Page 11 of The Icy Highlander’s Virgin (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #4)

CHAPTER NINE

E rica was growing restless. Or perhaps it wasn't restlessness at all, but the increasingly dangerous awareness of Lachlan's presence beside her. The way he'd guided her hands during the painting lesson had awakened something in her that she didn't know how to handle.

Too close. He's sitting too close.

Every time he leaned over to adjust her brush stroke, she caught his scent—leather and soap and his own male scent that made her stomach flutter in the most disconcerting way.

When his chest pressed against her back, when his breath stirred her hair, she felt her body responding in ways that terrified her.

This is dangerous. I'm lettin' him get too close.

"I think... I think I'm gettin' rather tired," she said suddenly, pulling away from the easel and putting distance between them. "And hungry. All this artistic endeavor has worked up quite an appetite."

She kept her voice light, casual, but inside her heart was racing. The way he'd touched her—so carefully, so gently—it had made her want things she'd never thought she could want. Made her forget, for dangerous moments, why she should be afraid.

Men cannae be trusted. Even the ones who seem kind.

"Of course," Lachlan said, though something flickered across his expression. "Ye've done well for yer first lesson."

"Would ye like to join me in the kitchens?" The words slipped out before she could stop them. "Or perhaps I could bring ye somethin' back? Some bread and cheese, maybe?"

The offer was innocent enough, but the way he went rigid told her she'd said something wrong. His jaw tightened, and when he looked at her, there was something almost desperate in his eyes.

"Nay," he said abruptly, turning away from her to clean his brushes with sharp, aggressive motions. "I have work to do."

The rejection stung more than it should have. Just moments ago, he'd been patient and gentle, teaching her with infinite care. Now he was dismissing her like she was some bothersome servant.

Hot and cold. Just like...

"Oh," she managed, gathering what dignity she could. "Of course. I should have realized ye had important matters to attend to."

"Aye. Important matters."

The coldness in his voice made her chest tight. She stood there for a moment, waiting for some explanation, some softening of his tone. But he kept his back to her, scrubbing at brushes that were already clean.

"Well then," she said finally. "I'll leave ye to yer work."

She walked to the door with careful, measured steps, refusing to let him see how his sudden dismissal had affected her. But just before she left, she couldn't help looking back. He was still hunched over his paints, his shoulders tense with some internal battle she didn't understand.

What did I do wrong?

The question followed her down the corridor as she made her way toward the kitchens. One moment, he'd been warm and patient, the next cold and distant. The sudden shift reminded her of...

Leo.

The thought stopped her in her tracks. Her brother had been the same way—charming one moment, cruel the next. Never letting anyone predict which version of him they'd encounter. It had been part of his power, keeping everyone around him off-balance and afraid.

Is that what Lachlan is doin'? Keepin' me confused so I cannae see his true nature?

For years, she'd been unable to feel safe with any man except Ewan, who was more father than friend.

Now with Lachlan, her body had started to forget its caution. When he'd guided her hands during the painting lesson, she hadn't flinched. She'd leaned into his touch instead of away from it.

Why? What is it about him that makes me feel...

Safe. The word whispered through her mind before she could stop it. That's what she'd felt in his arms—safe. Protected. Cherished, even.

But Leo made me feel safe too, in the beginnin’. Before I was old enough to understand what he really was.

The memory was like a splash of cold water. She'd trusted her brother once, had even loved him, despite his cruelties to others. She'd told herself that he was different with her, that she was special, that his violence was reserved for everyone else.

Right up until the night he'd tried to kill her.

I cannae make the same mistake again. I willnae.

She needed to be more careful. She needed to remember why she was here and that she couldn’t trust him.

She could hear the sounds of the kitchen ahead—voices and laughter and the clatter of pots and pans.

Normal, domestic sounds that promised warmth and companionship.

Things that had nothing to do with the dangerous game of trust she was playing with a man who might destroy her just as thoroughly as her brother had tried to do.

The warm sounds of the kitchen grew louder as Erica approached, and when she pushed open the heavy wooden door, she was greeted by a scene that made her stop in surprise.

Mairi, the plump cook, was standing with her hands on her hips, directing a man nearly twice her size with the authority of a general commanding troops.

"Frederick Mackenzie, if ye think ye can sneak into me kitchen and steal me bannock, ye've got another think comin'," Mairi was saying, waving a wooden spoon at the tall, bulky man who was backing away with his hands raised in surrender.

"I was just checkin' if it was ready," Frederick protested, though his eyes were twinkling with mischief. "A man needs to ken these things."

"A man needs to keep his great paws off me bakin', that is what a man needs to do," Mairi retorted, then noticed Erica standing in the doorway. "Oh! M'lady, forgive me. I dinnae hear ye come in."

Both Mairi and Frederick turned to look at her, and Erica felt heat rise in her cheeks at the sudden attention. She'd interrupted something—a moment of easy familiarity that spoke of long friendship and comfortable teasing.

"I'm sorry to disturb ye," she said quickly. "I was just hopin' for a small snack, if ye have somethin' available."

"Of course, of course!" Mairi immediately bustled over, her round face beaming with welcome. "Come, sit yerself down right here." She guided Erica to a stool near the massive hearth, where the warmth from the fire felt wonderful after the chill of the corridors.

Frederick cleared his throat. "I should be gettin' back to?—"

"Ye should indeed," Mairi said firmly, but her tone was fond rather than sharp. "And next time ye want to sample me cookin', ye can wait like everyone else."

"Aye, Mairi," Frederick said with exaggerated meekness, though he winked at Erica as he headed for the door. "It was a pleasure seein' ye again, m'lady."

When he was gone, Mairi shook her head with obvious affection. "That man would eat everythin' in sight if I let him. Been tryin' to charm his way into me good graces for months now."

"Months?" Erica asked, settling more comfortably on her stool.

"Aye, ever since his wife passed, God rest her soul. Poor man's been lost without her cookin'." Mairi moved around the kitchen with practiced efficiency, gathering bread, cheese, and dried fruit. "He keeps findin' excuses to visit the kitchens, though I suspect it's nae just the food he's after."

The teasing note in Mairi's voice made Erica smile despite her earlier worries. "Ye think he's interested in more than yer bannock?"

"Oh, I ken he is," Mairi said with a laugh, setting a plate of delicious-looking food in front of Erica. "But I'm enjoyin' makin' him work for it. A woman likes to be courted proper, even at me age."

Erica bit into the soft bread, savoring the perfect texture and subtle sweetness. "This is even better than what ye served at the weddin' feast. How do ye make it so light?"

"Secret's in the kneadin'," Mairi said, settling onto a stool across from her with her own cup of ale. "And a bit of honey from our own hives. The laird's very particular about his bread."

"He has strong opinions about food?"

"Strong opinions about everythin' that affects his people," Mairi corrected. "Food, shelter, safety—he takes it all seriously. But he's got a particular fondness for me honey cakes. I used to catch him sneakin' them when he was a lad."

The image of a young Lachlan stealing sweets made something warm flutter in Erica's chest. "He grew up here then?"

"Born in the castle, aye. Though his childhood..." Mairi's expression grew troubled. "Well, that's nae me story to tell. But I will say this—he's become everythin' his father never was."

Erica's pulse quickened. Here was someone who'd known Lachlan his entire life, who'd witnessed his transformation from boy to man. "What do ye mean?"

Mairi studied her for a moment, as if weighing how much to say. "The old laird was a hard man. Cruel, some would say. But Lachlan... he's kind. Fair. He remembers what it feels like to be powerless, so he uses his power to protect rather than harm."

"That's quite a change from father to son."

"Aye, it is. And nae an easy one." Mairi leaned forward, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "The lad carries guilt about what happened with his father. Thinks himself a monster for doin' what needed to be done."

Erica wanted to hear someone else’s opinion about Lachlan, not just what he had told her about what happened between him and his father. "But ye daenae think he's a monster."

"Monster?" Mairi laughed, but there was sadness in it.

"M'lady, I've watched that boy—that man—sacrifice his own happiness over and over to ensure others' safety.

A monster doesnae spend his own coin to make sure the village children have warm clothes for winter.

A monster doesnae sit beside a dyin' man's bed for three days straight, offerin' comfort to a family he barely kens. "

Erica's throat tightened. "He did those things?"

"And more. Much more." Mairi's eyes grew soft with obvious affection. "He's lonely, though. Has been for years. Always keeps himself apart, always carryin' the weight of everyone's problems on his shoulders."

"Until now?"