Page 6 of The Icy Highlander’s Virgin (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #4)

CHAPTER SIX

I n bed, Erica found herself equally restless. Her skin felt sensitized, hyperaware of every sensation. The silk of her night rail, the cool air, the lingering scent of his skin in the sheets. His words echoed in her mind: "Before long, ye'll be beggin' on yer knees for me, love."

The thought should have appalled her. Instead, it sent a thrill through her that she didn't dare examine too closely.

What's wrong with me? I've been terrified of a man's touch me entire life. I should be plannin' how to get all the advantages I can from this marriage to make me me clan stronger.

She turned onto her side and pulled the covers up to her chin. But she wasn't. She was wondering how he gave her the bed without question.

He could have insisted they share the bed, or even on his husbandly rights.

Any other man might have. But he hadn't.

He'd given her the bed without question, without making her feel guilty or weak for needing the distance.

The gesture spoke of a kindness she hadn't expected, a consideration that made her chest tight with unfamiliar emotion.

She glanced towards the fireplace where he lay just a few feet away.

She shifted again, trying to find a comfortable position, but her body seemed determined to betray her.

Every movement made her acutely aware of the silk against her skin, the way it whispered across her legs and arms. And worse, her mind kept drifting to moments from their card game—the strength in his hands as he shuffled the cards, the way his shirt had pulled across his broad chest when he'd leaned forward.

Stop it.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Ye're bein' foolish.

But the images wouldn't leave her alone.

The memory of his forearms when he'd rolled up his sleeves, marked with old scars that told stories of battles fought and survived.

The way his muscles had shifted beneath his shirt when he'd reached for his wine cup.

She'd noticed, God help her, she'd noticed everything.

It's just proximity, ye fool. And any act of kindness from a man would seem appealin' after Leo. It means nothin'.

But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't entirely true.

She'd been around other men since Leo's death—Nicholas, for one, who was undeniably handsome and heroic.

But she'd never felt this strange flutter in her stomach when he’d looked at her, never found herself studying the line of his jaw or wondering what his hands would feel like on her skin.

Nay.

She rolled over abruptly, burying her face in the pillow.

I daenae want any man touchin' me. I never have and I never will.

Erica jolted awake with a sharp intake of breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was—the room was too large, too unfamiliar, the bed too soft beneath her body.

Then reality rushed back like a cold wave.

Castle Kinnaird. Marriage. Lachlan Galloway is yer husband now, and this is yer new life.

She turned her head toward the fireplace, expecting to see his dark form still sleeping on the makeshift bed he'd arranged. Instead, she found nothing but rumpled blankets and cold ashes in the grate. He was gone.

A confusing mixture of relief and disappointment settled in her chest. Relief, because she could gather her thoughts without those intense blue eyes watching her every movement.

But disappointment too, because... because what?

Because she'd wanted to see him first thing upon waking? The thought made her cheeks burn.

I've clearly been more lonely than I thought. I barely ken the man.

She sat up, pushing her hair back from her face. Her gaze wandered to his sword, still resting against the chair where he'd placed it last night.

The weapon was beautiful—well-crafted steel with an ornate hilt that spoke of both wealth and practical use. She reached out tentatively, then pulled her hand back. It felt too intimate, touching his personal belongings.

"Erica? Are ye awake, lass?"

Ada's familiar voice from the other side of the door made her scramble back to the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin just as the door opened.

"Come in," she called, grateful for the interruption to her confusing thoughts.

Ada entered with a concerned expression, followed by two young maids carrying steaming pitchers of water and armfuls of fine fabric. The older woman's eyes immediately went to the empty space by the fireplace, taking in the evidence of separate sleeping arrangements.

"How are ye feelin' this mornin'?" Ada asked gently, settling on the edge of the bed. "Ye look... well-rested."

"I'm fine," Erica said quickly, though she wasn't entirely sure that was true. "The laird was... considerate."

Ada's knowing look suggested she understood exactly what that meant. "And how do ye feel about that? His consideration?"

The question caught Erica off guard. How did she feel? Grateful, certainly. But also strangely disappointed that he hadn't tried harder to... what? To force himself on her? The thought was ridiculous.

"I'm grateful," she said carefully. "He kept his word about just sleepin'."

"Mmm." Ada studied her face with the shrewd eyes of someone who'd known her since childhood. "Ye seem different though."

"Different how?" Erica asked, genuinely curious about Ada's observation.

"Ye're nae as tense as ye were yesterday. Yer shoulders arenae up around yer ears, and ye've nae looked at the door once since I came in."

Now that Ada mentioned it, Erica realized it was true. She did feel more relaxed, less like a trapped animal ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

"Perhaps it's just relief that the ceremony is over, and we can go on with clan duties," she said, though even as she spoke, she knew it was more than that.

One of the maids stepped forward with a respectful curtsy. "Beggin' yer pardon, m'lady, but the laird left instructions for yer comfort. Fresh water for washin', and he ordered these gowns made up special."

Erica's eyes widened as the maids displayed the clothing they'd brought. These weren't the simple dresses like most of the ones she'd packed—these were elegant gowns worthy of a lady, made from fine wool and silk in colors that would complement her complexion perfectly.

"He ordered these? When?"

"Yesterday mornin', m'lady, before the weddin’. Sent our fastest seamstress and her assistants to work through the night."

The thoughtfulness of the gesture left her speechless. He'd planned for her comfort before he'd even wed her, before he'd known whether she'd be pleasant or difficult. It spoke to a consideration she hadn't expected from any man, let alone one with his fearsome reputation.

"That was... thoughtful of him," she managed.

Ada's smile was knowing. "Aye, it was. Perhaps this arrangement will work out better than ye feared."

As the maids began preparing her bath, Erica found herself wondering if Ada might be right. Last night had shown her a side of Lachlan Galloway she hadn't expected—intelligent, witty, protective, and without being controlling. And now this gesture of care before they'd even met.

Was it possible that this could become something real after all?

"I need to meet with Ewan and James," Erica told the elderly man who'd appeared to help arrange her morning. "Somewhere private where we can speak freely."

The man—introduced as Malcolm, the castle's head steward—bowed respectfully. "Of course, m'lady. The small library off the solar would serve yer needs well. 'Tis quiet and away from the main corridors."

Within minutes, Erica found herself seated at a polished oak table in a cozy chamber lined with leather-bound volumes. The smell of parchment and old leather filled the air. It was the kind of room her father would have loved—practical yet refined.

Ewan entered first, his weathered face creased with concern. "Ye sent for us, me lady?"

"Aye." Erica gestured to the chairs across from her. "We need to discuss strategy."

James arrived moments later, slightly out of breath and carrying a leather satchel stuffed with documents. "Forgive me, Lady McLaren. I was reviewin' the contracts with Kinnaird's steward."

"Good. That's exactly what we need to talk about.

" Erica leaned forward, her hands clasped on the table.

"Things are goin' better than we expected.

I thought I'd be wed in a week; instead here we are merely two days later.

This marriage has given us an opportunity we've never had before—a direct alliance with one of the most powerful clans in the Highlands.

I want to ken how we can use it to strengthen our position. "

James spread several parchments across the table. "The marriage contract is quite generous, actually. Trade agreements, shared defense pacts, access to Kinnaird ports for our goods. But there's more we could negotiate."

"Such as?"

"Joint ventures," he said, pointing to a section of the contract. "Kinnaird has access to markets we've never been able to reach. Their wool trade alone could triple our income if we can arrange shared contracts."

Ewan nodded slowly. "Yer father always said the key to a strong clan was strong allies. The Galloways have never been defeated in battle, and their lands are some of the most prosperous in Scotland."

"What can we offer them in return?" Erica asked. "An alliance only works if both sides benefit."

"Our wool is of excellent quality," James said, warming to the topic. "And our location gives us access to trade routes they daenae have. We could offer exclusive trading partnerships."

Ewan nodded. "Our men are skilled fighters. Joint trainin’ exercises could benefit both clans' defenses."