Page 36 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
"I'm nae mopin'."
"Ye've been stalkin' around here like a wounded bear for days. The servants are startin' to whisper."
"Let them whisper." Lachlan stood abruptly, pacing to the window that overlooked the courtyard. "I thought after the kiss... I thought she was ready to be a proper wife."
"And when she wasnae, ye decided to punish her by disappearin'?"
"I'm nae punishin' anyone. I'm givin' her space, like she clearly wants."
Frederick snorted. "Space? Ye're practically livin' in the stables. When was the last time ye even spoke to the lass?"
Lachlan didn't answer because they both knew it had been days. He'd been leaving their chambers before dawn and returning long after she'd retired, taking his meals in his study or the barracks. Anything to avoid seeing that look of panic in her eyes when he came too close.
"This is rich," Frederick continued, clearly enjoying himself. "Remember Lady Margaret? Followed ye around for months until ye finally told her outright ye had nay interest?"
"That's nae the same thin'."
"Or what about that redhead from Clan MacGregor? What was her name... Fiona? She practically threw herself at ye durin' the harvest festival, and ye couldnae get away fast enough."
"Frederick—"
"Now here ye are, chasin’ after a lass who's runnin’ from ye just as hard. How does it feel to be on the other side of it?"
Lachlan spun around, his eyes flashing with anger. "She's me wife. It's nae the same thin' at all."
"Isnae it? Seems to me ye're both doin' the same thin'—runnin' from somethin' that scares ye."
"I'm nae scared of anythin'."
"Nay? Then why are ye hidin' in here instead of talkin' to her?"
Lachlan's expression darkened further. "The council's been breathin' down me neck about an heir. Again."
"What did they say this time?"
"Same thing they always say. That I need to secure the line, that the clan needs stability." Lachlan ran a hand through his hair. "But there's somethin' more urgent in their tone lately."
Frederick's amusement faded. "More urgent how?"
"They keep mentionin' Duncan. How he's been... helpful durin’ clan meetings. How he's shown such interest in clan affairs."
"Helpful." Frederick's voice was flat with disgust. "Is that what they're callin' it?"
"Ye've noticed it too?"
"Hard nae to. The way he hovers around whenever there's a decision to be made, insertin' himself into conversations where he doesnae belong." Frederick leaned forward. "And the way he talks to the servants when he thinks nay one's watchin'."
"What do ye mean?"
"Dismissive. Cruel, even. Caught him beratin' one of the kitchen lasses last week for spillin' water. Made her near to tears over nothin'."
Lachlan's jaw clenched. "And ye dinnae see it fit to tell me any of this? This is nae somethin' ye keep away from yer laird."
Frederick's face immediately changed. "I beg yer pardon, laird. I assumed I could handle it. But he gets more confident everyday it's nae." Frederick's expression grew serious. "The council may nae see it, but the servants do. They're startin' to worry about what would happen if somethin' happened to ye."
"Nothin's goin' to happen to me."
"We all ken that, but it doesnae stop the whisperin'. And Duncan... he's been feedin' into it. Droppin' hints about how unprepared the clan would be without a direct heir."
