subject. “You loved Tira. You loved her son, and cared for him as though he were your own. A man with so generous a heart—” His grip tightened upon her hand and her voice died.
Gabriel raised her face with his fingertips beneath her chin, his features set and serious. “’Twas not love, Grace. I ken nothing of love.”
She did not believe that. “You knew enough t’ care for a fatherless boy who needed you. And ’tis not just loyalty that holds you here at Lord Campbell’s side.”
“I canna hope t’ live up to the man you believe me to be, Grace.”
“’Twill not hurt you t’ try.”
His quick, surprised expression dissolved into laughter.
“’Twill do no good, should we not please each other in other ways,” he said a moment later, a smile still curving his lips.
The emotion she read in his expression left her breathless, and stole the strength from her voice. “And what would you be speaking about?”
Gabriel’s arm slid around her waist, and he pulled her into the shaded alcove next to the door. His arms tightened, aligning her body with the long, lean length of his. His eyes scanned her face, a look in their depths that hurried her heart. His lips covered hers.
After the first moments of surprise passed, a sweet sensation of pleasure swept through her. Grace slipped her arms up his back, holding him close while the soft pressure of his mouth moved upon hers, his beard soft against her cheeks. The height and breadth of him offered her, at first, a sense of protection, then something else. Suffused with an aching need to be closer, she rose on tiptoe and curved her body into his.
When he drew back to look down at her, Gabriel’s cheeks were ruddy, and his breathing unsteady.
She pressed her hot face against the coolness of his leather tunic and reveled in his gentle touch as he smoothed her hair.
“Does that please you, lass?” he asked, his voice husky.
“Aye.” She drew back. “For now.” She slipped free of his arms and skipped down the stairs.
Still addled by his own response to the sweet taste of her lips and the shy inexperience of her kiss, Gabriel eyed Grace when she turned to look over her shoulder at him.
“’Twill take more than a gift and a kiss, Gabriel.”
The challenge he read in her expression brought a smile to his lips, his heart thumping. “Aye, I can see that.”
It would be marriage or nothing.
He would not have wanted it any other way.
She offered her hand, the gesture a dare. He leapt down the steps to capture it.
Books By Teresa J. Reasor
BREAKING FREE (Book 1 of the SEAL Team Heartbreakers)
BREAKING THROUGH (Book 2 of the SEAL Team Heartbreakers
BREAKING AWAY (Book 3 of the SEAL Team Heartbreakers)
BUILDING TIES (Book 4 of the SEAL Team Heartbreakers)
BREAKING BOUNDARIES (Book 5 of the SEAL Team Heartbreakers)
TIMELESS
DEEP WITHIN THE SHADOWS (Book 1 of the Superstition Series)
WHISPER IN MY EAR
CAPTIVE HEARTS
HIGHLAND MOONLIGHT
Trilogies
A Highland Moonlight Spinoff
TO CAPTURE A HIGHLANDER’S HEART: THE BEGINNING
TO CAPTURE A HIGHLANDER’S HEART: THE COURTSHIP
TO CAPTURE A HIGHLANDER’S HEART: THE WEDDING NIGHT
NOVELLAS
BREAKING TIES (A SEAL Team Heartbreakers Novella)
Short stories
AN AUTOMATED DEATH: A STEAMPUNK SHORT STORY
CAUGHT IN THE ACT (A HUMOROUS SHORT STORY)
Children’s Books
WILLY C. SPARKS, THE DRAGON WHO LOST HIS FIRE
e(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
To Capture A Highlander's Heart: The Beginning Page 2
