Page 3 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
But it was the people who truly caught her attention. Farmers worked their fields with unhurried efficiency, their movements speaking of satisfaction rather than drudgery. Children played near cottage doorways while their mothers hung washing on lines, their laughter carrying on the breeze. An old man sat outside his home, whittling while a dog dozed at his feet.
These were not the downtrodden, fearful people she'd expected to find under the rule of a man capable of killing his own father. Certainly not the way her clan people had lived during Leo's lairdship. These people looked... content. Prosperous. Safe.
"The lands are bonnie," Ada said softly, pulling her horse alongside Erica's. "Well-tended."
"Aye," Ewan agreed, though his weathered face remained cautious.
James nodded. "Prosperous lands usually mean a good laird. But we'll see."
Erica nodded, though something in her chest loosened at the sight. Perhaps James had been right. Perhaps Lachlan Galloway wasn't the monster she'd imagined.
She touched the carefully arranged coils of her hair, secured with her mother's silver pins. She'd taken particular care with her appearance—not out of vanity, but out of strategy.
She'd scrubbed her skin until it glowed, applied the faintest hint of rose oil to her pulse points, and chosen her finest traveling dress, the deep blue wool that brought out her eyes.
A formidable lady commanded respect in every aspect, and she intended to show Lachlan Galloway that she was his equal in all things. Beauty was just another weapon in her arsenal, and she meant to use every advantage she possessed to secure this marriage.
"Ready, me lady?" Ewan asked, using her formal title as a reminder of who she was.
"Aye," she said, straightening her shoulders. "Let's see what manner of man rules these bonnie lands."
As they rode down into the valley, Erica found herself hoping—against all reason and past experience—that Laird Kinnaird might be as pleasant as his prosperous domain suggested.
CHAPTER TWO
"Easy, Goliath," Frederick said, stroking the horse's neck. "The beast can sense yer mood, ye ken."
Lachlan's jaw tightened as he adjusted his horse's bridle with more force than necessary. The leather creaked under his grip, and his stallion snorted in protest.
"Me mood is fine."
"Aye, and I'm the King of Scotland." Frederick's weathered face creased into a knowing grin. "What's got ye so twisted up? The visit to Clan Morrison should be simple enough."
Lachlan's fingers worked the buckle with sharp, precise movements. "Another woman came to the castle this mornin’."
"Ah." Frederick nodded with understanding. "Let me guess—another bonnie lass with marriage on her mind?"
"They're like vultures circlin' a dyin' beast." Lachlan's voice carried a bitter edge. "Ever since the council started their blasted rumors about me needin' an heir, I cannae step outside without some simperin' female battin’ her eyelashes at me."
"The council's nae wrong though," Frederick pointed out. "Ye do need an heir. And Duncan's been struttin' around like he already owns the place."
At the mention of his cousin, Lachlan's shoulders tensed even more. Duncan had been insufferable lately, inserting himself into conversations where he wasn't wanted, making suggestions about clan business that weren't his to make.
"Duncan can strut all he wants. I'll choose me own wife in me own time."
"Will ye though?" Frederick's tone turned serious. "Because last I checked, ye'd found fault with every woman who's come callin'. Too young, too old, too eager, too timid..."
"Too eager for what's in me coffer instead of what's between me ears," Lachlan finished grimly. "I'll nae marry a woman who sees me as nothin' more than a title and a way to advance her family's position."
"So what exactly are ye lookin' for?"
Lachlan paused, his hands stilling on the tack.
What am I lookin’ for? Someone who willnae flinch at me scar. Someone who can match me wit. Someone beautiful but independent.
"Laird Kinnaird?" A young stable boy appeared at the entrance, slightly out of breath. "Beggin’ yer pardon, but there's a woman here to see ye."
Frederick shot Lachlan an amused look. "Speak of the devil."
