Page 2 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
She thought of Leo's hands dragging her from Nicholas's castle, his voice promising her torment. She thought of the way he'd spoken about going back for Alexandra, about breaking them both. Every thought of Leo still made her stomach turn.
"I've seen what powerful men do when they think they own ye," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'll nae put meself in that position again."
"Ye daenae understand, me lady." James exclaimed desperately. "Of all the lairds for ye to marry, Laird Kinnaird is the best option. Ye both are already betrothed and his lands are among the most prosperous in the entire highlands. "
" Listen to yerself, James. If I marry him, he could claim me life. Claim our lands." Erica turned back to the window, watching a young maid hurry across the courtyard with a basket of laundry. "At least this way, I die free."
"I think Laird Kinnaird is nae like other men," James said quietly. "The stories about him... they're nae what ye think."
"Then tell me what they are."
James hesitated, then leaned forward. "I am nae certain meself. People say different things about the young laird. But the few times I have seen him interact with his people, he seemed more than a heartless brute to me."
Erica gasped. " I have never heard anyone say anythin' good about him."
"Aye, because people are too quick to judge each other. But I ken he's a good person."
The image painted in her mind was nothing like the monster she'd imagined. But still...
"Men can appear kind in front of others and still be cruel," she said softly. "I've seen it before."
"Aye, they can. But Laird Kinnaird... he's spent the last thirteen years provin’ he's nothin' like his father. His people love him, his enemies respect him, and he's never raised a hand to anyone who dinnae deserve it. The bad stories… they mainly circulate from outside clans."
Erica wanted to believe him, but the fear that had lived in her chest since that terrible night in the great hall wouldn't let her. Or the memories of when Leo had proved his cruelty when he’d tried to harm her and Alexandra.
How was she expected to trust any man with power over her life?
"Even if that's true," she said finally, "would he make as good husband as he is a laird, accordin' to ye? I could go to Laird Kinnaird and proposition him. But why would he want to marry me at all?"
"Because," James said with a small smile, "he needs an heir, as every laird does. Ye'd be solvin’ his problem as much as he'd be solvin’ yers."
Erica closed her eyes, feeling the weight of impossible choices pressing down on her shoulders.
I have to choose whether to marry a stranger who might be a monster, or lose everythin’ I fought to reclaim. Neither option feels like winnin’.
But if she had to choose between certain death and possible survival...
"How far is Castle Kinnaird?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Two days' ride, me lady."
"Then we leave at dawn." She opened her eyes and fixed James with a stare that could have frozen fire. "I'm goin' to convince Laird Kinnaird to wed me. But I'm nae goin' as a supplicant. I'm goin' as Lady McLaren, and I'll make me own terms."
"Very good, me lady. And if he refuses?"
Erica's smile was sharp as a blade. "Then I'll find another way to survive. I always do."
As she strode from the chamber, her mind was already racing with possibilities. She'd survived Leo's madness, she'd survived losing everything, and she'd survived the terrifying journey back to power.
Now she had to survive marriage to a man who might be her salvation or her doom.
Either way, she'd face it on her own terms. And she'd look her best doing it.
The morning sun cast a golden glow across Castle Kinnaird's lands as Erica's small party crested the final hill. She pulled her horse to a halt, taking in the sight that spread before her.
Rolling green hills stretched to the horizon, dotted with fat cattle and woolly sheep that grazed in perfect contentment. The fields showed careful cultivation—neat rows of crops, well-maintained stone walls, and orchards heavy with fruit. A crystal-clear burn wound through the valley, its waters sparkling in the morning light.
"How very unusual."
