Page 31 of The Icy Highlander’s Virgin (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #4)

When she looked up at him then, he could see something had shifted in her dark eyes. The wariness that had shadowed her gaze since their wedding day was still there, but beneath it was something new—a recognition, perhaps, or the beginning of real trust.

She looked at him as if she was truly seeing him for the first time, and Lachlan felt something tight in his chest loosen. This was what he'd been hoping for, working toward—not just her acceptance, but her trust. Her partnership.

"We could make a good team," he said quietly, his hand covering hers where it rested on his arm.

"Aye," she agreed, a small smile touching her lips. "We could."

The rest of the walk to their chambers felt different. Less like two people who had been fighting only minutes ago, and more like two people who were beginning to understand something good could come from their relationship.

Once inside, Lachlan moved immediately to the washbasin, his movements careful and deliberate as he wrung out a clean cloth in the cool water.

"Sit," he said gently, guiding Erica to the chair by the window where the afternoon light would let him see her injury clearly.

She obeyed without protest, her dark eyes following his every movement as he approached with the damp cloth. His touch was infinitely gentle as he dabbed at the swelling on her cheek, his jaw tight with barely controlled anger at the sight of the bruising.

"Thank ye for savin' me," Erica said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lachlan's hand stilled against her face. "I'll always save ye," he replied, his voice rough with emotion. "Always, Erica. Ye never have to doubt that."

As he continued his careful ministrations, Erica caught sight of his hands and gasped. His knuckles were split and bleeding, the skin torn from the violence of his attack on Duncan.

"Yer hands," she said, catching his wrist gently. "Let me tend to them."

"They're nothin'—"

"They're somethin' to me." Her fingers traced over the damaged skin with the same gentle care he'd shown her. "Please."

He couldn't refuse her. Not when she looked at him like that, with such tender concern in her dark eyes. He let her guide him to sit on the edge of the bed while she fetched fresh water and clean cloths.

Her touch was soft as silk as she cleaned the blood from his knuckles, her brow furrowed in concentration. The intimacy of the moment—her caring for his wounds as he'd cared for hers—made something tight in his chest loosen.

"Erica," he said quietly, his voice heavy with regret. "I'm sorry."

She looked up at him, confusion flickering across her features. "For what?"

"For the other day. For dismissin' yer concerns about Duncan, for treatin' ye like ye couldnae handle yerself." He paused, watching her gentle ministrations. "For nae listenin' when ye tried to tell me about yer clan troubles."

Her hands stilled on his. "Ye were angry. We both were."

"Aye, but that doesnae excuse it." He captured one of her hands in his, careful not to disturb her work on his knuckles. "Tell me now. About the raids, the troubles with yer lands. I should have listened before."

Erica was quiet for a moment, then set down the cloth and met his eyes directly. "Three farms have been hit in the past week. Northern raiders, movin' fast and strikin’ at dawn. They're testin' our defenses, seein' how quickly help arrives."

"How many men do ye have guardin' the borders?"

"Nae enough." The admission came reluctantly. "Leo never cared about protectin' the people, only about keepin' them in line. Our forces are... diminished."

Lachlan nodded grimly. "And ye need more men. Better organization."

"Aye. But more than that, I need to be there. Me people need to see their lady standin' with them, nae hidin' away in another clan's castle." Her voice grew stronger as she spoke. "They need to ken I'll fight for them."

The pain in her voice, the weight of responsibility she carried for her clan, made something shift in Lachlan's chest. She wasn't just his wife—she was a leader in her own right, with people depending on her.

He could see how this separation was tearing at her, how the distance from her clan was eating away at her resolve. The tension in her shoulders, the way her hands trembled slightly as she worked—she was shaken, more deeply than she wanted to admit.

"We'll go tomorrow," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"To McLaren lands. We'll assess the situation, speak with some of the people, see what needs to be done." His decision crystallized as he spoke. "Ye're right—they need to see their lady. And I need to understand what we're facin'."

Erica's eyes widened with surprise and something that might have been hope. "Ye'd do that? Leave yer own duties here?"

"Aye. Yer troubles are me troubles now. Yer people are me people." He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "We're partners in this, Erica. I should have remembered that from the start."

For the first time since the confrontation with Duncan, he felt her truly relax. The tension drained from her shoulders, and when she smiled at him—really smiled, with warmth and gratitude and something deeper—it was like watching the sun break through storm clouds.

"Thank ye," she whispered. "For understandin'. For believin' in me."

"I should never have doubted ye." He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her against him. "Forgive me?"

Instead of answering with words, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his—soft, sweet, and full of forgiveness. When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his.

"We both made mistakes," she said quietly. "But we're learnin'."

"Aye," he agreed, his arms tightening around her. "We are."

As they held each other in the quiet of their chambers, both felt the first real peace they'd known since their argument began. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but they'd face them together.

As it should be.