Page 91 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
"We have to go." she said to Lachlan, her mind already shifting into crisis mode.
"Aye. We should prepare to ride within the hour," he replied without hesitation. "I'll gather our fastest riders and enough men to make a difference."
"M'lady," Mairi spoke up, her voice trembling with worry. "Be careful. If Boyd is willin’ to kill innocents to get what he wants..."
"Then he'll find out what happens to men who threaten what's mine," Lachlan finished, his voice carrying deadly promise.
As the messenger was led away to rest and refresh himself, Erica turned to Lachlan, all thoughts of love confessions swept away by the urgent needs of her clan.
"This is it," she said quietly. "The real test of whether we can hold McLaren together."
"We will. We’ve seen far worse battles than a few misled loyalists," Lachlan assured her, but his eyes were already calculating distances, strategies, the logistics of war.
"This is me chance to prove to them I care about the clan. McLaren needs its lady," Erica declared, her voice carrying across the training yard.
"Then they'll have her."
He immediately turned and began barking orders with the efficiency of a seasoned commander. "Prepare twenty of our best riders ready in half an hour. Full weapons, provisions for three days hard travel!"
"Aye, m'laird!" The guard called back, already moving toward the armory.
Lachlan pointed to a young guard. "Find Malcolm and tell him to prepare travel packs for the lady and meself. Fast travel, nae ceremony."
"At once, m'laird!"
"And ye," he continued to another man, "get word to the stables. Our fastest horses, and remounts. We leave within the hour."
Erica watched him take control of the situation with swift precision, and felt a surge of gratitude wash over her. This was what partnership meant—not having to bear every burden alone, having someone who acted without being asked, who understood what needed to be done.
He doesnae question me decision or try to talk me out of going. He simply makes it happen.
Around them, the training yard erupted into controlled chaos as men scattered to follow orders. The clash of steel was replacedby the clatter of weapons being gathered, the thunder of boots on stone, the urgent calls of preparation.
"M'lady!" Ada appeared at her elbow. "Should I pack yer travel clothes?"
"Aye, and quickly," she replied, before she turned and caught sight of Ada’s face with worry written across her weathered features.
Guilt hit her like a physical blow, but Lachlan's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.
"Erica," he said, appearing at her side. "We'll be ready to ride in forty minutes. Are ye prepared for what we might find when we get there?"
The question carried weight beyond simple logistics, and she knew he was asking if she was ready to see violence, to make the hard choices that leadership in wartime demanded.
"I have to be," she said simply. "They're dyin’ for their loyalty to me. I willnae let that be in vain."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"Show me again," he said to the messenger, who stood swaying with exhaustion but determined to give every detail. "The pattern of attacks. Which farms were hit first?"
The man leaned over the map, his mud-stained finger tracing a route across McLaren territory. "Here, this farm. Then two days later, this croft, and this mornin’..." He paused, his voice breaking slightly. "This mornin’ it was here. I saw the smoke meself as I rode here."
Lachlan studied the marked locations, his jaw tightening as he recognized the strategic thinking behind the strikes.
"He's nae choosin’ randomly," Lachlan said grimly, tracing lines between the attack sites. "These farms all control key routes between villages. Cut these supply lines, and ye isolate entire communities."
"Aye," Frederick agreed, moving to stand beside his laird. His weathered face was grim as he studied the pattern. "Make them feel abandoned by their lady, helpless against the attacks. Classic siege mentality but applied to scattered settlements instead of a single castle."
"Clever bastard," Lachlan muttered, then looked up as Erica entered the room. She'd changed from her peaceful afternoon dress into riding leathers and a practical wool tunic, her hair braided back for travel. The transformation from the woman he'd left embroidering flowers to this focused commander never failed to impress him.
