Page 99 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
"It'll be strange, willnae it? Being there as yer wife, not just an ally in desperate circumstances."
"Aye." His voice was thoughtful. "Everything's been battle and politics since we wed. We've barely had time to... just be married."
Erica felt her heart skip at the quiet intimacy in his words. "And what does that mean, do ye think? Just bein' married?"
"I suppose we'll find out together," he said softly. "Just... us."
Silence stretched as Erica thought about what life would be like without looking over your shoulder or fearing news of the next attack.
"We should go," she said finally. "Dawn comes early."
"Aye."
But neither of them moved, both reluctant to end this moment of quiet honesty before they stepped into whatever waited at home.
"Nay! Get away from me!"
Erica's voice tore through the darkness, her body thrashing against the heavy furs. In her dream, Leo's face loomed above her, twisted with rage and madness, a dirk gleaming in his hand.
"I got ye now," his voice hissed in her mind. "Ye will never be lady of me clan?—"
"Erica! Erica, wake up!"
Strong hands caught her flailing arms, holding her firmly but gently as consciousness slowly returned. The stone walls of Kinnaird's chambers came into focus, lit by the dying embers in the hearth. Lachlan's face appeared above her, concerned and alert.
"It's all right, love. Ye're safe. It was just a dream."
She was trembling, cold sweat dampening her shift despite the warmth of their bed. The phantom sensation of Leo's blade at her throat made her reach up instinctively, fingers touching her neck.
"He was there," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Leo. He had a dirk, and he was sayin'... sayin' I'd never be lady of his clan. That he'd gotten me at last."
Lachlan's arms tightened around her, pulling her against his chest. She could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, grounding her in reality.
"He's dead, Erica. He cannae hurt ye anymore. None of them can."
"I ken that. I do. But in the dream..." She shuddered. "It felt so real. The hate in his eyes, the blade... I could smell the blood on him."
"The mind has strange ways of dealin' with what we've endured," Lachlan said softly, his hand stroking her hair. "Ye've seen more violence these past weeks than many warriors see in years. It's nae wonder yer dreams are troubled."
She pressed closer to him, drawing comfort from his warmth and solidity. "I thought I was stronger than this. I faced him down when he was alive, stood me ground. Why am I afraid of him now that he's gone?"
"Because now ye have time to feel the fear ye couldn't afford to feel then. When ye were facin' him, ye had to be strong for yer people, had to act. Now yer mind is finally lettin' ye feel what ye pushed aside."
His words made sense, but the lingering terror of the dream still clung to her. "What if the nightmares daenae stop? What if I never feel safe again?"
"Then I'll hold ye through every one until they do," he said firmly. "Ye're not alone in this, Erica. Ye daenae have to carry the weight of it all by yerself anymore."
She lifted her head to look at him in the dim light. There was no judgment in his eyes, no suggestion that her fear made her weak. Only understanding and unwavering support.
"Thank ye, husband," she whispered, the words coming from somewhere deep and honest.
"I would do anythin' fer ye, wife," he replied, his voice rough with emotion. "More than I thought possible."
When he kissed her, it started with a gentle, soft caress—a silent reassurance. His lips traced the shape of hers with slow, deliberate strokes, as though savoring the moment. But as his kiss deepened, the comfort he gave shifted into something more urgent, more consuming. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her against him with a hunger that echoed her own. She could feel the heat of his body, the hard, undeniable pull of desire between them.
Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and she responded with an intensity that surprised them both. The kiss turned desperate, full of need, her body pressing against his as if trying to merge into one. The fire between them flared, and the world outside their shared space ceased to exist. This was no longer just a kiss—it was an unspoken promise, a demand to be felt, to be understood, to forget everything that had haunted her.
"Make me forget," she whispered against his lips. "Help me remember what's real."
