Page 9 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin

"How can ye be so sure?"

"Because I've been watchin' him all day. The way he looks at ye. Both of ye might be strangers, but there's no cruelty there. I watched the way he speaks to his people. He's nothin’ like yer brother, lass. Nothin’ at all."

Before Erica could respond, a large hand fell on Ewan's shoulder.

"Ye've danced long enough. I'll be takin' me bride back now," Lachlan said, his voice carrying an edge that made Erica's pulse quicken.

Ewan stepped back with a bow. "Of course, me laird. She's all yers."

But Lachlan's eyes were fixed on Erica, and there was something dark in his expression that made her stomach flutter with nerves.

"Who was that? Ye arrived with him yesterday, but nay formal introductions have been made," he asked as he drew her into his arms, taking over the dance with fluid grace.

"That was Ewan," Erica said, confused by the sudden change in his demeanor. "Me guard. He's been with me family since I was born. One of the people who raised me after... after me parents died."

She watched his shoulders relax and saw the tension drain from his face. "Yer guard."

"Aye. Why? What did ye think—" Understanding dawned, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks. "Ye thought he was... that we were..."

"The thought crossed me mind," Lachlan admitted, spinning her around with perhaps more force than necessary. "Ye seemed very comfortable with him."

"He's like a father to me," Erica said, torn between indignation and something that might have been pleasure at his jealousy. "He saved me life when I was a child."

"Good," Lachlan said, his voice low and rough. "Because I daenae share."

The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. Before she could respond, he'd swept her up into his arms, making her gasp in surprise.

The sudden movement, the feel of being lifted and held, triggered something deep in her memory. For a split second, she was ten years old again, and Leo was dragging her from the cabinet, his hands cruel and punishing.

She flinched, her body going rigid in Lachlan's arms.

"Time for our first night together, wife," he said, apparently not noticing her reaction as he strode from the hall.

But Erica noticed. She noticed how her heart was racing, how her hands were trembling, how the familiar fear was creeping back in despite the wine and the music and the temporary illusion of safety.

This was real now. The marriage, the expectations, the reality of being bound to a man she barely knew.

As Lachlan carried her up the stairs toward their chambers, Erica closed her eyes and prayed that Ewan was right about her new husband's character.

Because if he was wrong, she might not survive the night.

"Easy, lass," Lachlan said quietly as he set Erica down just inside their chambers. "Are ye okay?"

She was trembling. Not the delicate flutter of a nervous bride, but the bone-deep shaking of someone who'd seen too much darkness. Her eyes darted around the room—to the windows, to the door they'd just entered, to the smaller door that led to the garderobe.

Was she mapping possible escape routes?

Lachlan had seen that look before, in the eyes of soldiers who'd survived their first real battle. But this was different. This was the look of prey.

What in God's name happened to this woman?

She backed away from him, putting distance between them until her shoulders hit the stone wall. The way she positioned herself—near the door, watching his every movement—made something cold settle in his stomach.

"I told ye, lass, I willnae harm ye." He forced a calm in his voice, cautious not to startle her.

"And I told ye, I daenae want to be intimate yet," she whispered, her face pale as winter snow. "The whole reason for choosin' ye was because ye seemed to have nay interest in intimate things."

The way she said it so carefully and fearfully confirmed to him everything he needed to know. This wasn't maidenly shyness. This was terror. Someone had hurt her, and badly.