Page 10 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
He studied her for a long moment, taking in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the white-knuckled grip of her hands against her skirts. His jaw tightened. Whatever bastard had done this to her and turned this brave lass into a frightened creature, Lachlan would cheerfully strangle him with his bare hands.
Moving slowly, deliberately, he walked to the chair by the fireplace and began unbuckling his sword belt. Every motion was careful, non-threatening. He wasn't a man given to gentleness, but something about her vulnerability called to whatever decent part of him remained.
"I daenae expect us to do anythin' else but sleep," he said simply, his voice deliberately calm and matter-of-fact.
He set his sword aside with deliberate care, the metal settling against the stone with a soft clink. Then he shrugged out of his formal jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair. Simple, domestic actions that seemed to calm her fractionally.
The change in her was immediate and profound. Her shoulders dropped as if a great weight had been lifted from them. Color slowly returned to her cheeks, and the wild, trapped look in hereyes began to fade. She drew in a shaky breath, then another, as if she was remembering how to breathe properly.
"Ye... ye mean that?" she asked, her voice still barely above a whisper.
"Aye." He settled into the chair, making himself appear as non-threatening as possible. "I'm nae in the habit of forcin' meself on unwillin' women, wife or otherwise."
For the first time since they'd entered the room, she looked directly at him instead of around him. The relief in her voice was unmistakable when she spoke.
"Thank ye," she said quietly. "I... I wasnt sure what to expect."
She took a tentative step away from the wall, though she still maintained careful distance between them. The color was fully back in her cheeks now, and some of the rigid tension had left her posture.
"Why did ye drag me out of the ceilidh then?" she asked, curiosity replacing some of the fear in her voice.
Lachlan leaned back in his chair, studying her face. "I daenae like to dance—and I daenae like other men touchin' what's mine."
Heat flooded her cheeks at his words, and she stammered, "I... he... Ewan is like me own father! I told ye! He was just checkin'in on me, makin' sure I was... that I was all right with... with all this."
Her hands gestured between them as if to encompass the marriage, the night, everything that had happened.
"It doesnae matter," Lachlan said firmly, his voice taking on an edge that brooked no argument. "Father, cousin, brother—it doesnaae matter who they are. Nay one touches what's mine. They should keep their hands away."
She stared at him for a long moment, and then something unexpected happened. A small laugh escaped her lips, soft and surprised, as if it had slipped out without permission.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, pressing her hand to her mouth. "I dinnae mean to... it's just..."
Despite being afraid of letting him touch her, she realized with startling clarity that she felt safe in his presence. And the fact that he wouldn't allow anyone else to touch her wasn't controlling—instead, it gave her relief. It meant he would not let anyone harm her.
Ye're nothin' like Leo, are ye?
When her brother had controlled, it had been about power, about keeping his victims weak and isolated. But this... this felt different. This felt like a shield rather than a cage.
"Ye find me possessiveness amusin'?" he asked, keeping his tone flat to maintain his authority, though he was more curious than offended.
"Nae amusin'," she said softly, finally taking another step into the room. "Just... unexpected. In a good way."
The wariness was still there, but it was tempered now with something else. Something that might have been the beginning of trust.
"Unexpected how?" he pressed, genuinely intrigued by her response.
She was quiet for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "I've kent men who wanted to control me before. But they wanted to control me to hurt me. Ye want to control who touches me to keep me safe. It's... different."
"Aye," he said quietly. "It is different. And it always will be, as long as ye're mine."
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and some of her earlier boldness returned. "Though I dinnae expect ye to be jealous of an old man who's like a father to me."
"Jealous?" Lachlan's eyebrow arched, though there was a glint of something dangerous in his blue eyes. "I'm nae jealous, lass. I simply daenae share what belongs to me."
"Even with men who helped raise me?"
"Especially with them," he said, his voice dropping to that low, possessive rumble that made her stomach flutter. "They should ken better than anyone that ye belong to someone else now."
