Page 33 of The Icy Highlander’s Virgin (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

" T his was me parents' room."

Erica practically bounced into the chambers, her face still glowing with joy from the reception they'd received in the courtyard. The afternoon light streamed through the tall windows, and she moved toward them with quick, excited steps.

"Look at this light!" she exclaimed, throwing open the heavy curtains to let more sunshine flood the room. "I'd forgotten how bonnie this room is in the afternoon."

She spun around, taking in the familiar space with fresh eyes—the large four-poster bed with deep blue hangings, the writing desk by the window, chairs arranged near the fireplace. Her movements were quick and animated as she touched various objects, like a child rediscovering forgotten treasures.

"I moved in here when I returned after Leo died," she said, running her fingers along the polished wood of the bedpost, "but I havenae changed anythin'. Couldnae bear to."

Lachlan moved to stand beside the window, watching her with amusement as she bustled about, straightening already-straight objects and adjusting perfectly placed items. The contrast between this vibrant woman and the composed lady he'd married was remarkable.

"Ye seem different here," he observed.

"Do I?" She laughed, the sound bright and carefree.

"I feel different. Like I can breathe properly again.

" She moved to a small table near the fireplace, touching the surface lovingly.

"Me father used to sit here every evening, reviewin' reports and correspondence.

He'd let me help him sometimes, said I had a good head for numbers. "

"And Leo? When he became laird, did he use this room?"

Her animation dimmed slightly. "Nay. He chose chambers on the other side of the castle. Said this room felt... wrong to him."

"Wrong how?"

"I'm nae sure. Guilt, maybe?" She moved toward the large wardrobe that dominated one wall. "He could be cruel, but he wasnae completely without conscience. Perhaps bein' surrounded by their things reminded him of what he'd done."

The joy that had been radiating from her began to fade as she approached the wardrobe, her steps slowing. Lachlan watched the change with growing concern.

"I havenae opened this in months," she admitted quietly, her hand hovering over the brass handles. "Sometimes it's too painful."

But today, perhaps bolstered by his presence, she pulled the doors wide.

The scent that escaped made her gasp—lavender and rosewater, the faint musk of fine wool, and something else that was purely maternal. Her mother's dresses hung exactly as they had been left, rich velvets and fine silks in jewel tones.

"Oh," Erica breathed, her earlier excitement returning as she reached for a gown of deep emerald green. She pulled it from its place and held it against herself, burying her face in the fabric with childlike wonder. "It still smells of her! After all these years, it still smells of me mam!"

The pure joy in her voice made Lachlan's chest warm. This was Erica as she was meant to be—happy, carefree, surrounded by love.

"She was beautiful," he stated, pointing at a small portrait within the wardrobe.

"Aye, she was." Erica's fingers traced the painted face lovingly. "Everyone said so. And kind—so kind."

She pulled out a small jewelry box, her movements quick and eager as she showed him each piece. "She wasnae vain, but she liked bonnie things. Said a lady should always have somethin' beautiful to wear, even for her own pleasure."

She lifted a pearl necklace, holding it up to catch the light. "She wore this the day they died. I remember because I complimented her on it at breakfast, and she laughed and said?—"

Her voice broke off abruptly, and Lachlan saw the light drain from her eyes as the memories shifted from joy to horror.

"What is it, lass?"

"I remember that day," she whispered, all her earlier animation gone. "It used to haunt me nights, and I'd wake up screamin'. Only Ada holdin' me close till mornin' could make the nightmares stop."

Lachlan moved closer, sensing the shift in her mood and the way the happy memories were giving way to something darker.

"He killed them in front of me," she continued, her voice barely audible.

"Me parents. Cut them down like cattle at slaughter.

" Her free hand went instinctively to her ribs, where he knew her scar lay hidden.

"I was so shocked, I couldnae move at first. Then I ran, tried to get away, but he saw me. "

"Erica—"

"Stabbed me too. Cut me down in cold blood and left me to bleed to death on the floor like I was nothin'." The tears were flowing freely now, her body shaking with the force of the memories. "Ewan came just in time to save me life. Took me to Ada in the village."

She turned to him then, her face ravaged by grief and old pain. "They said I was in and out for four weeks. They never kent whether I'd live or die. And sometimes... sometimes I hated that I lived. I hated me life, hated that I'd survived when they hadnae?—"

A growl rumbled from Lachlan's chest as he crossed to her in two quick strides, gathering her into his arms with fierce protectiveness. She collapsed against him, her sobs muffled against his chest.

"Shh," he murmured, one hand stroking her hair while the other held her tightly. "I'm here now. I willnae ever let anythin' or anyone touch ye again. Ye're safe with me, do ye hear? Safe."

She looked up at him through her tears, her dark eyes swimming with pain and gratitude and something deeper. "Lachlan?—"

He silenced her with a kiss, gentle at first, then deeper as she responded with desperate passion. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he could taste the salt of her tears on her lips.

But even as desire flared between them, he could sense her fragility, the way she was clinging to him more from need for comfort than true passion. She wasn't ready—not like this, not when she was raw with grief and memory.

Gently, he pulled back, framing her face with his hands and pressing his forehead to hers.

"Nae like this, lass," he said softly. "Nae when ye're hurtin'."

Before she could protest, a knock came at the door.

"M'lady?" came a servant's voice. "Dinner is ready when ye are."

Erica stepped back, hastily wiping her eyes and trying to compose herself. "Thank ye," she called out. "We'll be down shortly."

In the sudden silence that followed, she looked at Lachlan with something that might have been wonder.

"Ye seem to have a way of knowin’ what I need. How do ye do that?" she asked quietly.

"Because," he said simply, "ye're mine to protect. In all ways."

The sound of movement in the chamber pulled Erica from sleep, and she rolled over to find Lachlan already half-dressed, pulling on his boots in the gray light of early dawn.

"Where are ye goin' so early?" she asked, pushing herself up on her elbows and blinking away the last traces of sleep.

"Joinin' Frederick and the men for border patrol," he replied, reaching for his sword belt. "I want to understand for meself how the borders run and where the weak areas are. See why they're vulnerable."

"Will ye be returnin' by noon?"

"Nay." He buckled the belt with practiced efficiency. "I want to see the farm lands too, check the soil quality and see what's affectin' the crops. And examine the trade routes—understand how goods move in and out of McLaren territory."

Erica sat up fully, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. "All in one day?"

"Aye." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if it were the most reasonable plan in the world. "It's clan business."

Something in his casual dismissal made her bristle. "And daenae ye think clan business needs its lady to prosper?"

Lachlan paused in his preparations, turning to face her. "Yer clan business is now me business. Ye can sleep and enjoy yer castle—I'll handle these tasks."

Erica knew Lachlan would never deliberately be condescending, but it did not stop the way her blood simmered. "Sleep and enjoy me castle?"

"Aye. Rest, spend time with yer people, do... whatever it is ye need to do here." He moved toward the door. "We may return late, so daenae wait supper for us."

That did it. Erica threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed, her movements sharp with anger. "The only way anyone on McLaren land will handle McLaren business is if their lady is there."

She stalked to the wardrobe and began pulling out riding clothes with jerky, furious movements. "These are me lands, me people, me problems?—"

"Erica." His hand settled on her shoulder, gentle but firm. "I'm nae tryin' to control ye or how ye run yer lands, nor am I implyin’ ye're incompetent. But this is somethin' I can handle. Let me help."

She spun to face him, her eyes flashing. "If I were a male laird, would ye ask him to sleep while there was clan business to attend?"

The question hung in the air between them, and she watched his face as the implications sank in. After a long moment, he gestured toward her riding clothes with a rueful smile.

"Get ready."

"What?"

"Ye have three minutes to get dressed, or we ride out without ye. That is what I would tell a male."

Despite her anger, she felt a flutter of satisfaction at his capitulation. "Three minutes? That's barely enough time to?—"

"Three minutes," he repeated firmly, moving toward the door. "And that's countin' from now."

She grabbed for her chemise, muttering under her breath, "Insufferable man."

He paused in the doorway, looking back with amusement dancing in his blue eyes. "Two and a half minutes."

The handkerchief she hurled at him hit the closed door with a soft thud, and she could swear she heard him chuckling in the corridor outside.

"Arrogant brute," she grumbled, but she was already pulling on her riding dress with renewed speed. If he thought she'd let him ride around her lands without her, making decisions about her clan's future, he was about to learn exactly how stubborn a McLaren woman could be.

Two minutes and fifty-three seconds later, she flung open the door and hurried down to the yard to find Lachlan and some guards fully armed and ready to ride.

"Told ye I could do it," she said breathlessly, still adjusting her cloak.

"Aye," he agreed, his eyes warm with something that looked suspiciously like pride. "That ye did, lass. That ye did. Now, ride up front with me. Remember ye must handle yerself with grace and strength before the men. Never show any weakness."

"Aye, me laird."

"And daennae ever call me yer laird when ye are in yer office as lady."

Erica nodded, piercing her lips. She had weathered it alone for almost one year, with only James, Ewan, and Ada at her side. There was a lot to learn, and she was glad her new husband was willing to teach her.