Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
“If ye’d like tae keep yer guts on the inside, ye’ll tell me who’s behind this.”
Erik leaned against the cold stone wall, his arms crossed, watching Aksel work. Brood dripped from the prisoner’s split lip onto the floor.
The man spat. “Ye willnae get anythin’ from me, ye filthy pagan!”
Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the corridor outside.
Aksel’s hand went still where it gripped the man’s neck. “Ye hear that?”
“Aye.” Erik’s jaw tightened. “Footsteps—light and quick.”
“One of the lads?”
“Nay.” Erik pushed off the wall.
Aksel’s expression darkened. “Erik, ye dinnae think—”
The footsteps stopped right outside the door.
Erik crossed the room in three strides, yanked open the door—and there she was, hand outstretched toward the handle, eyes wide with surprise.
“What in the name of all that’s sacred are ye daein’ here?”
The words came out harsher than Erik intended, but fury had already claimed the better part of his reason. His hand shot out, catching Claricia’s arm in the shadowed corridor, spinning her away from the door’.
She gasped, stumbling against him in the darkness, and he felt the impact of her body like a brand through his tunic. Soft curves molding against hard muscle. The scent of lavender and something uniquely her filling his lungs.
“Let go of me!” She wrenched against his grip, all fury and fire. “Ye’re hurtin’ me!”
He wasn’t. He’d been careful, even in his anger, to keep his hold firm but not harsh. But the accusation stung nonetheless, and he released her immediately, though he didn’t step back. Couldn’t. Not when she was here, in the one place he’d told her never to venture.
“I asked ye a question.” Erik kept his voice low, dangerous. Behind that door, Aksel was questioning the prisoner. The last thing they needed was for Claricia to notice the methods they employed. “What are ye daein’ in the North Wing?”
“I got lost!” She rubbed her arm where he’d grabbed her, her eyes blazing even in the dim torchlight. “The castle is a bloody maze, and I was tryin’ tae find me way tae Liv’s chambers when I—”
“Lost.” He didn’t bother hiding his disbelief. “Ye expect me tae believe ye wandered all the way tae the one place I specifically told ye tae avoid?”
“I dinnae care what ye believe!” Her voice pitched higher, threading with something that might have been fear beneath the defiance. “Go ahead and discipline me fer me insolence, me jarl.”
Erik studied her face, searching for deception.
But all he saw was genuine indignation and, aye, a flicker of terror that she was trying desperately to mask.
The corridor was dark, far from the inhabited parts of the castle.
She was alone, confronted by a man twice her size who’d just grabbed her from the shadows.
A man whose reputation was built on blood and ruthlessness.
Odin’s beard… she truly thinks I’d hurt her.
The realization cut deeper than it should have. He’d saved her life. Offered her books and paints. Shown her secret passages in case she needed to flee. And still, she looked at him like he was the monster they all claimed him to be.
Maybe he was.
“Come.” He reached for her again, more gently this time, but she flinched back.
“Dinnae touch me.”
“I’m takin’ ye back tae yer chambers.” Erik forced patience into his tone, though his jaw ached from clenching it. “Ye shouldnae be wanderin’ the castle at night. ‘Tis nae safe.”
“Nae safe from what?” She backed away another step. “From ye?”
The accusation landed like a fist to his gut.
“From corridors that drop off intae darkness. From gods-damned drafts that could give ye lung fever.” He stalked forward, crowding her against the stone wall.
“But aye, Claricia. If ye want tae believe I’m the danger here, then by all means, keep wanderin’ intae places I’ve warned ye away from. ”
“I told ye, I got lost—”
“And I’m tellin’ ye I dinnae believe it.” He loomed over her, using his size to intimidate because words clearly weren’t working. “But whether ye’re lyin’ or simply too stubborn tae admit when ye’re wrong, it daesnae matter. Ye’re nae stayin’ here.”
Before she could protest further, Erik bent and hauled her up over his shoulder in one smooth motion.
“Put me down!” Claricia shrieked, pounding her fists against his back. “Ye brute! Ye savage! Put me down this instant!”
He ignored her, striding away from the North Wing with long, purposeful steps. Behind him, he heard the faint sound of something hitting the floor inside the interrogation room.
“I swear by all that’s holy, Erik Thorsen, if ye dinnae put me down—”
“What?” He shifted her weight, one arm banded across the back of her thighs. Heat seared through his palm where it rested against her. “What will ye dae, little bird? Ye’re half me size and already caught.”
She went perfectly still at that, which was somehow worse than her struggles. He could feel her heartbeat racing where her body pressed against his shoulder. Could feel the rapid rise and fall of her breathing.
“I hate ye,” she whispered.
“Aye,” Erik agreed, his voice rougher than he intended. “Ye’ve mentioned.”
He carried her through the winding corridors, ignoring the startled looks from servants.
When he reached her chambers, he shouldered the door open and set her down with more care than his anger warranted. She stumbled back immediately, putting distance between them, her chest heaving.
“Ye had nae right—”
“I have every right.” Erik stepped forward, backing her toward the bed until her knees hit the mattress. “Tomorrow, ye’ll be me wife. Bound tae me by law and crown and kirk. And until then—until I ken fer certain that ye’re safe—ye’ll follow me commands. Understood?”
“I’m nae one of yer warriors tae be ordered about like—”
“Understood?” He repeated, softer now, but with iron beneath the question.
Claricia’s eyes blazed with fury and something else. Something that made his blood heat and his hands itch to touch her. “Aye,” she bit out. “Understood.”
“Good.” He forced himself to step back and put space between them. “Stay here. Lock the door. Dinnae open it fer anyone but me or Liv.”
“Why?” The question came out smaller, uncertain. “What’s happenin’, Erik?”
She already knew about the very real danger that someone wanted her specifically. They had talked about it on their ride. And he wanted to tell her about the prisoner, the threats. But trusting her with that information felt like weakness. Like giving her a weapon she could use against him.
“Just dae as I say.” He turned toward the door. “Please.”
The word hung in the air between them, unexpected and raw.
Erik left before she could respond, pulling the door shut behind him with more force than necessary.
The North Wing was silent when he returned, save for the crackle of torches and the ragged breathing coming from the interrogation room. Erik pushed through the door, his mood blacker than the storm clouds that had been gathering over the sea all day.
Aksel looked up from where he stood over the prisoner, blood on his knuckles and a grim set to his mouth. “She heard?”
“I dinnae think so.” Erik moved to the table where a basin of water sat, dunking his hands in it to scrub away the feel of Claricia’s body against his. It didn’t help. “But she was right outside the door.”
“Wanderin’ or spyin’?”
“Claims she was lost.” He dried his hands roughly. “Could be true. The castle is a maze if ye dinnae ken the passages.”
“Or she could be exactly what we’re afraid she is.” Aksel’s voice held no judgment, just grim practicality. “A spy sent tae gather information before the attacks resume.”
Erik’s jaw tightened. He’d considered that possibility. Dismissed it. Considered it again when she’d appeared in the North Wing like some ghostly apparition. But everything in him rebelled against the idea.
Claricia was fierce and proud and stubborn. But she wasn’t a spy. He’d stake his life on it. “She’s nae part of this,” he said finally. “I’d bet me sword on it.”
“Ye already have.” Aksel gestured to the prisoner slumped in the chair. “Along with yer head and everyone else’s in this castle if ye’re wrong.”
Erik turned his attention to the captured raider. The man was barely conscious, his face a mess of bruises and split skin. But he was breathing. Alive. Which meant he could still talk.
“Has he said anythin’?”
“Bits and pieces.” Aksel’s expression darkened. “Naethin’ useful. But he keeps mumblin’ the same thing over and over.”
“What?”
Aksel moved to the prisoner, gripping his jaw and forcing his head up. “Tell him.”
The man’s eyes rolled, unfocused. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “The lady...” he slurred. “The lady willnae… be here fer long…”
Ice flooded Erik’s veins. “What did ye say?”
“The lady…” The prisoner’s eyes found Erik’s face, focusing with effort. “She willnae… be here long. They’re comin’ fer her. They always… come…”
“Who?” Erik crossed the room in two strides, his hands fisting in the man’s torn tunic. “Who’s comin’?”
But the prisoner’s eyes had already rolled back, consciousness fleeing. His head lolled forward, and no amount of shaking would rouse him.
Erik released him, stepping back. “How long has he been like this?”
“Comes and goes.” Aksel moved to the table, pouring water from a pitcher. “He’ll wake again. They always dae.”
Erik paced the small room, his mind racing. Someone wanted Claricia. Specifically. Enough to attack a royal envoy’s ship in broad daylight. Enough to risk the king’s wrath by targeting a bride of the Lairds’ Pact.
“What if it’s nae about the Pact?” The words came unbidden. “What if someone wants her fer other reasons?”
Aksel considered this. “Her father’s wealthy. Could be ransom.”
“Then why nae take her before she ever left Kintail?” Erik shook his head. “Nay, they waited until she was at sea. Until she was vulnerable and away from her clan’s protection.”
“So they could claim the Norsemen did it.” Understanding dawned in Aksel’s eyes. “Start a war. Destroy the Pact before it begins.”
“Or destroy me specifically.” Erik’s hands clenched into fists. “I’m the first marriage. The test fer whether the others will succeed. If me bride disappears or turns up dead...”
“The king would have yer head.”
“And the other jarls would revolt rather than risk the same fate.” The strategy was brilliant in its brutality. “One woman’s death could unravel everything.”
“Then we keep her alive.” Aksel’s voice held the same grim determination Erik felt. “Lock her in her chambers if we have tae. Post guards. Limit who has access.”
Erik thought of Claricia’s face when he’d grabbed her in the corridor. The fear beneath her fury. The way she’d flinched from his touch.
“She already thinks I’m a monster.” The admission tasted bitter. “This willnae help.”
“Better she think ye a monster and live than think ye a hero and die.” Aksel moved toward the door. “I’ll set the guards. Ye should get some rest. Tomorrow’s the weddin’, aye?”
The weddin’.
The night when he’d be expected to claim his bride in truth, to consummate the marriage that would bind them irrevocably.
The thought sent heat flooding through him, followed swiftly by frustration.
How was he supposed to protect her when every instinct screamed at him to pull her close, to taste her skin, to learn every sound she made when—
“Erik?”
He blinked, realizing Aksel was watching him with something too close to amusement. “What?”
“Ye’ve got it bad, friend.”
“I’ve got naethin’.” But the denial sounded weak even to his own ears. “She’s tae be me wife. ‘Tis duty, naethin’ more.”
“Aye.” Aksel’s grin was knowing. “Keep tellin’ yerself that.”