Page 85 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
"I'd like that," she said softly. "I'd like that very much."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The familiar sight of Kinnaird's gates felt oddly comforting as they rode into the courtyard, though Erica's mind was still back at McLaren with all its troubles and memories. The journey had left her muscles aching and her thoughts tangled with everything they'd witnessed.
"I need to see to some castle business," Lachlan said as they dismounted, his hands gentle as he helped her down from her horse. "I'll see ye in our chambers later."
Erica nodded, suddenly aware of how travel-worn and dusty she felt. "I think I need a proper bath before anythin' else."
"Aye. A long soak will heal those aches," Lachlan agreed, striding off.
"Ada!" she called as she entered the main hall, spotting the older woman directing servants with an armload of fresh linens.
"There ye are, lass," Ada said, hurrying over with obvious relief. "How was yer visit home?"
"Eventful," Erica replied tiredly. "Could ye prepare a hot bath? I feel like I'm carryin' half of McLaren's roads on me skin."
"Of course, of course. Go on up and I'll have it ready in nay time."
Within the hour, Erica was sinking into blissfully hot water scented with lavender, feeling the soreness from long hours in the saddle begin to ease. She soaked until her skin was pink and warm, letting the heat unknot the tension from her shoulders and back.
"Feel better?" Ada asked as she helped Erica from the tub, wrapping her in warmed linen towels.
"Much. Thank ye." Erica sighed with contentment as Ada took away the dirty water, leaving her alone to finish drying and dress for the evening.
She pulled on her night rail—the fine linen chemise that served as her sleeping gown—and settled into the chair by the fireplace to brush out her damp hair. The flames cast dancing shadows across the room, and the familiar ritual of drawing the brush through the long, dark strands was soothing after the day's tensions.
The soft creak of the door opening made her look up, and she found Lachlan standing in the doorway, still in his day clothesbut with his sword belt removed. He'd stopped just inside the threshold, his blue eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
The firelight caught the gold in her hair, turning the damp strands to silk as they fell over her shoulder. The thin linen of her night rail was nearly transparent in the warm glow, outlining every curve of her body in a way that made his mouth go dry.
"I..." he started, then seemed to lose his words.
Heat rose in Erica's cheeks as she became acutely aware of how she must look—hair loose and flowing, the firelight playing across her skin through the delicate fabric. The way he was staring at her, like a man starving for sustenance, made something low in her belly tighten with want.
"How long have ye been standin' there?" she asked, her voice coming out softer than intended.
"Nae long enough," he replied, his voice rough with something that sounded like barely controlled desire.
A soft knock at the door interrupted the charged moment between them.
"Beggin' yer pardon, m'laird, m'lady," came a servant's voice. "The evening meal is ready when ye are."
Lachlan cleared his throat, the spell broken. "Have it brought here. We'll take our meal in our chambers tonight."
"Aye, m'laird."
Within minutes, servants had arranged a small table by the fire with platters of roasted fowl, fresh bread, and cheese. They worked efficiently and quietly, clearly sensing the intimate atmosphere between their laird and lady.
When they were alone again, Erica had pulled on a robe over her night rail, though the garment did little to diminish the awareness crackling between them. They ate mostly in comfortable silence, stealing glances at each other across the flickering candlelight.
After the meal, Lachlan poured wine into two goblets—a rich red vintage from the castle's stores. The wine was smooth and warming, loosening the tension that had been building all evening.
"Better?" he asked, noting how she'd relaxed against her chair
"Much." She took another sip, feeling the warmth spread through her chest. "Though I think ye had ulterior motives for keepin' me here instead of goin' to the great hall."
"Perhaps," he admitted with a roguish smile. "Can ye blame a man for wantin' his wife to himself?"
