Page 9 of The Icy Highlander’s Virgin (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #4)

CHAPTER EIGHT

" C ome out sunshine, I can tell ye are watchin' me," he said finally, his voice carrying easily across the room.

He didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge the watcher. Instead, he added one final stroke of gold to the phoenix's wing, completing the transformation.

Lachlan heard her sharp intake of breath at being discovered. He'd known she was there for several minutes now—the woman had a presence that seemed to fill whatever space she occupied, nervous energy that made the air itself feel different.

Sunshine. Where the hell did that come from?

"I... I dinnae..." Erica's voice came from the doorway, stammering and uncertain. "I was just..."

"Just what?" Now he did turn, setting his brush aside and facing her fully. She stood in the entrance like a deer caught in torchlight, her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment.

"I dinnae mean to disturb ye," she said quickly, wrapping her arms around herself. "I was lookin' for... that is, I was..."

Spit it out, lass. Where is that confidence ye had when ye were beatin’ me up at cards?

"I wasnae doin' anythin' wrong," she finally managed, lifting her chin with a spark of defiance that made something warm unfurl in his chest.

Lachlan raised an eyebrow, keeping his expression deliberately neutral. "Did I say ye did somethin' wrong? Daenae put words into me mouth."

Her lips formed a small pout that was far more appealing than it had any right to be.

Christ, she's bonnie when she's ruffled. What I could do to those lips.

"Then why did ye..." She trailed off, seeming to realize she was digging herself deeper.

"Why did I what? Notice ye standin' there like a statue? Wonder what exactly ye were hopin' to see?"

"I wasnae hopin' to see anythin' in particular," she protested, though her eyes flicked toward the canvas behind him. "I was just... curious."

"Curious about what?"

"About ye," she admitted, then immediately looked like she wished she could take the words back.

About me. Me wife is curious about me. That was interesting. And dangerous.

"And what exactly did ye want to ken?" He took a step closer, noting how her breath caught at the movement. "What burnin' questions about yer new husband kept ye standin' in that doorway like a spy?"

"I'm nae a spy," she said indignantly. "And I had every right to be there. This is me home now too."

"Aye, it is." Another step closer. "But that doesnae explain why ye were watchin' me work instead of makin' yer presence known."

She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. "I dinnae want to interrupt."

"Interrupt what? Me talkin' to meself like a madman?"

"Were ye? Talkin' to yerself, I mean?"

Lachlan paused. Had he been speaking aloud? He did that sometimes when he painted, lost in memories so vivid they demanded to be voiced. The thought that she'd heard him made his jaw tighten.

"What did ye hear?" he asked quietly.

"Yer words were nae clear. Just... ye seemed to be describin' what ye were paintin'."

"And what did ye think of what ye heard?"

Erica hesitated, clearly weighing her words. "Ye sounded... angry. And sad."

Perceptive little thing.

"Maybe I was."

"About what?"

"That's nae yer concern."

"Isn't it?" She took a step into the room, her initial shyness giving way to boldness. "We're married, Lachlan. Shouldn't a wife ken what troubles her husband?"

The question hit him like a physical blow. When was the last time anyone had cared what troubled him? When had anyone asked?

"We're barely more than strangers," he pointed out, though his voice lacked its earlier edge.

"Whose fault is that?"

"Are ye sayin' it's mine?"

"I'm sayin' it doesnae have to stay that way." She moved closer still, until she was near enough that he could catch the faint scent of lavender in her hair. "Unless ye prefer keepin' people at a distance."

I prefer keepin' meself safe.

"What exactly are ye proposin'?"

"That we get to ken each other. Really ken each other, nae just the surface things."

"And ye think that's wise? Kennin' the dark things about a person?"

"I think it's honest," she said simply. "And I'd rather have honesty than pretty lies."

Lachlan studied her face, looking for some hint of deception or calculation. But all he saw was genuine curiosity and something that might have been concern.

She's either very brave or very foolish.

"What if ye daenae like what ye discover?" he asked.

"What if I do?"

The question hung between them, loaded with possibilities he wasn't sure he was ready to explore. But before he could respond, her gaze shifted to the canvas behind him.

"What are ye paintin'?" she asked softly.

And there it was—the question he'd been dreading and expecting in equal measure.

"Somethin' that's nae fit for a lady's eyes."

"Let me be the judge of that."

"Erica..."

"Please, Lachlan." The word was barely above a whisper. "I want to understand."

Understand what? The darkness that lives in me? The violence that shaped me?

But the way his name had rolled off her tongue, the way she looked at him like she could see his inward struggles, and the note of genuine caring made him step aside.

"Daenae say I didnae warn ye," he said quietly.

Erica moved closer to the canvas, and Lachlan watched her face carefully as she took in what he'd created. The phoenix rose majestically from the painted flames, but beneath it, traces of the original scene were still visible—dark shapes that suggested violence, shadows that spoke of pain.

"It's a phoenix," she said softly, her voice filled with wonder. "But there's somethin' else underneath, isn't there?"

Too perceptive by half, this one.

"Aye," he said quietly. "There is."

"What was it before? Before ye changed it?"

Lachlan hesitated. How did he explain the darkness that lived in his mind, the memories that drove him to paint scenes of his own torture?

"Me faither," he said finally.

"Yer faither?" She leaned closer, studying the shadows beneath the phoenix. "What about him?"

"The night he tried to break me for the last time." The words came out flat, emotionless. "I painted his face, and then I... destroyed it."

"And turned it into somethin' beautiful," she observed.

Beautiful.

There was that word again. How could she see beauty in something born from such ugliness?

"Ye think it's beautiful?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I think it's powerful. And aye, beautiful too. But also..." She paused, searching for words. "Painful. There's so much pain in it."

"Does that frighten ye?" The question came out more harshly than he'd intended. "Knowin' what I'm capable of? Knowin' the violence that lives in me?"

She turned to look at him then, those dark eyes serious and unwavering. "What violence?"

"I killed him," Lachlan said bluntly. "Me own father. Cut him down in front of the entire clan."

"Tell me what happened that night."

Why? So ye can confirm yer worst fears about the monster ye've married?

"Ye daenae want to hear this."

"I do. Tell me."

Something in her voice—calm, steady, unafraid—made him want to tell her. Made him want to share the burden he'd carried alone for so long.

"He was drunk," Lachlan began, the words coming slowly. "More than usual. I'd made some small mistake—looked at him wrong or spoken when I should have been silent. The details daenae matter."

"What matters is what he did to ye."

"He had his belt. Always the belt when he wanted to really hurt me." Lachlan's jaw tightened. "But this time, it wasnae enough for him. He wanted his hands on me, wanted to feel the bones break."

Erica's breath caught, but she didn't interrupt.

"He knocked me down, started kickin'. Ribs, mostly. I could hear them crackin'." The memories were as vivid as if they'd happened yesterday. "The clan was watchin'—it was me eighteenth birthday, and they'd come to celebrate. Instead, they got to watch their future laird get beaten like a dog."

"What did ye do?"

"At first? Nothin'. I was used to it, ye ken. Used to takin' whatever he dished out and waitin' for it to end." Lachlan's voice grew darker. "But then he said somethin' about me maither. About how she'd run off because she couldnae stand the sight of the weakling she'd birthed."

"And that's when ye fought back."

"That's when I lost control." The distinction was important to him. "I grabbed his own sword and put it through his heart before I even realized what I was doin'."

"That makes ye someone who survived," she said firmly. "Someone who refused to die when a cruel man tried to kill ye."

"Erica..."

"What would ye have had me do?" she continued, her voice growing passionate. "If someone had been beatin' me to death in front of everyone I'd ever kent, should I have just laid there and let him finish the job?"

"It's different when it's yer own blood," he muttered.

"Is it? Blood doesnae give someone the right to hurt ye. If anythin', it makes the betrayal worse."

She spoke with a conviction that suggested personal experience, and Lachlan found himself wondering what she'd endured in the past.

"Ye speak as if ye ken," he said carefully.

"Don't we all have our monsters?" she replied, but her tone suggested the conversation was moving into territory she wasn't ready to explore.

"So ye daenae think I'm damned?" he asked, only half-joking.

"I think ye're a man who's suffered more than most and survived when others wouldnae have.

" She reached out as if to touch his arm, then seemed to think better of it.

"I think the fact that ye can create somethin' like this—" she gestured to the phoenix "—proves there's more light in ye than darkness. "

"Even knowin' what I've done?"

"Especially knowin' what ye had to do." Her voice was soft but certain. "Anyone can be good when they've never been tested. But ye... ye were broken down and chose to build yerself back up into somethin' better than what tried to destroy ye."