Page 46 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin

"Tell me about this Nicholas," Lachlan said after a moment, his tone carefully neutral. "What manner of man is he?"

"A good one. Fair. Strong enough to protect those he loves." She glanced at him sideways. "Rather like someone else I ken, actually."

"And yet ye were comfortable with him touchin' ye?"

The question carried an edge she didn't quite understand. "Nicholas never touched me. He's me friend's husband, nothin' more."

"But ye trust him."

"Aye."

"More than ye trust me."

It wasn't a question, and the quiet pain underneath it made her chest tighten.

"I barely ken ye," she said softly. "Nicholas proved himself over time. Ye've had... what? A week?"

Lachlan's laugh held no humor. "A week to undo years of damage. Nay wonder I'm failin'."

"Ye're nae failin'," she said quickly, surprising herself with the vehemence in her voice. "Ye're... ye're the first man besides Ewan whose touch doesnae make me want to flee. That has to count for somethin'."

He looked, and she saw something vulnerable flicker across his features before the mask slipped back into place.

"Does it? Because from where I stand, it feels like I'm fightin' a war with a ghost."

She'd turned in his arms, her dark eyes searching his face with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.

"Nay, ye're nae. "

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lachlan held her against him, feeling the tremor that ran through her slight frame as she spoke of her brother's betrayal. But even as he offered what comfort he could, his mind was churning with darker thoughts.

A braither who killed his own parents.

How was he any different? He'd killed his own father, spilled his blood in front of the entire clan. The circumstances might have been different, but the result was the same—a son's hands stained with his father's blood.

If Erica knew the truth, would she see him as another Leo? Another man capable of kinslaying? The thought made his jaw clench with barely controlled fury—not at her, but at the situation that bound them both to their violent pasts.

She'd hate me. She'd insist on returnin’ to McLaren lands, and I'd lose any chance of...

"Lachlan. What about ye?"

Erica's asked again, this time her voice breaking through his dark thoughts.

"What about me?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Her gaze fixed on the scar that ran from his cheek down to disappear beneath his shirt collar. "How did ye get that scar?"

Lachlan's entire body went rigid. The scar. This had been the reason women typically looked away in revulsion.

Instead, her finger reached out, tracing the raised line of damaged skin with a gentleness that nearly undid him. From his cheek, following the path it carved down his jaw, to where it vanished beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"Does the scar nae repulse ye?" he asked roughly, his voice barely controlled. "Why do ye touch it?"

"We all have our scars, Lachlan," she said softly, her finger still resting against the mark. "Some are inside our heads, some more visible."

The simple acceptance in her words, the lack of judgment, made something violent and desperate claw at his chest. He wanted to pull her closer, to capture that gentle hand and show her exactly how much her touch affected him. The urge to kiss her, to takeher right here by the lake, was so strong it took every ounce of his control to remain still.