Page 72 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
"Brave lad." Lachlan reached out carefully and ruffled the boy's hair with gentle fingers. "Now, let's get ye back to yer mam. She'll be worried sick."
The walk to the kitchens was quiet, Hayden's small hand clutched tightly in Erica's while Lachlan walked beside them like a protective shield. The moment they entered the warm, fragrantspace, Mairi looked up from her bread-making and went white at the sight of her son's tear-stained, bruised face.
"Hayden!" She dropped everything and rushed to them, her flour-covered hands fluttering over her son as if checking to make sure he was real. "What happened? Who did this to ye?"
"Duncan," Lachlan said simply.
Mairi's face went through a series of emotions—shock, fear, and then blazing maternal fury. "That bastard laid hands on me boy?"
"He did. He willnae be doin' it again." Lachlan's voice carried the finality of a death sentence. "Duncan has been exiled from Kinnaird lands. Permanently."
Mairi's legs seemed to give out. She sank into a nearby chair, pulling Hayden onto her lap and holding him as if she'd never let him go.
"Thank ye," she whispered, tears streaming down her round cheeks. "Thank ye both. I... if ye hadnae been there..."
"But we were," Erica said firmly, kneeling beside Mairi's chair. "And we always will be. Hayden is under our protection, now and always."
"Aye," Lachlan agreed, his hand settling protectively on Erica's shoulder. "The boy is safe. Ye have me word on that."
As they left the kitchens, Lachlan finally allowed himself to truly look at his wife. The red mark on her cheek had darkened to a bruise, and there was something fragile in her eyes that made his chest ache with regret.
He'd failed to protect her. Again.
The thought burned like acid in his gut as they walked in silence back toward the main castle, both lost in their own thoughts about what had just transpired.
The walk back from the kitchens started quietly, both of them processing what had just happened. But as they reached the corridor leading to their chambers, Lachlan noticed Erica moving closer to his side.
Without seeming to consciously will it, she leaned her head against his arm as they walked. The gesture was small, but it felt significant—a quiet surrender of some of the walls she'd kept between them.
"Ye dinnae even hesitate," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lachlan glanced down at her, noting the way she'd allowed herself to seek his support.
"Neither did ye," he replied, his own voice rough but tender.
When she looked up at him then, he could see something had shifted in her dark eyes. The wariness that had shadowed her gaze since their wedding day was still there, but beneath it was something new—a recognition, perhaps, or the beginning of real trust.
She looked at him as if she was truly seeing him for the first time, and Lachlan felt something tight in his chest loosen. This was what he'd been hoping for, working toward—not just her acceptance, but her trust. Her partnership.
"We could make a good team," he said quietly, his hand covering hers where it rested on his arm.
"Aye," she agreed, a small smile touching her lips. "We could."
The rest of the walk to their chambers felt different. Less like two people who had been fighting only minutes ago, and more like two people who were beginning to understand something good could come from their relationship.
Once inside, Lachlan moved immediately to the washbasin, his movements careful and deliberate as he wrung out a clean cloth in the cool water.
"Sit," he said gently, guiding Erica to the chair by the window where the afternoon light would let him see her injury clearly.
She obeyed without protest, her dark eyes following his every movement as he approached with the damp cloth. His touch wasinfinitely gentle as he dabbed at the swelling on her cheek, his jaw tight with barely controlled anger at the sight of the bruising.
"Thank ye for savin' me," Erica said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lachlan's hand stilled against her face. "I'll always save ye," he replied, his voice rough with emotion. "Always, Erica. Ye never have to doubt that."
As he continued his careful ministrations, Erica caught sight of his hands and gasped. His knuckles were split and bleeding, the skin torn from the violence of his attack on Duncan.
"Yer hands," she said, catching his wrist gently. "Let me tend to them."
