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

CHAPTER FOUR

T he great hall of Castle Kinnaird had been transformed for the wedding feast. Tables groaned under the weight of food—roasted meats, fresh bread, wheels of cheese, and more delicacies than Erica had seen in months.

Musicians played in the corner, their lively tunes filling the air with celebration.

"The servants have outdone themselves," Lachlan said, pulling out her chair at the high table. "They've been preparin' since dawn."

Erica settled into her seat, still wearing her wedding finery but feeling slightly more relaxed now that the ceremony was over. The food looked incredible, and her stomach reminded her that she'd been too nervous to eat much this morning.

She took a bite of the roasted fowl on her plate and closed her eyes while she chewed. The meat was perfectly seasoned, tender, and flavorful, accompanied by vegetables that had been cooked to perfection.

"This is extraordinary," she said, sampling the sauce that accompanied the meat. "I must meet the cook who prepared this feast. Such skill deserves recognition."

Lachlan flashed her a sharp look. "I dinnae expect ye to be so interested in food, wife." "There's nothin’ wrong with praisin' someone who's talented," she replied, taking another bite. "Good food is an art, just like paintin' or music. This cook is clearly an artist."

"Aye, Mairi has served this castle well for many years," Lachlan remarked with a tone that showed genuine respect. "She'll be pleased to ken ye enjoyed her effort. I was informed the woman has been workin' tirelessly to ensure this feast honored me new wife."

"Then I'll be sure to compliment her properly." Erica reached for her wine cup, surprised by how easy this conversation felt.

Feeling suddenly more carefree than she had in a long time, she jumped to her feet.

"Ah, there's Ewan. I'd like to dance with him. Celebrate new alliances."

Erica didn't wait for Lachlan's reply.

The music had shifted to a slower tune, perfect for conversation, and Ewan led her onto the floor where other couples were dancing. His steps were sure despite his teasing, and Erica found herself relaxing into the familiar rhythm.

"How are ye feelin', lass?" he asked quietly, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "And daenae give me that brave face ye put up all mornin'. I saw the way ye reacted durin’ the official kiss."

Erica glanced around the hall, making sure no one was listening. "I'm terrified," she admitted. "What if he's like Leo? Now that we're married, nothin' stops him from treatin' me with the same cruelty me brother did."

"Then I'll kill him meself," Ewan said matter-of-factly. "But I daenae think that'll be necessary."

"How can ye be so sure?"

"Because I've been watchin' him all day. The way he looks at ye. Both of ye might be strangers, but there's no cruelty there. I watched the way he speaks to his people. He's nothin’ like yer brother, lass. Nothin’ at all."

Before Erica could respond, a large hand fell on Ewan's shoulder.

"Ye've danced long enough. I'll be takin' me bride back now," Lachlan said, his voice carrying an edge that made Erica's pulse quicken.

Ewan stepped back with a bow. "Of course, me laird. She's all yers."

But Lachlan's eyes were fixed on Erica, and there was something dark in his expression that made her stomach flutter with nerves.

"Who was that? Ye arrived with him yesterday, but nay formal introductions have been made," he asked as he drew her into his arms, taking over the dance with fluid grace.

"That was Ewan," Erica said, confused by the sudden change in his demeanor. "Me guard. He's been with me family since I was born. One of the people who raised me after... after me parents died."

She watched his shoulders relax and saw the tension drain from his face. "Yer guard."

"Aye. Why? What did ye think—" Understanding dawned, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks. "Ye thought he was... that we were..."

"The thought crossed me mind," Lachlan admitted, spinning her around with perhaps more force than necessary. "Ye seemed very comfortable with him."

"He's like a father to me," Erica said, torn between indignation and something that might have been pleasure at his jealousy. "He saved me life when I was a child."

"Good," Lachlan said, his voice low and rough. "Because I daenae share."

The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. Before she could respond, he'd swept her up into his arms, making her gasp in surprise.

The sudden movement, the feel of being lifted and held, triggered something deep in her memory. For a split second, she was ten years old again, and Leo was dragging her from the cabinet, his hands cruel and punishing.

She flinched, her body going rigid in Lachlan's arms.

"Time for our first night together, wife," he said, apparently not noticing her reaction as he strode from the hall.

But Erica noticed. She noticed how her heart was racing, how her hands were trembling, how the familiar fear was creeping back in despite the wine and the music and the temporary illusion of safety.

This was real now. The marriage, the expectations, the reality of being bound to a man she barely knew.

As Lachlan carried her up the stairs toward their chambers, Erica closed her eyes and prayed that Ewan was right about her new husband's character.

Because if he was wrong, she might not survive the night.

"Easy, lass," Lachlan said quietly as he set Erica down just inside their chambers. "Are ye okay?"

She was trembling. Not the delicate flutter of a nervous bride, but the bone-deep shaking of someone who'd seen too much darkness. Her eyes darted around the room—to the windows, to the door they'd just entered, to the smaller door that led to the garderobe.

Was she mapping possible escape routes?

Lachlan had seen that look before, in the eyes of soldiers who'd survived their first real battle. But this was different. This was the look of prey.

What in God's name happened to this woman?

She backed away from him, putting distance between them until her shoulders hit the stone wall. The way she positioned herself—near the door, watching his every movement—made something cold settle in his stomach.

"I told ye, lass, I willnae harm ye." He forced a calm in his voice, cautious not to startle her.

"And I told ye, I daenae want to be intimate yet," she whispered, her face pale as winter snow. "The whole reason for choosin' ye was because ye seemed to have nay interest in intimate things."

The way she said it so carefully and fearfully confirmed to him everything he needed to know. This wasn't maidenly shyness. This was terror. Someone had hurt her, and badly.

He studied her for a long moment, taking in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the white-knuckled grip of her hands against her skirts.

His jaw tightened. Whatever bastard had done this to her and turned this brave lass into a frightened creature, Lachlan would cheerfully strangle him with his bare hands.

Moving slowly, deliberately, he walked to the chair by the fireplace and began unbuckling his sword belt. Every motion was careful, non-threatening. He wasn't a man given to gentleness, but something about her vulnerability called to whatever decent part of him remained.

"I daenae expect us to do anythin' else but sleep," he said simply, his voice deliberately calm and matter-of-fact.

He set his sword aside with deliberate care, the metal settling against the stone with a soft clink. Then he shrugged out of his formal jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair. Simple, domestic actions that seemed to calm her fractionally.

The change in her was immediate and profound. Her shoulders dropped as if a great weight had been lifted from them. Color slowly returned to her cheeks, and the wild, trapped look in her eyes began to fade. She drew in a shaky breath, then another, as if she was remembering how to breathe properly.

"Ye... ye mean that?" she asked, her voice still barely above a whisper.

"Aye." He settled into the chair, making himself appear as non-threatening as possible. "I'm nae in the habit of forcin' meself on unwillin' women, wife or otherwise."

For the first time since they'd entered the room, she looked directly at him instead of around him. The relief in her voice was unmistakable when she spoke.

"Thank ye," she said quietly. "I... I wasnt sure what to expect."

She took a tentative step away from the wall, though she still maintained careful distance between them. The color was fully back in her cheeks now, and some of the rigid tension had left her posture.

"Why did ye drag me out of the ceilidh then?" she asked, curiosity replacing some of the fear in her voice.

Lachlan leaned back in his chair, studying her face. "I daenae like to dance—and I daenae like other men touchin' what's mine."

Heat flooded her cheeks at his words, and she stammered, "I... he... Ewan is like me own father! I told ye! He was just checkin' in on me, makin' sure I was... that I was all right with... with all this."

Her hands gestured between them as if to encompass the marriage, the night, everything that had happened.

"It doesnae matter," Lachlan said firmly, his voice taking on an edge that brooked no argument. "Father, cousin, brother—it doesnaae matter who they are. Nay one touches what's mine. They should keep their hands away."

She stared at him for a long moment, and then something unexpected happened. A small laugh escaped her lips, soft and surprised, as if it had slipped out without permission.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, pressing her hand to her mouth. "I dinnae mean to... it's just..."

Despite being afraid of letting him touch her, she realized with startling clarity that she felt safe in his presence. And the fact that he wouldn't allow anyone else to touch her wasn't controlling—instead, it gave her relief. It meant he would not let anyone harm her.

Ye're nothin' like Leo, are ye?

When her brother had controlled, it had been about power, about keeping his victims weak and isolated. But this... this felt different. This felt like a shield rather than a cage.

"Ye find me possessiveness amusin'?" he asked, keeping his tone flat to maintain his authority, though he was more curious than offended.

"Nae amusin'," she said softly, finally taking another step into the room. "Just... unexpected. In a good way."

The wariness was still there, but it was tempered now with something else. Something that might have been the beginning of trust.

"Unexpected how?" he pressed, genuinely intrigued by her response.

She was quiet for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "I've kent men who wanted to control me before. But they wanted to control me to hurt me. Ye want to control who touches me to keep me safe. It's... different."

"Aye," he said quietly. "It is different. And it always will be, as long as ye're mine."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and some of her earlier boldness returned. "Though I dinnae expect ye to be jealous of an old man who's like a father to me."

"Jealous?" Lachlan's eyebrow arched, though there was a glint of something dangerous in his blue eyes. "I'm nae jealous, lass. I simply daenae share what belongs to me."

"Even with men who helped raise me?"

"Especially with them," he said, his voice dropping to that low, possessive rumble that made her stomach flutter. "They should ken better than anyone that ye belong to someone else now."

She tilted her head, studying his face with growing curiosity rather than fear. "Ye really are serious about this."

"Dead serious."

She nodded slowly and took another step closer.

"So what do we do now?" she asked, her voice no longer trembling. "Ye said ye make the rules for these evenings."

"Well," Lachlan said, rising from his chair and moving to a small table near the window, "since we're to spend the evenin' together, we might as well make it interestin'."

He retrieved a deck of well-worn cards, the edges softened by countless games.

The firelight cast dancing shadows across the comfortable chairs positioned near the hearth, and wine cups sat waiting on the small table between them.

The room felt intimate, cozy even, with tapestries warming the stone walls and thick rugs covering the cold floor.

"Care for a game of cards, wife? Rumor has it I am the best in all of the highlands."

"Cards?" she asked, moving closer as he settled back into his chair.

"Aye, but with a twist." His eyes held a wicked glint as he shuffled the deck with practiced ease. "The loser grants the winner one wish."

Erica's breath caught at the implication, her pulse quickening. "What kind of wish?"

"Anythin' the winner desires," he said, dealing two hands with fluid motions. "Within reason, of course."

Erica raised a brow. "So, if I win I ask ye for half yer lands?"

"Ye are a very ambitious lady, but nay. That is nae within reason."

She hesitated for a moment, then reached up and began removing her mother's jewelry. The silver pins came out of her hair first, allowing the dark waves to fall freely around her shoulders.

Next came the ornate necklace at her throat, then the delicate bracelets at her wrists. Each piece was set carefully on the table, and with each removal, she seemed to relax a fraction more. The formal bride was disappearing, replaced by the woman beneath.

Lachlan followed suit, removing his ceremonial belt with its heavy silver buckle and the ornate brooch that held his plaid in place. He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, revealing strong forearms marked with old scars. The room felt warmer, more intimate, with the formality stripped away.

"Are ye willin' to take that risk?" he asked, gesturing to the cards spread between them.

She studied his face for a long moment, noting the challenge in his blue eyes, the slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. There was danger here, but it was the kind of danger that made her heart race rather than her hands shake.

"Aye," she said, picking up her cards. "I am."

The anticipation hung between them like a living thing.

What would he ask for if he won? What would she dare request if victory were hers?

The possibilities sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the man sitting across from her, watching her with those intense blue eyes.

"Then let the games begin," Lachlan said softly. The intimacy they were sharing carried a promise that made her stomach flutter with excitement.