Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“So that’s it, then.”
Claricia’s voice came out smaller than she’d intended, swallowed by the chamber’s heavy silence. She stood near the hearth, staring at the massive bed that dominated the room like some ancient altar built for purposes she couldn’t quite name.
“We’re… married.”
“Aye.” Erik closed the door behind them with a soft click that made her jump. “We are.”
She could hear the fire crackling, feel the weight of his gaze on her back like a physical touch. Outside, wind howled across Skye’s cliffs—wild and lonely—but inside this chamber the air felt thick enough to choke on.
“The envoy,” she said finally, still not turning. “He said talked of proof, about the sheets…” Heat flooded her face even as confusion swamped her. “Can ye remind me again... what did he mean exactly?”
She heard him move—the sound of his sword belt being unbuckled, leather hitting wood with a dull thud. “He means the marriage needs tae be consummated.”
“Consummated.” She tested the word like it might bite her.
“Me faither mentioned that. Said it was me duty tae submit tae me husband. But he wouldnae explain…” She finally turned to face him, lifting her chin despite the fear clawing at her throat.
She opened her mouth, closed it. Heat flooded her cheeks, burning hotter than the fire crackling behind her.
Tell him… just tell him the truth.
“I…” she swallowed hard, forcing herself to look at him even though every instinct screamed to look away.
He’d removed his tunic. Stood there in the firelight wearing only his trews, all those tattoos she’d glimpsed in the training yard now fully visible—the raven spreading its wings across his shoulders, the ancient tree over his heart, Norse knotwork spiraling down his arms like living things.
He looked like something wild, primal and utterly male, barely contained in human skin.
Her mouth went dry.
“I need tae… confess somethin’. Earlier, when ye said ye couldnae wait fer taenight, I… I may have led ye tae believe that I understood what that meant. But the truth is…” Her hands twisted in her skirts.
“What dae ye think happens?” His voice was gentler than she’d expected, patient in a way that somehow made everything worse.
“I dinnae ken!” The admission burst out sharp with frustration and embarrassment that scalded like shame.
“Me maither died before she could tell me anythin’, and me faither turned red as a rowan berry when I asked.
The servants just giggled and said I’d find out on me weddin’ night.
” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, nails digging into her own flesh.
“So aye. Here I am. On me weddin’ night.
Completely ignorant except that apparently it involves blood and mysterious rituals that everyone’s too embarrassed tae explain. ”
Erik didn’t move for a long moment, just watched her with those unsettling grey-blue eyes that saw too much. “Ye truly dinnae ken, dae ye?”
“Would I be standin’ here feelin’ like a complete fool if I did?”
He studied her face—really studied it, the way she’d seen him assess terrain before making tactical decisions. Then: “The envoy expects tae see blood on those sheets come mornin’. Yer blood. Proof that I took yer maidenhead.”
Heat flooded her face again, hotter than before. “Me… what?”
“Yer virginity.” When she still looked confused, he sighed—not unkindly, but with the weariness of a man realizing the task before him was larger than anticipated. “Claricia, dae ye ken anythin’ about what happens between a man and a woman?”
“I ken that we lie in a bed together. That there’s some sort of.
..” She gestured vaguely, hating how her voice wavered.
“Ritual? Apparently, blood is involved, though I dinnae understand how or why, and—” She stopped, frustrated by her own ignorance and the way he was looking at her.
Not mocking. Something closer to concern.
“I’m nae a bairn,” she said, defensive now. “I’m nae some sheltered fool who’s never wondered or asked questions. But askin’ and gettin’ answers are two very different things when ye’re a lass of noble birth.”
Something shifted in his expression—understanding, perhaps. Or recognition of how thoroughly society had failed her.
He moved closer, and she tensed, but he just crouched down so they were eye level. Close enough that she could smell him. Something that made her stomach flip in ways she didn’t understand.
“I’m goin’ tae explain what the envoy expects,” he said quietly, his voice gone low and careful. “What usually happens on a weddin’ night. And then ye’re goin’ tae decide what we dae about it. Understood?”
She nodded mutely, her heart hammering so hard she thought he must be able to hear it.
Erik reached up slowly—giving her time to pull away, though they both knew she wouldn’t—and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
His fingers were calloused, warm against her temple.
“There’s nay ritual, lass. Nay ceremony.
What happens between a husband and wife is.
..” He paused, seeming to choose his words with unexpected care.
“It’s touchin’. Intimate touchin’. And joinin’. ”
“Joinin’?” Her voice came out barely a whisper.
“Aye.” His thumb traced her jawline, feather-light, and she shivered. “Our bodies fit together in a certain way. The way we’re made, man and woman—we’re built tae come taegether.”
“I dinnae understand.”
“Then I’ll show ye.” He must have felt her tense because he added quickly, “Just tae explain. Nay more than that. Ye have me word.”
She searched his face for lies, for manipulation, for any sign of the savage they called him. Found only patience and something that looked almost like gentleness.
“Alright,” she breathed.
His hand moved from her face to her wrist, his grip loose enough that she could pull away if she wanted. He guided her hand to his chest, pressing her palm flat over his heart. She could feel it beating—steady, strong, faster than she’d expected.
His heart’s racin’. He’s nae as calm as he’s pretendin’ tae be.
“When a man wants a woman,” he said, his voice gone low and rough, “his body… responds. Gets hard. Ready fer her.”
Her eyes widened. “Hard?”
“Aye.” His other hand found hers, lifted it. For one breathless moment she thought he was going to guide it somewhere—to show her exactly what he meant—but instead he just held it between them. “I’ve a part of me that’s meant fer this. Fer ye. It gets stiff when I’m aroused. When I want someone.”
“Och.” The sound came out strangled. She could feel heat radiating from him, could see something shifting in his expression—hunger barely leashed.
“And ye,” he continued, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in slow circles that made her breath hitch. “Ye’ve a place between yer legs. Hidden. Soft. Made fer exactly this purpose.”
She knew she should be mortified. Should pull away and demand he stop talking about such things. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t think beyond the heat pooling low in her belly and the way his voice wrapped around her like silk.
“That part of me?” He paused, making sure she was following. “It goes inside that part of ye. We join. Become one, in a sense.”
Understanding crashed over her like ice water. “Inside me body?”
“Aye.”
“But...” Her mind raced, trying to make sense of anatomy and mechanics she’d never considered. “Ye’re makin’ all this up, arenae ye?”
His mouth curved—not quite a smile, but close. “When a woman’s ready—when she wants it—she gets wet. Slick. Makes it easier fer the man tae enter her.”
The word “wet” sent a jolt through her that she didn’t understand. Shouldn’t understand. But suddenly she was very aware of heat between her own thighs, a strange aching sensation she’d never experienced before.
Is that... is that what he means?
“The first time,” Erik continued, his voice gentle despite the rough edge, “there’s a little pain. Yer body has tae stretch tae take me. And there’s a barrier—yer maidenhead—that tears when I push inside. That’s where the blood comes from. The proof the envoy wants.”
“It tears.” She swallowed hard. “That sounds delightful.”
Despite the tension, his mouth twitched. “From the joinin’. From movin’ together.” His hand moved to her waist, settling there with possessive certainty. “But I’d start slow. Get ye ready first. Use me hands, me mouth. Make ye wet enough that when I finally push inside, yer body’s beggin’ fer it.”
Heat flooded her face, her neck, her entire body. “I willnae beg fer… wait, did ye just say yer… mouth?”
“Aye.” Something wicked flickered in his eyes. “On yer skin. Yer neck. Yer breasts.” His gaze dropped to her bodice, then back up. “Between yer legs, if ye’ll let me. Tastin’ ye until ye’re shakin’ and desperate and beggin’ fer me.”
What is happenin’ tae me?
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Her body was doing things she didn’t understand: heart racing, skin too hot, that ache between her thighs intensifying until she wanted to press her legs together just to ease it.
“And then?” The words came out hoarse.
“Then I’d enter ye. Slow at first, lettin’ ye adjust tae the feel of me.
The stretch. When I’d push through yer maidenhead, there’d be that moment of pain—nae way around that.
And once yer body accepted me...” His hand on her waist tightened fractionally.
“I’d move. Deep and slow until ye learned the rhythm.
Until yer body started movin’ with mine. ”
“How would ye ken?” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “How would ye ken if I wanted it?”
His smile was slow, dangerous. “Yer body would tell me. Yer breath would come faster. Yer skin would flush just like it is now. Ye’d get wet. And when I touch ye...” His thumb traced her lower lip, and she gasped. “Ye’d make sounds. Little gasps and moans that’d drive me half-mad with wantin’ ye.”
Her pulse thundered in her ears. “And after? After the pain?”