Page 74 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
The first thing Lachlan noticed as they crested the hill overlooking McLaren lands was how different the countryside looked from his own prosperous territory. Where Kinnaird boasted fat cattle and well-tended fields, McLaren showed the scars of years under poor leadership—patchy crops, scattered livestock, cottages that needed repair.
But as their party descended toward the valley, something else caught his attention. Movement from every farm and cottage, people dropping their work and hurrying toward the road.
"M'lady!" an elderly woman called out, her weathered face breaking into a smile of pure joy as she recognized Erica. "M'lady, ye've come home!"
The cry was taken up by others, and soon they were surrounded by McLaren clans people, all pressing forward with eager faces. Lachlan watched in fascination as his composed wifetransformed before his eyes—her formal bearing melting into genuine warmth as she greeted her people.
"Agnes!" Erica called out, pulling her horse to a stop as the elderly woman reached them. "How's yer grandson's arm healin'?"
"Oh, bonnie as ye please, m'lady, thanks to the salve ye sent." Agnes beamed up at her, tears glistening in her eyes. "We've missed ye so."
More people crowded around, some actually reaching out to touch Erica's horse, her stirrups, anything they could reach. The devotion on their faces was unmistakable—this wasn't the fearful respect he'd seen shown to other lairds, but something deeper. Love, perhaps. Or hope.
"Malcolm," Erica said, leaning down toward a middle-aged farmer. "Tell me about the barley harvest. Are ye pleased with the yield?"
"Aye, m'lady, better than we dared hope after the wet spring."
"And young Sarah? Did she have the baby?"
"A bonnie wee lassie, m'lady. Sarah wants to name her Erica, if ye'll allow it."
Lachlan saw his wife's eyes mist with tears. "I'd be honored."
They moved slowly through the crowd, Erica stopping to speak with person after person, asking about children by name, inquiring after harvests and health, and a dozen small details that painted a picture of a leader who truly knew her people.
"How does she remember them all?" he murmured to Frederick, who rode beside him with obvious amazement.
"Damned if I ken," Frederick replied. "But look at their faces when she speaks to them. They'd die for her."
It was true. Every person Erica acknowledged seemed to stand a little straighter and smile a little brighter. These people had found hope again, and it was clear where that hope was centered.
As they finally approached the castle gates, Erica seemed to sense his thoughts.
"It's nae a prosperous land," she said quietly, as if reading his mind. "But it's a recoverin' one."
Lachlan looked around with new eyes, noting not just the signs of past neglect but the evidence of recent care—newly repaired fences, cleared fields, the general sense that things were improving.
"The people are only just gainin' their faith back," Erica continued, her voice growing troubled. "And then these raids begin. It's as if someone wants to remind them that they're still vulnerable."
"Or someone wants to test yer defenses," Lachlan said grimly. "See how quickly help arrives, how well organized yer response is."
"Aye. Some lairds think a female leader is a weakness to be exploited. A woman to be conquered, bedded, and made fat with little bairns until she's too busy to rule properly."
"Erica," Lachlan said, his voice carrying a warning note.
She glanced at him and smiled, a mischievous glint in her dark eyes. "I dinnae say ye were among them."
"Good. Because I'm nae."
"Nay, ye're nae." Her voice grew softer, more serious. "If any laird is goin' to make me fat with little bairns, ye're nae the worse choice."
The words brought a flush to her cheeks even as she said them, but she didn't look away. There was something in her tone—acceptance, perhaps, or even anticipation—that made heat curl in his belly.
"Am I nae?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Aye," she said simply, then urged her horse forward toward the castle gates as if she hadn't just said something that made his heart race.
Behind them, Frederick cleared his throat meaningfully. "Should I give the signal for the men to take their positions?"
