Page 44 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
"I've got somethin'!" she gasped, excitement replacing the heat that had been building between them.
"Aye, ye do," Lachlan said, his hands tightening over hers. "Keep the tension steady. Daenae let it break the line."
The rod bucked again, and Erica laughed despite herself—a sound of pure delight that made something shift in Lachlan's expression. She was fighting whatever was on the end of her line with determination, her cheeks flushed with exertion and excitement.
"It's strong," she panted, trying to reel it in. "What do ye think it is?"
"Could be a good-sized trout," he said, though his tone was measured, controlled. Even in this moment of shared excitement, he maintained that careful reserve. "Keep pullin'."
She did, step by step, until finally something dark broke the surface of the water. But instead of the silvery flash of fish scales,what emerged was a tangle of green lake weed, heavy with water and wrapped around her hook like a sodden banner.
"Oh," she said, her face falling with disappointment. "It's just... weeds."
"Aye," Lachlan said dryly. "Ye've caught yerself the most elusive prey in all of Scotland—pond scum."
The deadpan delivery made her burst into unexpected laughter, and in her mirth, she turned toward him without thinking. Her foot slipped on the muddy bank, and she felt herself falling backward toward the water.
Strong arms caught her before she could hit the lake, pulling her against a solid chest. She found herself cradled against Lachlan, his arms wrapped securely around her, his face mere inches from hers.
Time seemed suspended. She could see flecks of silver in his blue eyes, and she noticed how thick his lashes were. There was a small scar near his left temple that she'd never noticed before, and she had the strangest urge to trace it with her fingertip.
His jaw was hard, shadowed with the hint of a beard, and she wondered what it would feel like against her skin. Would it be rough? Would it scrape deliciously if he kissed her neck?
Encased in his arms like this, she felt something she hadn't experienced since childhood—complete safety. Not the carefulpoliteness he'd shown her before, or the distant consideration, but the absolute certainty that nothing could harm her while he held her.
"Steady," he said quietly, setting her back on her feet but not releasing her immediately.
After a few minutes, he finally stepped back and retrieved his own fishing rod, casting his line into the deeper water with practiced ease. They stood in companionable silence, the tension from their earlier proximity settling into something calmer but no less aware.
"Why do ye flinch when I touch ye?"
The question came out of nowhere, cutting through the peaceful quiet like a blade. Erica startled, nearly dropping her rod again.
She hadn't expected that question. Not here, not now, when flinching was the last thing she wanted to do.
For a long moment, she said nothing. Just stood there watching the gentle ripples on the lake's surface, as if the answer might be written in the water.
"It's nae... it's nae because of ye. I daenae think ye'll hurt me," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Nae exactly."
Lachlan remained silent, waiting. The patience in his stillness encouraged her to continue.
"Me braither..." She swallowed hard. "He had a way of makin' ye feel safe one moment, then..." She shook her head. "I learned that a man's hands could comfort or destroy, sometimes within the same breath."
"What did he do to ye?"
The question was asked quietly, but she heard the steel underneath it. When she glanced at him, his jaw was set in a hard line, his eyes fixed on the water with the kind of focus that suggested barely leashed violence.
"When we were children, he could be... kind. Sweet, even. He'd read to me when our parents were busy, help me with lessons." Her voice grew quieter. "But only when others could see. When we were alone, he'd pull me hair if I answered a question wrong or pinch me hard enough to leave marks where nay one would notice."
She cast her line again, the motion giving her something to do with her hands. "I loved him despite it all. Wanted his approval so desperately. I thought if I could just be good enough, smart enough, perfect enough, he'd stop hurtin' me and love me the way a brother should."
"But he dinnae."
"Nay. If anythin', me attempts to please him seemed to make it worse. As if me fear was what he truly wanted." She paused, remembering. "Even as a lad, he'd talk about ruling the clansoon. Said our parents were too kind to the people. That they needed someone with a whip hand to control them properly."
Lachlan's knuckles were white where he gripped his own rod. "And when ye grew older?"
"When I was ten, he killed our parents. Right in front of me and then cut me with a knife and left me for dead. Would have succeeded if nae for Ewan and Ada." She cast her line again, the motion giving her something to do with her hands. "Ewan saved me life that night. Ada raised me after. And Nicholas... he's the one who finally ended it."
