Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Right, that’s enough of this then!” Claricia had had enough. She marched across the courtyard, seized his uninjured arm with both hands, and pulled.
“What—”
“Ye’re comin’ with me.” Her voice carried authority. “Right now. Before ye bleed tae death from sheer pigheaded stubbornness.”
Aksel, standing nearby, nodded. “I’d listen tae her, me jarl. She has that look women get right before they start throwin’ things.”
Erik opened his mouth to argue—but Claricia tugged harder. “Now, Erik. Or so help me, I’ll drag ye there by yer ear.”
For a heartbeat, she thought he might actually resist. Then something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe, or reluctant amusement—and he let her pull him toward the keep.
“Bossy wee thing, arenae ye?”
“I’m aggressively helpful,” she shot back, though her tone was more teasing than reprimand.
They made it to their chamber without further argument, though she could feel the eyes following them—guards and servants alike watching their laird being bullied by his slip of a Highland wife.
Claricia kicked the door shut behind them and pointed at the bed. “Sit.”
“I’m nae a dog—”
“Sit. Down.” She was already moving to the washstand, gathering the supplies she’d insisted on keeping in their chamber. Clean linen, a mixture for cleaning wounds, needle and thread just in case. “And get that shirt off before the blood dries intae it.”
Erik sat. Then, moving with careful precision that betrayed how much pain he was in, he peeled the ruined shirt over his head.
Claricia’s breath caught.
“Enjoyin’ the view?”
Heat flooded her face. “Dinnae flatter yerself. I’m assessin’ the damage.”
“Mm-hmm.” But his mouth curved in something that might have been satisfaction.
The wound itself ran in a deep gash along his shoulder. Blood had dried in rivulets down his arm, mixing with the ink there, and she could see where it still seeped sluggishly from the cut.
“This is goin’ tae hurt,” she warned, dampening a cloth with the herbal mixture.
She pressed the cloth to the wound. Erik hissed through his teeth but didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch.
“Ye’re good at this,” he said quietly.
“I’ve had practice. Logan used tae come home with cuts and bruises.” The memory made her throat tight. “He said I had gentler hands than any healer.”
Erik’s good hand came up, caught hers where it rested against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. About yer braither. About all of it.”
Claricia blinked at him and found genuine regret there.
“Tell me about yer parents,” she said softly. “Liv wouldnae. Said it was yer story tae share.”
His jaw tightened. For a moment she thought he’d refuse.
“I was fifteen. Liv was barely five.” His voice came out rough, scraped raw. “There was a raid. Highlanders crossed our lands in force—largest attack we’d seen in years. Me faither led the defense. Me maither and aunt were supposed tae be safe in the keep.”
Claricia resumed cleaning the wound, while Erik continued.
“Some of the raiders got inside. Found the women.” His free hand clenched into a fist against his thigh. “By the time we drove them back, me faither had died on the beach, sword in hand. Me maither and aunt… they didnae die quick.”
“Erik...” Her hand stilled, her heart breaking for him.
“I found them. Liv was with me.” His eyes had gone distant, seeing things she couldn’t.
“She was so small. She kept askin’ why Mama wouldnae wake up.
And I… I had nay answers. Just rage and grief and the knowledge that I was suddenly responsible fer keepin’ her alive in a world that wanted us dead. ”
“Ye were just a lad.”
“The moment me faither fell, I became laird. The moment me maither and aunt died, I became Liv’s only family. There was nay time fer bein’ anythin’ else.”
Claricia set down the cloth and moved to stand between his knees, her hands coming up to cup his face. “I’m so sorry ye had tae carry that.”
“They’re why I fight. Why I lead.” His hands came up to cover hers, holding them against his cheeks like an anchor.
“One of yer raids killed Logan.” The words she’d thrown at him before felt different now. Softer. “I cannae forget that. But I understand it now. He was daein’ his duty. Yer men were daein’ theirs. And both sides paid the price.”
“That’s why we’re married.” Erik’s thumbs stroked across her wrists. “Tae end this. The cycle has tae break somewhere.”
“With us?”
“Aye, little bird. With us.”
The silence that fell between them felt sacred somehow. Heavy with shared grief and new understanding and the tentative beginning of something that might be healing.
“I miss me faither,” Claricia admitted. “And I—”
“I sent him an invitation.” Erik’s hand moved to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Tae visit.”
Her breath caught. “Ye did?”
“Aye. Sent it days ago. He should arrive soon, if he accepts.”
Tears burned behind her eyes. “Why?”
“Because ye’re me wife. Because makin’ ye happy matters tae me.” His expression turned almost shy, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen.
Claricia didn’t think. Didn’t let herself analyze or question or talk herself out of it. She just leaned forward and kissed him.
Erik made a sound low in his throat and his good arm came around her waist, pulling her closer until she was in his lap. His mouth opened under hers, and she tasted salt and copper and something uniquely him that made her head spin.
“Claricia,” he breathed against her lips. “Tell me tae stop. Tell me this is too fast, too much, and I’ll—”
“Dinnae ye dare stop.” Her hands slid into his hair, tangling in the pale strands.
His kiss turned demanding, possessive, consuming in its intensity. His hand moved to cup the back of her head, angling her mouth while his tongue explored it with slow, deliberate thoroughness that made heat pool low in her belly.
She gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, his teeth catching her lower lip in a gentle bite that sent sparks racing down her spine.
His hand at her waist tightened, pulling her flush against him until she could feel every hard plane of his chest, every rapid beat of his heart matching hers.
“I’ve wanted tae dae this,” he murmured against her throat, his lips trailing fire down the column of her neck, “since the moment I pulled ye from the sea.”
“Ye—och…” The protest died as his mouth found the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, his teeth scraping gently before his tongue soothed the sting.
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, and what she saw there made her breath stop. Raw need. Desperate want. “I think part of ye wanted tae touch me even then, too.”
“I’m afraid,” she whispered.
“Of me?”
“Of this. Of wantin’ ye when I shouldnae. Of losin’ ye tae the next ambush or raid or who kens what other danger lurks out there.” Her hands framed his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I watched ye fight today, and I wasnae afraid of ye. I was afraid fer ye. And that’s so much worse.”
Understanding dawned in his expression. “Ye care—”
“And losin’ ye will destroy me.” The admission cost her, but it was true.
Erik’s hands came up to cover hers, pressing them more firmly against his face. “I cannae promise I’ll never face danger. But I can promise that I’ll fight like hell tae come back tae ye. Every. Single. Time.”
“That’s nae a promise ye will survive—”
“Watch me.” He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her palm.
Despite everything, she felt a laugh bubble up. “Ye’re insufferably arrogant.”
“Ye like it.”
“I really dinnae.”
He kissed her again, softer this time, sweeter. “Ye like it as much as I like yer sharp tongue.”
Her hands drifted from his face to his shoulders, careful of the wound, tracing the edges of the raven’s wings. “Tell me about these.”
Erik shivered under her touch, his muscles tensing. “The raven is fer Odin. God of wisdom and war. Got it when I became laird—reminder that I needed both tae lead properly.”
Her fingers traced down his arm, following the intricate knotwork. “And these?”
“These are fer the people I’ve lost. Each pattern represents someone.” His voice had gone rough again. “Me parents. Me aunt. The warriors who fell under me command. Every life that became me responsibility.”
“And the tree?” Her hand moved to rest over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath her palm.
“Yggdrasil. The World Tree.” He covered her hand with his, holding it against him. “Connects all nine realms in Norse belief. Got it after me parents died—a reminder that even when everythin’ falls apart, somethin’ holds it together. That we’re all connected, even in death.”
The explanation made her chest ache. She cleaned the rest of the wound with steady hands, then assessed whether it needed stitching. The edges were clean, not too deep, already clotting properly.
“It daesnae need stitches.” She reached for the clean linen. “But it needs proper bindin’.”
“Then bind it.” His voice had gone rough, dark with something that made heat pool low in her belly. “But dinnae move away after.”
Her hands trembled slightly as she began winding the bandage around his shoulder. Erik sat perfectly still beneath her ministrations, but she could feel the tension thrumming through him—coiled energy barely contained, like a wolf waiting to pounce.
“Ye’re nae helpin’ me concentration,” she murmured, acutely aware of how close they were. How her breasts brushed against his chest every time she reached around him. How his breath ghosted across her collarbone.
“Good.” His good hand came up to rest on her hip, thumb stroking small circles through the fabric of her dress. “Because mine’s been shot tae hell since ye walked intae the courtyard and started orderin’ me about.”
“Someone had tae. Ye were bein’ dànach.”
“I’m always stubborn.” His fingers tightened on her hip. “’Tis part of me charm.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the base of her throat that made her gasp. “Ye want me. Have wanted me fer days now, even when ye pretend otherwise.”