To Capture A Highlander's Heart: The Beginning
To Capture A Highlander’s Heart
The Beginning
A Highland Moonlight Short Story
by
Teresa J. Reasor
To Capture A Highlander’s Heart: The Beginning
Copyright 2013 Teresa J. Reasor
Cover Art by Tracy Stewart
Formatted by IRONHORSE Formatting
Smashwords Edition
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Contact Information: teresareasor@msn.com
Teresa J. Reasor
PO Box 124
Corbin, KY 40702
Publishing History: First Edition 2013
ISBN 13: 978-0-9886627-3-5
ISBN 10: 0-9886627-3-6
Table of Contents
The Beginning
Coming Soon
Other Books by Teresa J. Reasor
The Beginning
Scotland 1330
Gabriel eyed the bedclothes and other garments spread on the bushes around his hut. He approached his cottage with a combination of caution and curiosity. The wee folk had visited his home while he was away again? This time they—she had been cleaning.
Since the visits had begun, his surprise and pleasure had melted into wariness.
The fresh baked bread, the herbs tied with a scrap of ribbon, his mended shirt, though enjoyed at first, now made him feel—obligated. Whatever was given, there would be a price for later. Were these small gifts the bait? Would the trap be sprung today?
The scent of stewing vegetables and meat wafted to him before he reached the door. Shoving open the portal, he ducked his head to clear the lintel and swept the cabin with a quick, questing gaze. His clothing hung upon pegs, his wooden plates and bowls, now washed, were stacked on the shelf. The hearth, swept clean of ash, boasted a newly laid fire. The stew he smelled bubbled in a pot balanced on the iron stand above the flames. Aye, she had been cleaning—and cooking. He breathed an oath. Who was she? And what was she about?
****
Grace tucked the empty basket beneath her arm and raised her skirts to climb the steep hill to the village. She had bolstered her nerve to announce her presence, but one look at Gabriel’s expression had shriveled the desire like a dried pea, and she had fled. Why had he been angry? What had vexed him so?
Her steps flagged, and she stopped midway up the hill to rest amongst the wild hyacinth blooming along the path. Setting aside the basket, she plucked one of the clustered blossoms and raised it to her nose to breathe in its fragrance.
She was nothing like Tira, the woman he had once loved. She could not give him beauty, but she could mend his clothes, clean his cottage, and cook his food.
She could bear him children.
And she would do it with a love in her heart that would make the offer sweeter.
If only he could see her.
She studied the work-roughened fingers that grasped the flower’s stem. But why should a man such as he settle for a homely little mouse when he could have beauty as well?
Her love was no small thing. Was that not a prize worth more than a pleasing face?
She lay down amongst the flowers and their scent surrounded her. If their bellies were full and their clothes mended, did men ever think of love? Mayhap not.
Then why would she not do as well as any other woman?
But for him to consider her, she had to make him see her. But how? And if he did and turned away? Pain grabbed her throat and threatened her composure.
At the snap of a nearby twig, she jerked to a sitting position.
A gasp escaped as the object of her thoughts stepped from the stand of trees and came to a halt in the clearing. Black trews hugged his muscular legs. He wore the shirt she had mended for him beneath leather tunic that clung to his torso and emphasized the width of his chest and shoulders. Grace scrambled to her feet, her cheeks hot.
Gabriel’s long strides seemed to eat up the distance between them, and with every step her heart beat a flighty rhythm.
“Good morn, lass.”
The deep timbre of his voice with its hint of raspiness brought delightful chill bumps to her skin. She fought against a sudden breathlessness to speak to him for the first time. She swallowed and forced her voice to work. “Good morn.”
His dark brows, angled in a V over the straight slope of his nose, hinted at the anger she had recognized earlier. His neatly trimmed beard darkening the lower half of his face outlined the sensuous curve of his lips.
“How long have you been here, lass?”
“Only a wee time.”
“Have you seen anyone about? Has anyone passed you on the path?”
She shook her head. “Nay.” He was hunting for the person who had been in his hut. He was not happy about their trespass—her trespass.
He nodded. “Good day then.”
As she watched him ascend the hill, Grace drew a despairing breath. All he saw when he looked at her was Lady Mary’s maid, not a woman. For a man who was known as one of Alexander Campbell’s most fierce warriors, he was as blind as a harry coo in a snow storm. She climbed the path behind him.
****
Gabriel topped the rise and looked down into the village. There were few people about and none of them women. Who was she? Where could she have gone?
At the whisper of skirts behind him, he turned and waited for Grace to come abreast of him. His attention dropped to the basket she clasped. The ragged container looked familiar. Was it not the same one that had held the loaves of bread someone had left for him? Shock punched the breath from his lungs and his gaze leaped to her face.
“Who sent you, Grace?”
Pain whipped across her features. She straightened her shoulders and met his gaze. “No one sent me.”
She strode past him and started down the path to the village.
In two paces he caught up and matched his long strides to her shorter ones. “Why would you clean my hut and prepare food for me, lass?”
“You are not dull witted, Gabriel.”
From the bite of her tone, nor was she. He studied the tender slope of her jaw. She had a small heart-shaped face, dominated by large dark lashed eyes. Freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose.
“Grace.” He grasped her arm drawing her to a stop. “You are a wee, young lass. Too young to waste your youth on a man nearly half a score older than you.”
“I am a score and one year old. Old enough to be a wife. Old enough to be a mother.”
Surprise held him immobile
.
“I am not the same young, ignorant girl I was when first I came here to Castle de Sith. Lady Mary has taught me to read. And though I have not grown in body, my mind has grown and I am more than I was. Good enough for you or any other man. If you canna believe that, I have made a grave mistake in my judgment of you.”
Gabriel’s face flushed at her tone and his jaw grew taut. “And how many other men have you been cooking and cleaning for then?”
Color stormed her cheeks and her eyes narrowed in anger. She swung the basket, hitting him in the shoulder. Reeds, fragile with age, splintered and the vessel collapsed. As she broke into a run, she threw the damaged container with a backwards sling. Only his quick reaction kept it from smacking him in the face. He eyed the basket. Dry bits of debris flaked away to scatter upon the ground. All the thing would be useful for now was to feed his fire.
He studied the angry twitch of her hips as Grace stormed down the path in the direction of the castle. He frowned at the instant response that ran straight to his groin.
The bread had been fresh and the stew he had tasted before leaving the hut had been well seasoned and tasty. But marriage seemed a steep price to pay for them. And marriage was what she was after. But why him?
It was after he had supped on the stew Grace had cooked that he looked about his small cabin and noticed how her light touch about the room had changed the cluttered space. And how the food rested in his belly.
As he climbed into his bed, the soft scent of soap and greenery on his threadbare sheets wafted over him. Grace had washed them and hung them on the brush outside his door to dry.
Gabriel punched his pillow and turned on his side. ‘Twas nonsense. She was too young for him. To wee for a man as large as he. His response to the tight swish of her hips as she stormed down the hill, gave a lie to the belief. He had never thought of her in that manner. Before now. And now it was all of which he could think.
****
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the braid that swung back and forth like a pendulum at the small of Grace’s back as she whipped the length of tartan fabric from around her shoulders and hung it on a peg at the door. In the four days since their conversation, every word she had spoken had woven through his thoughts, triggering feelings he had tried to deny but couldn’t. Fed by the knowledge that she had already been inside his home, he found himself envisioning her in his cabin, preparing a meal, mending his shirts, sleeping beside him. The images had taken root in his mind and whetted his desire for —something more than imaginings.
He had hoped to speak with her at the evening meal, but she had accompanied Lady Mary to attend a sick child in the village. Now that she had returned, he saw his chance and rose from his seat. He quickened his pace as she slipped between the heavy wooden tables in the great room 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’s eyes looked large and startled as she stared at the clansman.
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 gripped 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, an emotion Gabriel had never experienced shot through him. Mine. The word reverberated through his mind. Outrage fueled his temper as 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. Consternation clouded the clansman’s face as he half rose. Gabriel shoved him back into his seat and thrust his face close. “I’d hate to split your head over a woman, but I’ll do it if you press the matter, Bruce.”
The surprised look on Bruce’s face, as well as the other men seated at the table, brought Gabriel’s temper under control. He’d as good as laid claim to the lass before the whole 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 to suffer a broken noggin’ to have them.”
Gabriel nodded. “’Tis a wise decision, my friend.” He turned to capture Grace’s hand and tugged her toward the antechamber to one side of the great hall.
****
Grace’s breath came in stumbling breaths as Gabriel drew 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’d 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 imprinted 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 to replace it.”
“Oh—Gabriel—” Grace’s heart beat a frantic rhythm. Tears blurred her vision as 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 her his hand.
Her heart beat a heavy rhythm against her throat as she grasped it. His warm calloused palm melded with hers as he drew her from the room to the front entrance.
Gabriel paused upon the stone stairs just outside the door. “Why me, Grace?”
Grace drew in the cool, moist air filled with the scent of hay and livestock, of smoke and fresh turned earth. She averted her gaze. 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 know nothing of love.”
She did not believe that. “You knew enough to 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 to live up to the man you believe me to be, Grace.”
“’Twill not hurt you to try.”
His quick surprised expression dissolved into laughter.
“’Twill do no good should we not please one another in other ways,” he said a moment later, a smile still curving his lips.
The emotion she read in his features drew the breath from her lungs 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 caught her breath. 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 as 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. Infused with an aching need to be cl
oser, she rose on tiptoe and curved her body into his.
When he drew back to look down at her, Gabriel’s cheeks appeared ruddy, and his breathing unsteady.
She pressed her hot face against the coolness of his leather tunic and reveled in the gentleness of his 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 stepped 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 as 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 tugged a smile to his lips. “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.
To be continued …….
Coming Soon
To Capture A Highlander’s Heart : The Courtship
To Capture A Highlander’s Heart: The Wedding Night
More information can be found at
www.TeresaReasor.com
Other Books by Teresa J. Reasor
BREAKING FREE (Book 1 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers)