Page 1 of The Icy Highlander’s Virgin (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #4)

CHAPTER ONE

" Y e mean to tell me there's another condition?" Erica's voice cut through the stone chamber with razor precision. "And ye kent this all along, and didn’t think it necessary to let me ken?"

Councilman James shifted in his chair, his weathered hands fumbling with the parchment spread before him. The man who'd helped her navigate the treacherous first months of her sudden inheritance now looked like he'd rather face a Highland winter naked than meet her eyes.

"Aye, Lady McLaren. I... I dinnae consider how urgent it would be. I ken one of the laws of the clan was the leader must be married upon becoming laird or lady, but I didnae ken ye would need to do it so quickly until last night."

"How considerate of ye, James." Erica's fingers pressed against the stone table, her knuckles white. "But tellin’ me I must marry within a sennight or lose everythin’ is hardly ‘bringin’ up the matter’, I assure ye."

The councilman's face flushed red above his gray beard. "I only just learnt the time frame meself. The law is clear, me lady. Ye must wed within half a year from assumin' the position. That period is nearly up."

Erica turned away from him, pacing to the narrow window that overlooked the courtyard of Castle McLaren. Below, servants went about their daily tasks, unaware that their lady's world had just tilted on its axis. Again.

How can I marry a stranger? How can I trust any man with power over me? Worse of all, do it within one week?

James cleared his throat. "There are several suitable candidates," James continued, his voice gaining confidence. "Laird Morrison has expressed interest, and young Laird Campbell sent word just last week that he could consider the marriage under certain?—"

"Consider?" Erica whirled around, her brown eyes flashing. "How generous of him."

She'd heard the whispers about both men. Morrison was known for his heavy hand with servants and his three wives, who'd all died under mysterious circumstances.

Campbell was barely twenty, more interested in his own reflection than governing, but his cruelty to those beneath him was already legendary.

Just like Leo.

Her brother's face flashed in her mind—that cold smile, the way he'd spoken about breaking her before marriage, how he'd enjoyed the fear in her eyes. Leo was dead now, killed just months ago when Nicholas had rescued her from that nightmare, but the memory of his cruelty burned as fresh as ever.

"What about the betrothal contract?" she asked, her voice deadly quiet.

James blinked. "What betrothal contract?"

"Daenae play games with me." Erica stepped closer, and the old man actually leaned back in his chair. "Ye've been hidin' one condition from me for months. What else have ye kept to yersel'?"

"I... there was mention of a previous arrangement with the laird, but I assumed it was void since?—"

"What arrangement?" When he didn't answer, she slammed her palm against the table. "What previous arrangement, James?"

"Since ye were supposed to be dead," he whispered.

The words hung in the air like smoke from a dying fire. Erica's heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her voice level. "Tell me about this arrangement."

James's hands shook as he reached for another piece of parchment, this one yellowed with age. "Yer parents... they arranged a match when ye were just a bairn. To ensure peace between the clans and strengthen both territories."

"With whom?"

"Lachlan Galloway. Laird Kinnaird."

Lachlan Galloway.

She'd heard stories about the Galloway laird—how he'd killed his own father in front of his entire clan, how he'd exiled his mother, how he ruled with an iron fist that brooked no dissent.

Another man drunk on power. Another monster.

"Nay." The word came out flat and final. "I'll nae marry a man who murders his own blood."

"But me lady, now that it’s clear ye’re alive, and the rightful heir of the clan, the contract binds ye. Besides, Laird Kinnaird is a good man."

"A good man?" Erica's laugh held no humor. "Do ye ken what good men do to women, James? They pretend to care, they make promises, and then they show their true nature when ye're trapped."

She thought of Leo's hands dragging her from Nicholas's castle, his voice promising her torment. She thought of the way he'd spoken about going back for Alexandra, about breaking them both. Every thought of Leo still made her stomach turn.

"I've seen what powerful men do when they think they own ye," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'll nae put meself in that position again."

"Ye daenae understand, me lady." James exclaimed desperately. "Of all the lairds for ye to marry, Laird Kinnaird is the best option. Ye both are already betrothed and his lands are among the most prosperous in the entire highlands. "

" Listen to yerself, James. If I marry him, he could claim me life. Claim our lands." Erica turned back to the window, watching a young maid hurry across the courtyard with a basket of laundry. "At least this way, I die free."

"I think Laird Kinnaird is nae like other men," James said quietly. "The stories about him... they're nae what ye think."

"Then tell me what they are."

James hesitated, then leaned forward. "I am nae certain meself. People say different things about the young laird. But the few times I have seen him interact with his people, he seemed more than a heartless brute to me."

Erica gasped. " I have never heard anyone say anythin' good about him."

"Aye, because people are too quick to judge each other. But I ken he's a good person."

The image painted in her mind was nothing like the monster she'd imagined. But still...

"Men can appear kind in front of others and still be cruel," she said softly. "I've seen it before."

"Aye, they can. But Laird Kinnaird... he's spent the last thirteen years provin’ he's nothin' like his father. His people love him, his enemies respect him, and he's never raised a hand to anyone who dinnae deserve it. The bad stories… they mainly circulate from outside clans."

Erica wanted to believe him, but the fear that had lived in her chest since that terrible night in the great hall wouldn't let her. Or the memories of when Leo had proved his cruelty when he’d tried to harm her and Alexandra.

How was she expected to trust any man with power over her life?

"Even if that's true," she said finally, "would he make as good husband as he is a laird, accordin' to ye? I could go to Laird Kinnaird and proposition him. But why would he want to marry me at all?"

"Because," James said with a small smile, "he needs an heir, as every laird does. Ye'd be solvin’ his problem as much as he'd be solvin’ yers."

Erica closed her eyes, feeling the weight of impossible choices pressing down on her shoulders.

I have to choose whether to marry a stranger who might be a monster, or lose everythin’ I fought to reclaim. Neither option feels like winnin’.

But if she had to choose between certain death and possible survival...

"How far is Castle Kinnaird?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Two days' ride, me lady."

"Then we leave at dawn." She opened her eyes and fixed James with a stare that could have frozen fire. "I'm goin' to convince Laird Kinnaird to wed me. But I'm nae goin' as a supplicant. I'm goin' as Lady McLaren, and I'll make me own terms."

"Very good, me lady. And if he refuses?"

Erica's smile was sharp as a blade. "Then I'll find another way to survive. I always do."

As she strode from the chamber, her mind was already racing with possibilities. She'd survived Leo's madness, she'd survived losing everything, and she'd survived the terrifying journey back to power.

Now she had to survive marriage to a man who might be her salvation or her doom.

Either way, she'd face it on her own terms. And she'd look her best doing it.

The morning sun cast a golden glow across Castle Kinnaird's lands as Erica's small party crested the final hill. She pulled her horse to a halt, taking in the sight that spread before her.

Rolling green hills stretched to the horizon, dotted with fat cattle and woolly sheep that grazed in perfect contentment.

The fields showed careful cultivation—neat rows of crops, well-maintained stone walls, and orchards heavy with fruit.

A crystal-clear burn wound through the valley, its waters sparkling in the morning light.

"How very unusual."

But it was the people who truly caught her attention.

Farmers worked their fields with unhurried efficiency, their movements speaking of satisfaction rather than drudgery.

Children played near cottage doorways while their mothers hung washing on lines, their laughter carrying on the breeze.

An old man sat outside his home, whittling while a dog dozed at his feet.

These were not the downtrodden, fearful people she'd expected to find under the rule of a man capable of killing his own father. Certainly not the way her clan people had lived during Leo's lairdship. These people looked... content. Prosperous. Safe.

"The lands are bonnie," Ada said softly, pulling her horse alongside Erica's. "Well-tended."

"Aye," Ewan agreed, though his weathered face remained cautious.

James nodded. "Prosperous lands usually mean a good laird. But we'll see."

Erica nodded, though something in her chest loosened at the sight. Perhaps James had been right. Perhaps Lachlan Galloway wasn't the monster she'd imagined.

She touched the carefully arranged coils of her hair, secured with her mother's silver pins. She'd taken particular care with her appearance—not out of vanity, but out of strategy.

She'd scrubbed her skin until it glowed, applied the faintest hint of rose oil to her pulse points, and chosen her finest traveling dress, the deep blue wool that brought out her eyes.

A formidable lady commanded respect in every aspect, and she intended to show Lachlan Galloway that she was his equal in all things. Beauty was just another weapon in her arsenal, and she meant to use every advantage she possessed to secure this marriage.

"Ready, me lady?" Ewan asked, using her formal title as a reminder of who she was.

"Aye," she said, straightening her shoulders. "Let's see what manner of man rules these bonnie lands."

As they rode down into the valley, Erica found herself hoping—against all reason and past experience—that Laird Kinnaird might be as pleasant as his prosperous domain suggested.