Page 52 of The Icy Highlander’s Virgin (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #4)

CHAPTER ONE

T he scent of tobacco no longer clung to the air outside her father’s study, and that, more than anything, told Lavina all she needed to know.

The world she knew was gone. It had vanished like a whisper in the back of her mind.

She paused at the study door with her hand on the knob. Every fiber of her being trembled as she swallowed back the fear bubbling under the surface. The familiar iron handle that once felt like an old friend’s hand was now icy and bit into her palm like a curse.

Recoiling, she debated whether entering was the best option. After all, it wasn’t her father she would be greeting, but her uncle.

“Ye ken how I feel about lingerin’ in doorways. Makes me paranoid.” Micah’s voice drifted through the heavy oak that separated them.

There was no turning back now. The fact that he had known she was there irked her. But there was no fleeing now. She rolled her shoulders back and pushed the door open, steeling her nerves for the lashing to come.

The heavy oak door moaned in protest as it scraped across the stone floor. The sound was grating and unwelcome, ironically reflecting the story of her life. Always the unwelcome one and the burden.

Her neck brushed against the door frame, and she flinched—just another reminder that even the walls had turned hostile.

Once, this room had been her father’s sanctuary. A place of whispered plans, maps scrawled with journeys, and old, leather-bound books that smelled of ink and time. Now, all life had drained from it, and it was nothing more than a tomb filled with familiar things she could no longer touch.

Gone were the hunting trophies and worn tartan throws draped over the chairs.

The hearth, once roaring with warmth, now smoldered dimly.

Her father’s great desk was a carved relic of generations past. According to family legend, it survived the Battle of Bannockburn, and yet now it stood like a corpse dressed in nothing but tatters.

But what was on the desk wasn’t nearly as important as who was behind it.

Lavina forced herself to step closer, glaring daggers at the man sitting in the leather chair. The usurper .

Micah.

Her uncle’s pale hands rested too easily on the desk as if it belonged to him. He looked up with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. No warmth, no affection—just a slow, oily grin like a wolf eyeing a trapped doe.

“Lavina,” he said, leaning back in his leather chair, which groaned beneath his weight. “Ye came.”

She dipped into a shallow curtsy. “Ye summoned me, Uncle.”

Her eyes stayed downcast, not out of reverence, but to hide the fury burning behind them. She couldn’t let him see her defiance—not yet.

Micah’s lips curled with delight, as though tasting something sour but oddly sweet. “I have a task for ye, one I expect ye to complete without complaint.”

Lavina’s heart thundered, each beat a warning drum. Still, she stepped forward. “And what would ye have me do?” Her voice did not waver.

Micah’s eyes gleamed, a flicker of something predatory flashing in their depths. He leaned forward. “Laird Dandridge is looking for a wife,” he began, playing with the whiskers on his chin.

The devilish grin tickling his lips made her tremble with a fear she couldn’t explain.

Laird Dandridge had one foot in the grave; everyone knew that. But it was the fact that Micah was bringing it to her attention that felt like an icy finger trailing down her spine.

The air in the room grew chillier.

Lavina felt the blood drain from her fingertips. Her thoughts tangled like thorns.

“Ye want me to marry Laird Dandridge?” she whispered.

The words clung to her tongue like tar that refused to be scrubbed off.

“Ye?” Micah threw his head back as the room filled with his laughter.

“Heavens, nay. Ye think there is anyone out there who would want ye? Have ye seen yerself lately? I dinnae think ye’re even presentable enough for the task I’m givin’ ye.

But ye’ll do it because yer sister trusts ye, does she nae? ”

“Ye want Maisie to wed Laird Dandridge?” Lavina asked, shaking her head.

The words were far too horrid to say, yet the smile her uncle tried to tame had been unleashed.

The sinister, sick man wanted her sister to marry?

“Aye,” Micah confirmed, his tone maddeningly calm. “The Laird has waited long enough, and he’s taken a fancy to yer sister. If ye ask me, the match is a fine one.”

“For whom?” Lavina snapped. “Ye cannae be seriously thinkin’ that he could be good for her.”

“And what’s the problem? The man is wealthy.”

“The Laird already has several heirs. What does he need someone like Maisie for, other than to use her? Nay, I’ll nae allow ye to do this. Ye cannae sell her off like some cattle.”

“Ye have nay say in the matter. The deal has been struck. He’s bringin’ the cattle in the mornin’, and I promise ye,” Micah said as he rose from the leather chair, “each one is far more useful than ye.”

“She’s fifteen,” Lavina argued. “She’s still a child!”

“She’s a woman now,” Micah snapped. “She’s bled. ‘Tis time to get her out.”

“She’s nae ready,” Lavina insisted, her voice rising despite herself.

“She doesnae need to be ready,” Micah snarled. “She needs to obey.”

Lavina clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “Take me instead.”

Micah laughed—a cruel, grating sound. “Ye? Ye’re past yer prime, Lavina. Ye’re four-and-twenty. Nay nobleman in three shires would waste his coin on an old maid who spends her days scribblin’ on parchment and arguin’ like a man.”

His words were barbed, cutting deep.

“But Maisie—” she tried.

“Has already been promised,” Micah cut in as he rounded the desk. His tall frame loomed like a gallows tree. “And if ye want to keep seein’ her, ye’ll train her. Teach her how to kneel, how to smile, how to weep prettily. Is that clear?”

His breath stank of whiskey and rot. Lavina fought the urge to recoil.

“If I refuse?” she asked, her voice steely despite the tremors in her limbs.

Micah stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“Then ye’ll never see her again. I’ll lock ye away until the wedding.

Yer sister is leavin’ come morning. I will gain more land than the King of England from her wedding, and I willnae let anyone get in the way of that.

Especially nae a silly little girl like ye.

So, ye have a choice, and I do wish ye would choose wisely. ”

The threat settled like ash in her lungs.

She bowed her head. “Ye want her ready by mornin’?”

“Aye. Laird Dandridge plans to stop by first thing to have a second look at his prize,” Micah said, waving her off as if she were a maid. “He’ll collect her then—and I’m tellin’ ye now, ye better have her ready.”

Lavina turned stiffly, her footsteps muffled against the cold stone as she made a desperate beeline for the exit. Rage simmered in her chest, but she swallowed it down.

She couldn’t fight him. He was too strong with too many connections. Sorrow settled in the depths of her being as it stewed with strife and worry. There had to be something she could do, some way to protect her sister.

Her eyes shifted to the window behind Micah to take in the wilderness stretching far beyond any lands her uncle could reach. There was only one option. It was dangerous and risky, but it was the only hope they had.

“Did ye hear me?” Micah asked as he snapped his fingers, pulling her out of the mire of her thoughts.

“So soon?”

“All the more reason to get to it, wouldnae ye say?”

Silvery moonlight streamed through the window as Lavina tiptoed into the chamber she shared with her sister. A fire flickered low in the hearth, casting long shadows on the walls.

Maisie was curled up under the thick woolen blankets, her dark hair a tangle of sleep.

“Maisie,” Lavina whispered.

Her sister stirred, blinking up at her. “Lavina?”

“Get up. Now.”

Maisie sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Is it mornin’ already?”

“Nay,” Lavina hissed, wrapping a cloak around her sister’s thin shoulders.

“Let me sleep,” Maisie whimpered as she turned back to her pillow. “It’s too early to get up.”

“Maisie, we’re leavin’. I’ve found someone who has agreed to give us a horse and food.”

Maisie froze. “What’s happened?”

“There’s nay time to explain,” Lavina said, stuffing clothes into a satchel. “We’ll talk once we’re far away from here.”

She shoved boots onto Maisie’s feet and pulled her toward the door.

“Lavina—wait! Where will we go?”

“Anywhere that isnae here,” Lavina said fiercely. “We’ll find shelter beyond the borders. I’ve studied Faither’s maps. I ken the land.”

Maisie hesitated. “What about Uncle? Ye ken as well as I do that he’ll nae let us leave easily.”

“I dinnae care what that man thinks. He’s vile and evil.”

“But he’s family,” Maisie said as Lavina grabbed the small purse of coins she had stashed in the side drawer. It wasn’t enough to get them but a meal or two, but at least it was something.

She pulled an extra pair of stockings out of the dress in a frantic rush to fill the bag with all she could to get them through their journey. Lavina still wasn’t certain where exactly she was going to lead them. All she could do was pray for a supernatural hand to guide their way.

“Maisie, please, ye need to get movin’. Ye cannae be leavin’ in just yer nightgown. At least put on somethin’ a bit warmer.”

“Ye cannae be serious. It’s the middle of the night. Where exactly are we goin’, anyway?”

“Anywhere is better than here, trust me. Our uncle… he’s lost his mind,” Lavina snapped. “He wants to marry ye off, as if ye are some cattle. I willnae see ye married to such a man. I’ll nae let that happen. Our parents would never have allowed such a union. And neither will I.”

Fear and trust warred in Maisie’s wide eyes, but in the end, she nodded.

Together, they crept down the servants’ stairwell, avoiding the guards’ torches. The castle walls loomed around them like a tomb, but Lavina felt alive for the first time in years.

They slipped through the side gate and into the stables. Lavina saddled the fastest stallion—her father’s old black steed, Rowan, still lean and fierce despite the years.

Maisie clambered up first, clinging tightly to her sister as Lavina mounted behind.

The night air was frigid, the wind sharp as knives. Lavina took one last look at the stone towers silhouetted against the moon, then dug her heels into Rowan’s flanks.

The horse shot forward, its hooves pounding against the earth as it galloped into the darkness. Behind them, the castle loomed like a shadow waiting to consume them.

“I willnae let him have ye,” Lavina whispered, her arms tight around Maisie’s trembling frame. “I’ll burn the whole bloody Highlands before I let him take you.”