Page 43 of The Icy Highlander’s Virgin (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #4)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
" N ay! Daenae touch me! Get away?—"
Lachlan was already moving before Erica's terrified shouts fully registered, his warrior's instincts pulling him from sleep. Her body thrashed against the furs, caught in the grip of another nightmare.
"Erica." He caught her shoulders gently but firmly. "Love, wake up. Ye're safe."
Her eyes flew open, wild and unfocused for a moment before recognition dawned. She was breathing hard, her shift damp with sweat despite the cool night air.
"Lachlan?" Her voice was small, vulnerable in a way that made his chest tighten.
"Aye, it's me. Ye're safe." He smoothed the damp hair from her forehead. "But that's the third time this week, love. The nightmares are gettin' worse, nae better."
She sat up slowly, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm sorry I woke ye again?—"
"Daenae apologize fer somethin' ye cannae control." He rose from the bed, reaching for the woolen shawl draped over the nearby chair. With gentle hands, he wrapped it around her shoulders, his fingers brushing her neck as he secured it. "Come. I have an idea."
"Where are we goin'?"
"Somewhere the darkness cannae follow."
He led her through the quiet corridors of Kinnaird, up winding stone steps to the highest tower. The night guard nodded respectfully as they passed, well accustomed to their laird's occasional nocturnal wanderings.
At the top, Lachlan pushed open the heavy door to reveal the tower's roof. The cool Highland air rushed to meet them, carrying the scent of heather and pine. Above them stretched an endless canopy of stars, brilliant against the black sky.
"Oh," Erica breathed, her tension already beginning to ease. "It's beautiful."
Lachlan wrapped his cloak around both of them as they settled on a stone bench he'd had placed here years ago. "When I was a lad and couldnae sleep, me grandfather would bring me up here. Said the stars were God's way of remindin' us that even in the darkest night, there's always light."
She leaned against his shoulder, her breathing finally returning to normal. "Yer grandfather sounds like a wise man."
"He was. Taught me that sometimes ye have to climb above the shadows to see clearly again." His arm tightened around her. "Tell me about yer dreams, Erica. Nae just the nightmares—the good ones. What did ye dream about before all this darkness?"
For a long moment, she was quiet, watching the stars wheel overhead. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft with memory.
"I used to dream about dancin'. Ada taught me when I was small—said a lady should ken how to move with grace, whether in a ballroom or on a battlefield."
"Ada raised ye after yer mother died."
"Aye. She was... everything to me. Mother, teacher, friend." Erica's voice caught slightly. "She used to sing while we danced. Old Gaelic songs her grandmother taught her. She said music had power—that it could heal hearts and lift spirits even in the darkest times."
Lachlan could hear the love and loss mingled in her voice. "She was truly wonderful to ye."
"She was. Ada never let me feel sorry fer meself. She'd say, 'Erica, ye may be servin' now, but ye've got McLaren blood. Don't ye ever forget that.'"
Erica's voice grew soft with memory. "When I was scrubbin' floors or tendin' the fires, she'd tell me stories about me father's victories, about what it meant to be a McLaren. She made sure I never lost sight of who I really was, even when everyone else saw me as just another maid."
"That's why ye adapted so quickly to bein' lady. She kept the knowledge alive in ye."
"Aye. And when Ewan started to prepare me for me true station as lady, it was so unrealistic at first. He taught me strategy and politics. All those years of her tellin' me about who I was, she was preparin' me fer a destiny I didn't even ken was mine."
"She prepared yewell."
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the stars. Lachlan could feel some of the tension leaving her body as the peaceful night worked its magic.
Erica's expression suddenly grew melancholic.
"What is it?" Lachlan asked.
"It's foolish, but... I miss dancin'." She sighed. "I havenae danced since I became Lady McLaren. Havenae had the time, really."
"Perhaps," he said carefully, squeezing her hand. "it's time to create new memories alongside the old ones."
The moonlight streaming through the tall windows cast silver patterns across the stone floor of their chamber. Erica stirred slightly in her sleep, but her breathing remained even and peaceful—no thrashing, no cries of terror. For the first time in over a week, she slept without nightmares.
Lachlan sat in the chair beside their bed, watching her in the pale light.
The tension that had become a constant companion these past days finally began to ease from his shoulders.
Her face, relaxed in sleep, held none of the haunted shadows that had plagued her waking hours.
The moonlight caught the copper highlights in her hair spread across the pillow, and he found himself marveling at how something so beautiful had emerged from so much darkness.
An idea began to form in his mind—something that might chase away the last of those shadows entirely.
The next morning found him in deep discussion with Frederick in the armory, their voices low but urgent.
"A festival?" Frederick raised an eyebrow. "Ye want to take her to the Beltane celebration in the village?"
"Aye. She mentioned missin' dancin', and I think... I think she needs to remember what joy feels like again."
Frederick's expression shifted to one of barely contained amusement. "This from the man who's avoided every festival for the past five years because ye cannae stand the dancin' and the..." He gestured vaguely. "All of it."
"That's different."
"Is it now?" Frederick's grin widened. "And what about security? Ye ken how exposed ye'll be in a crowd like that."
"That's why I need ye to handle it. Extra men positioned throughout the village, but disguised as celebrants. I want this evenin' to be perfect fer her."
"Aye, I can do that. But Lachlan..." Frederick's expression grew serious. "Are ye certain about this? Ye've never been one fer... sentiment."
"She's been through enough since she became lady Kinnaird. She deserves to dance again."
While Frederick organized the security arrangements, Lachlan sought out the castle's seamstress with very specific instructions. "I need a gown. Something worthy of a lady, but suitable fer dancin'. Green, I think. The color of spring."
"How much time do I have, me lord?"
"I want it a day before the dance. Make the bonniest dress ye've ever made."
The woman's eyes widened, but she nodded. "It'll be done."
The preparations continued in secret. Lachlan arranged for a carriage—a light traveling coach with proper springs that would make the journey comfortable. He consulted with the village elders about the evening's festivities, ensuring everything would be as it should be.
His careful planning nearly came undone when Erica discovered him in a heated discussion with Frederick about the positioning of guards.
"...and make sure the perimeter is secure without bein' obvious about it," Lachlan was saying as she entered the study.
"Perimeter? Is there another attack?" Erica's voice made both men turn. "What kind of clan business requires a perimeter?"
Frederick shot Lachlan a look that clearly said 'you're on yer own' and quickly excused himself.
"Just routine security matters," Lachlan said, attempting to sound casual.
Erica studied his face with the keen perception that made her such an effective leader. "Ye're actin' strange, husband. Secretive. Shouldn't I be part of clan business that involves security?"
"Nae all of it, love. Some things are..." He searched for words. "Routine."
"Routine." Her tone suggested she didn't believe him for a moment, but after a long pause, she simply smiled. "Very well. Keep yer secrets. But I'll find out eventually—ye ken I will."
Three days later, as the sun began its descent toward the western hills, Lachlan presented himself at their chamber door with the finished gown draped over his arm.
"What's this?" Erica asked, looking up from the correspondence she'd been reviewing.
"A gift. For tonight."
She set aside her papers and approached, her fingers trailing over the rich green silk. The gown was simple but elegant, with flowing sleeves that would move beautifully for dancing and a bodice that would complement her figure without restricting her movement.
"It's bonnie, but what's the occasion?"
"Trust me?"
Something in his expression must have convinced her, because she nodded. "Always."
An hour later, dressed in the green gown with her hair arranged in an intricate braid adorned with small wildflowers, Erica allowed Lachlan to hand her into the waiting carriage.
The vehicle was well-sprung and comfortable, with cushioned seats and glass windows that could be lowered to let in the evening air.
"Now will ye tell me where we're goin'?" she asked as the carriage began to move.
"To remember what happiness feels like."
The village of Kinnaird was transformed for the Beltane celebration.
Colorful ribbons hung between the cottages, and garlands of spring flowers adorned every doorway.
In the center of the village, a great bonfire had been built but not yet lit—that would come later, as part of the evening's ceremonies.
As their carriage rolled to a stop, Erica gasped at the sight before them.
Tables laden with food lined the village square, and musicians tuned their instruments near a cleared area that would serve as the dancing ground.
Villagers in their finest clothes moved about in excited preparation, children darting between the adults with wreaths of flowers in their hair.
"Oh, Lachlan," she breathed. "It's wonderful."
"Wait until ye see the rest."