Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“The envoy’s on his way up,” Aksel said quietly when Erik cracked the door in the morning. “Thought ye’d appreciate a word of warnin’.”
Behind him, Claricia’s voice came thick with sleep. “Already? Och… the man’s like mold on bread… just when ye think ye’ve got rid of it, there it is again!”
The envoy swept in moments later, and Claricia’s heart stuttered against her ribs despite every attempt to appear calm.
She sat wrapped in blankets like some trembling maiden from a ballad, trying to look like a properly consummated bride instead of a woman who’d spent her wedding night alone save for a stubborn Viking sleeping in a chair.
Breathe. Ye can dae this!
The envoy’s gaze went immediately to the bed, to the stain. His eyes narrowed with what looked like satisfaction, but something about the way he studied it made her skin prickle.
“Very well. The marriage appears to be consummated as required.” He rolled the parchment in his hands, then paused. The silence stretched too long. “Perhaps you might join me for breakfast before I depart for Edinburgh?”
Claricia felt every muscle in her body tense. That wasn’t a satisfied man. That was a man testing them.
“Of course.” Erik’s voice came smooth as silk over steel. “We’d be honored.”
“Excellent. Shall we say within the hour?” The envoy’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I do so enjoy a proper meal before a long journey.”
The moment the door closed behind him, the air in the chamber felt thick enough to choke on.
“That wasnae him believin’ us, was it?” The words escaped before she could stop them, quiet and far more uncertain than she wanted to sound.
Erik moved to the window, and she watched the morning light catch in his hair, turning it to pale gold. “Nae,” he said finally. “That was him buyin’ time tae decide if he believes us.”
“Great.” She stood, wrapping the woolen shawl tighter around herself. Her hands trembled slightly. “So, we’ve bought ourselves an hour before… what? He drags me back tae Edinburgh in chains? Has us both executed fer fraud against the crown?”
“I dinnae ken.” He turned to look at her properly, and the weight of that storm-grey gaze made her breath catch. “Ye should dress. Whatever he wants, we’ll face it taegether.”
“Strange how that wee word keeps comin’ up,” she said, aiming for sharp but hitting somewhere closer to bewildered.
“Aye, well. Ye’re stuck with me now.” Something almost like warmth flickered in his expression. “Might as well get used tae it.”
Despite everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the fact that she should hate this man—her lips twitched. “Ye ken that just because I cannae currently think of worse fates, they dae exist.”
“That tongue of yers could fell oak, woman.”
“One of me finer qualities.” She moved toward the wardrobe where Liv had hung her things, acutely aware of him watching her. Heat crept up her neck. “Now leave me alone so I can dress. Unless ye want tae explain tae the envoy why we’re late because ye were standin’ about like some… some…”
“Besotted fool?”
The words stopped her cold. She turned, found him watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Something warm and dangerous curled low in her belly.
“I was goin’ tae say lecherous beast, but aye, that works too.”
He left without another word, but she could have sworn she saw his lips curve.
An hour later, they entered the Great Hall to find the envoy already seated at the high table, breaking his fast with what looked like genuine enthusiasm. Claricia’s stomach churned.
They ate in a silence so tense she thought it might crack like ice. Every glance the envoy cast their way felt like a blade testing for weakness. Beside her, Erik sat with that infuriating calm, but she could feel the coiled tension in him—a wolf pretending to be domesticated.
She pushed food around her trencher, unable to swallow past the knot in her throat.
Finally—after what felt like hours, the envoy set down his cup and folded his hands on the table.
“I must confess,” he said with careful precision, “His Majesty has been quite… specific in his requirements regarding these marriages. The Lairds’ Pact is of utmost importance to the stability of the realm.”
“We’re aware,” Erik said, voice level as still water.
“Yes, I’m sure you are.” The envoy’s gaze moved between them, assessing, weighing. “Which is why I’m certain you’ll understand when I say that His Majesty requires more than… circumstantial evidence of consummation.”
Claricia’s hand tightened on her cup hard enough that her knuckles went white. “More than bloodied sheets?”
“I’m afraid so, my lady.” He had the grace to look somewhat apologetic. “His Majesty requires a public witnessing. A demonstration before your household, and myself as royal witness to ensure that this union is genuine and that both parties are… indeed amenable to one another.”
Claricia’s stomach dropped to her feet.
“A demonstration.” Erik’s voice had gone dangerous—the kind of quiet that might precede violence.
“A kiss, Laird Thorsen. Nothing more scandalous than that. Simply a kiss between husband and wife.” The envoy spread his hands as if the request was perfectly reasonable. “Surely that’s not too much to ask?”
The laugh that broke from Claricia’s throat was sharp as broken glass.
“Of course. Because naethin’ says true love like performin’ on command fer an audience.
” She knew she should stop, knew she was making it worse, but fury burned hot and bright in her chest. “This is absurd. First ye inspect our sheets like we’re horses at market, now ye want us tae put on a show? ”
“Claricia.” Erik’s voice cut through her tirade like a blade.
She whirled on him, all the fear and humiliation of the past hours boiling over. “What? Ye cannae possibly be considerin’ this. ‘Tis humiliatin’. ‘Tis…”
He moved before she could stop him, his hands coming up to cup her face with a gentleness that completely undid her. The touch burned. His palms were warm and rough against her skin, callused from sword work, and she hated how her body leaned into that warmth like a plant seeking sun.
“I ken ye’re furious,” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. “Ye have every right tae be. But unless ye want tae see what the inside of a dungeon looks like, we’re daein’ this.”
“Och… I hate this,” she hissed, but the words came out breathless.
“I ken that too.” His thumb brushed across her cheekbone in a caress so tender it made her eyes sting. “But ye’ll kiss me anyway.” His voice dropped to a tone that sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.
Something surged through her— a challenge recognized and accepted. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with all the defiance she could muster even as her heart hammered against her ribs. “Fine. Kiss me then, ye stubborn beast. Show them all how desperately in love we are.”
He leaned down slowly. And then he did.
It was supposed to be for show. Brief. Chaste. Convincing enough to satisfy the crown’s envoy and nothing more. A performance. A lie made real just long enough to save their lives.
But the moment their mouths met, the world caught fire.
Och… goodness… what is this feelin’?
He tasted like honey and steel and she wanted more of him—desperately, urgently, with a hunger that shocked her. His lips moved over hers with a confidence that made her head spin, coaxing a response she shouldn’t give.
“Mhmm…” When she made a small sound—surprise or surrender, impossible to tell—she felt him still for just a heartbeat. Then his control shattered like ice under spring sun.
His hands slid from her face into her hair, scattering pins across the floor with small metallic sounds that seemed impossibly loud in the watching silence.
He dug his fingers into her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and she gasped as her mouth opened under his and Erik’s tongue swept against hers with devastating skill, her entire body humming with desire.
Her fingers fisted tighter in his tunic, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away like she should. Like she meant to. But intention and doing had become entirely separate things, and all she knew was that she was drowning and he was air and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let go.
This is just fer show. Ye’re both actin’. This isnae real.
But it felt real. When his thumb found the racing pulse at her throat, pressing there with gentle possession, Claricia trembled—not from fear this time but from something far more dangerous.
When they finally broke apart, because breathing had become necessary, they stayed close.
Foreheads nearly touching. His hands still cradled her face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones with a tenderness that made her want to kiss him all over again.
She looked up at Erik through her lashes and found him staring at her mouth like he was considering devouring her whole. His eyes had gone dark, pupils blown wide, and the raw want in them stole what little breath she’d managed to reclaim.
He wants me. Truly wants me. And heaven help me, I want him too.
Someone cleared their throat. Claricia jerked back, suddenly remembering they had an audience. The envoy smiled, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Quite convincing. His Majesty will be most pleased.”
The Great Hall erupted into movement as people dispersed, but Claricia stood frozen, Erik’s hands still framing her face. She pulled free, needing distance before she did something foolish like kissing him again.
I kissed him back!
The realization hit her like a fist to the chest.
What’s wrong with me? I should be thinkin’ of Logan… of the fact that this man…
But even in her mind, she couldn’t finish that thought anymore.
Because Erik had cut his own palm to protect her. Had slept in a chair rather than force her. Had kissed her in front of witnesses to save them both, yes, but had done it with a tenderness that made her want to weep.
And she’d felt that kiss down to her very soul.