Free To Capture A Highlander's Heart: The Beginning by Teresa Reasor Page A

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