Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“The bodies are gone, me jarl.”
Erik stared at the rocky outcropping where less than a day ago, six men had fallen. Where blood had painted the stones black in the failing light.
Now there was nothing. Not even a stain.
“All of them?” His voice came out flat, controlled in the way that made his warriors shift nervously.
“Aye, me jarl.” Bjorn crouched near where one of the attackers had died, his fingers tracing disturbed gravel. “Someone cleaned it. Thorough-like. Even dragged away the stones with too much blood on ‘em.”
Nae common bandits.
Erik’s jaw tightened. “When?”
“Had tae be last night,” Aksel said quietly from where he’d been examining the path leading away from the ambush site. “After we got back tae the castle. Before dawn.” His pale eyes met Erik’s, and something grim flickered there. “Which means they were watchin’. Kent exactly when tae move.”
Erik turned slowly, surveying the landscape with a warrior’s eye. The rocky coastline. The scattered boulders. The dense thickets inland. A hundred places to hide. To watch. To wait.
“They’re on Skye. Bloody reivers.”
“Aye.” Aksel’s voice carried the weight of too many battles, too many betrayals witnessed. “Question is, how many raiders? And who sent ‘em?”
I’ll find them. And when I dae, they’ll beg fer me tae give them the spreadin’ eagle.
“We go back,” Erik said abruptly, already moving toward the horses. “Now.”
“Me jarl?” Bjorn straightened, confusion flickering across his young face. “But we havenae searched the—”
“There’s naethin’ tae find.” Erik swung into his saddle with sharp efficiency. “And every moment we’re out here is another moment me wife’s alone in that castle with whoever helped those reivers disappear.”
Understanding dawned in Aksel’s expression. “Ye think they’ll try again.”
“I ken they will.” Erik gathered his reins, his knuckles white. “And next time, I might nae be there tae stop it.”
The thought alone made something cold and vicious coil in his gut. Last night he’d held her while she slept, felt her heartbeat against his chest, breathed in the scent of her hair and marveled that she was his.
Nay. Dinnae think about that now.
They rode hard for the castle, Erik’s mind already three steps ahead, planning. He needed eyes on Claricia at all times. Trusted men. Warriors he’d fought beside, bled with, men whose loyalty had been proven in blood and steel.
The castle gates loomed ahead, and Erik barely waited for them to open before urging his stallion through. He dismounted in the courtyard, already issuing orders before his boots hit stone.
“Sigurd, Torsten.” Two of his most seasoned warriors turned toward him. “I want eyes on Lady Claricia every moment she’s outside our chamber. Everywhere she goes, ye follow. Stay back far enough that she daesnae notice but close enough ye can reach her in seconds if there’s trouble.”
Sigurd’s young face grew serious, the eagerness replaced by grim understanding. “Aye, me jarl. How long?”
“Until I say otherwise.” Erik’s gaze swept the courtyard, cataloguing faces, watching for tells. “And tell nay one else. I want our enemies tae think we’re ignorant. Let them get comfortable and make a mistake.”
“And if the lady asks why we’re followin’ her?” Torsten asked, practical as always.
“Then ye tell her it’s me order and she can take it up with me.” Erik turned toward the keep.
He left them there, taking the stairs two at a time toward his solar. He had reports to review, defenses to strengthen, a council meeting. His shoulder throbbed and Erik shifted his weight, trying not to think about how Claricia’s hands had felt on his bare skin.
Focus.
The solar door closed behind him with a solid thud.
Erik moved to the window, staring out at the grey-green water beyond the castle walls.
Somewhere out there, Duncan MacRae was plotting.
Planning. Gathering men and coin and whatever else it took to steal back what he’d lost. He was sure of it. It was him.
Claricia was never his.
The thought came again, fierce and possessive.
And she never will be.
A knock interrupted his brooding. “Enter.”
Aksel stepped inside, followed by three of his council members. Good. They had work to do.
“We need tae double the guard rotation,” Erik said without preamble, moving to the table where maps of Skye lay spread like battle plans.
“And I want every man who serves in me hall questioned. Where they were the night of the attack. Who they’ve been speakin’ with. Any connections tae mainland clans.”
“That’s half the castle, me jarl,” one of the councilors said carefully. “We’d need cause tae suspect—”
“The cause is six dead attackers who vanished without a trace.” Erik’s finger traced the coastline on the map. “Someone helped them. Someone who kens our routines, our defenses, when we ride out and when we return.”
“But who’d have reason tae—” Another councilor shook his head, confusion evident. “The marriage was the king’s decree. Goin’ against it means treason.”
“Aye.” Aksel’s voice cut through the speculation, flat and grim. “Which means whoever’s behind this is either desperate enough or angry enough nae tae care about consequences.”
Erik’s jaw tightened. Duncan MacRae’s face flashed through his mind—the man who’d lost a bride, an alliance, his pride.
The man Claricia had been promised to before the king’s decree tore that future apart.
It made a sick kind of sense. But sense wasn’t proof, and accusations without evidence would only drive the conspiracy deeper underground.
“We assume naethin’,” Erik said carefully. “We investigate. Quietly.”
The words hung heavy in the air. Outside, gulls cried their lonely song, and waves crashed against stone with relentless patience.
“What are yer orders, me jarl?” Aksel asked quietly.
Erik was about to answer when the door crashed open.
Every head swiveled. Every hand moved toward a weapon. And there, framed in the doorway like vengeance given form, stood his wife.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes blazed like wildfire. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, and even from across the room, Erik could practically see the fury crackling off her skin.
“Och, dinnae mind me,” she said, her voice sweet as honey laced with nightshade. “I’m certain plottin’ wars and countin’ grain stores is fascinatin’ work..”
Thor protect me... she noticed.
Erik’s jaw tightened. “We’re in the middle of—”
“Aye. I can see that.”
Claricia stood in the doorway, and despite the fire in her eyes, her hands were clasped perfectly in front of her—almost as if she were physically holding herself back from storming across the room.
“Forgive the interruption, gentlemen, but I need a word with me husband.” She paused, then added with barely-controlled bite, “Now, if ye dinnae mind.”
The councilors exchanged glances and one or two shifted uncomfortably.
Erik’s expression went carefully blank, and Claricia knew she wouldn’t like what came next.
“Nay. I’ll come, but ‘tis nae the right time now.”
Claricia blinked. Of all the responses she had expected, that single, flat syllable wasn’t one of them.
“I beg yer pardon?”
He gestured toward the corridor. “Ye’ll wait there. Until we’re done and then we will speak.”
“Erik,” she took a step closer, confusion and hurt flashing across her face. “There are two men followin’ me everywhere I go, and I dinnae—”
“I ken, wife.” His voice was gruff, but not unkind. “And I’ll explain. After this meetin’.”
“But—”
“Claricia.” His voice had gone deadly quiet. “Ye are dismissed.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. The eyes of every man in the room settled on her, watching the domestic scene play out—waiting to see if their jarl’s Highland wife would obey, or make a scene.
The entire room held its breath.
Claricia straightened her spine. “Fine.” She turned to go, and closed the door with a soft click. Nobody moved for a heartbeat. Then two.
Aksel let out a low whistle. “Well, that was painful tae watch.”
Erik’s jaw tightened. “We’ve more important matters—”
“Och, I dinnae doubt it.” Aksel’s grin was sharp as broken glass. “But I have tae say, Wolf, ‘tis nice tae see ye actually act like a jarl instead of a hound fer once. I was startin’ tae worry ye’d forgotten how.”
Several of the councilors shifted uncomfortably. One coughed.
“Ye’re right,” Erik said quietly. “I’ve been providin’ fer me wife.
Givin’ her what she needs, tryin’ tae make this gods-damned forced marriage intae somethin’ we can both live with.
But dinnae mistake me kindness fer weakness.
” He leaned forward, pinning Aksel with a hard look.
“I will nae abide the interruption of a War Council. So, tell me, Aksel—dae ye still think me a lovesick hound?”
The silence that fell was heavy enough to crush stone.
“Nay, me jarl,” Aksel said. And then, finally, “The attack site’s been cleared. Must’ve been at least four men draggin’ bodies based on the tracks we saw. Led straight tae the shore, then disappeared.”
“Boat?” Malcolm asked.
“They must be hidin’ it somewhere on the island.” Erik’s hands braced on the table edge, knuckles white. “Either way, it means organization. Resources and numbers.” He looked up, meeting each man’s eyes in turn. “This isnae some rabble of thieves. Someone’s coordinatin’.”
“And gettin’ away with it right under our gods-damned noses.” Aksel added darkly.
“Which brings us back tae the same question,” Malcolm said. “Who dae we ken of that has the gold, the men, the gall and the grudge tae mount an offensive like this?”
“Double the guards on Lady Claricia,” Erik said, his voice flat and final. “Four men. Two visible, two in shadow. She daesnae go anywhere alone. Understood?”
“Ye dae realize,” Aksel said, an impish gleam in his eyes, “that doublin’ her guards means ye need tae have a conversation with our lady that’ll make Ragnarok look like a wee skirmish between youngin’s.”