Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“That’s what all the mystery’s been about? A wee puddle?”
Erik glanced over his shoulder at Claricia, who stood at the edge of the clearing with her arms crossed, staring at the steaming pool as if it had personally offended her.
The hot spring wasn’t large—maybe fifteen feet across, hidden behind a natural wall of black rock and twisted pines, carved into the earth by forces older than any kingdom.
Steam rose in lazy spirals from it, carrying the faint sulfur-scent of the earth’s blood warming the water from below.
“Puddle?” He turned the word over like a coin he was testing for weight. “’Tis a hotspring, ye wee heathen!”
Her chin lifted in that stubborn way he was learning meant she was terrified and would die before admitting it. “I thought ye’d take me somewhere… I dinnae ken. More impressive?”
“More impressive than hot water in the middle of Skye?” He began unlacing his tunic, watching her from the corner of his eye. “Ye’re a difficult woman tae please, little bird.”
“I… what are ye daein’?”
“Gettin’ in the puddle.” He pulled the tunic over his head, letting it drop to the moss-covered stone. The night air bit at his skin, but the heat from the spring pushed back against it. “That’s generally what one daes with water meant fer bathin’.”
Her eyes went wide. Then wider when he reached for the ties of his trews.
“D’ye have tae be naked?”
“Aye, well.” He paused, meeting her gaze with deliberate innocence. “I could leave them on, but then I’d have tae walk back tae the keep soakin’ wet and freeze me arse off. Seems a foolish choice when there’s a perfectly good solution.”
“But I… ye cannae just…” The words tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks going pink even in the darkness. “That’s nae proper!”
“Lass.” He finished untying the laces but didn’t push the fabric down yet.
Just stood there, half-undressed and utterly unbothered by her panic.
“We’re married. I’ve seen lose yersel’, I’ve held ye while ye slept.
I’ve kissed ye until neither of us could breathe straight.
” His voice dropped, going rougher. “Dinnae fash yerself over naethin’. ”
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.
“Besides,” he continued, turning away to give her the illusion of privacy as he stripped off the rest, “the water’s deep enough fer modesty if that’s what concerns ye. And it’s dark.”
That was a lie. The moon was nearly full, and the steam caught its light like silver threads.
He could see her perfectly well—the way she bit her bottom lip, the way her fingers twisted in the fabric of her cloak, the way she kept glancing between him and the spring like she was weighing her chances of survival.
He stepped into the water before she could form another protest, and the heat hit him like a blessing from the gods themselves.
Thor’s bones, that’s good.
He sank down until the water reached his chest, then leaned back against the smooth rock and closed his eyes.
“Ye just gonnae stand there all night, then?”
Silence. Then the rustle of fabric. Erik kept his eyes firmly shut, but every sound reached him with perfect clarity.
The soft thud of her cloak hitting stone.
The whisper of her dress being unlaced. A muttered curse in Gaelic when something—her belt, maybe—refused to cooperate.
The sharp intake of breath when her bare feet touched the stone.
“’Tis warmer than ye’d think,” he said, still not looking.
“I’m nae afraid of warm water.”
“Nay?” He cracked one eye open, just enough to see her silhouette at the spring’s edge. Naked and trying very hard not to shake. “What are ye afraid of, then?”
“The drownin’ part, ye thick headed Viking turnip!”
There she is.
That sharp tongue she wielded like a blade whenever fear got too close. He’d come to crave it.
“Turnip.” He opened both eyes now, letting himself look at her properly. Moonlight and steam turned her into something out of legend—all curves and shadows. “Are ye truly so afraid that ye’ve even lost yer cuttin’ tongue, little bird?”
He held out one hand, palm up. “Come here. I’ll teach ye tae float.”
“Float.” She stared at his hand like it might bite. “Ye mean… stay above the water. Without drownin’?”
“That’s generally the idea behind floatin’, aye.”
“And if I sink?”
“Then I’ll pull ye up.” Simple. Absolute. “Claricia, I jumped intae the sea tae save ye once already. Ye think I’d let ye drown in a puddle I can stand up in?”
Then, she stepped forward. The water took her slowly—first her feet, then her calves, her thighs. She gasped when it reached her waist, and Erik saw her whole body go tense with the primal fear of deep water. But she kept moving, kept trusting him enough to take another step.
When she was close enough, he caught her hand. Her fingers locked around his with bruising force.
“Easy.” He tugged her closer, until she was standing right in front of him. The water came up to her shoulders here, and he could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse where his thumb rested against her wrist. “See? Nay drownin’.”
“Because I’m standin’.” Her voice had gone high and thin. “That’s nae the same as floatin’.”
He shifted position, moving until his back was against the rock wall and she was between him and the rest of the pool. “Turn around.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m gonnae teach ye, and I need tae be able tae reach ye proper.” When she didn’t move, he added, “I’ll keep me hands exactly where they need tae be and nowhere else. Thor’s honor.”
She turned, and suddenly she was so close he could feel the heat of her skin even through the water. Could see the elegant line of her spine disappearing into the spring, the way her hair clung to her shoulders in dark, wet ropes.
“Dinnae look. Dinnae think. Just… focus”. His voice came out rougher than intended. “First rule of floatin’—ye need tae relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“Lass, if ye were any more tense, ye’d snap in half.” He touched her shoulders, just his fingertips, and felt every muscle locked tight as bowstrings. “Breathe. In through yer nose, out through yer mouth. Slow.”
He let his hands slide down her arms carefully, nothing that could be mistaken for anything but instruction. “Now, I need ye tae lean back. Let the water take yer weight.”
“I’ll sink.”
“Ye’ll nae sink. He moved his hands to her waist, solid and sure. “On the count of three. One… two…”
She leaned back before he reached three, and for a heart-stopping moment she went rigid, fighting the water instead of trusting it. Then his hands found her back—one between her shoulder blades, one at the small of her spine—and he held her steady.
“There.” He kept his voice low, soothing. The same tone he used with spooked horses. “See? The water’s holdin’ ye up.”
“I dinnae—” Her hands flailed briefly, searching for purchase, and found his forearms. “Erik—”
“I’ve got ye. Always.” He shifted one hand up to cup the back of her head, cradling it above the water. “Now, keep yer belly up. Arch yer back just a wee bit… that’s it!”
“I’m nae drownin’!”
“Nay, ye’re nae.”
Wonder crept into her voice, bright and young and so damned beautiful it made his chest ache. “Erik, I’m actually floatin’!”
“Aye, ye are.” He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his mouth.
Then she turned her head to look at him, and the movement shifted her body in the water. His hand on her back slipped lower. The one cradling her head tangled in her hair.
They both went very still.
The water lapped warm against Claricia’s skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat building everywhere Erik touched her. His hand pressed against her lower back, fingers splayed wide. The other cupped the base of her skull, tilting her head so she had no choice but to meet his eyes.
Those storm-gray eyes that had gone dark and hungry. “Claricia.”
“Aye?”
“I’m tryin’ very hard tae be a gentleman about this.” His thumb traced the edge of her jaw, and she felt that small touch everywhere. “But if ye keep lookin’ at me like that…”
“Like what?” The words came out breathless.
“Like ye want me tae kiss ye.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Like ye want me tae dae more than kiss ye.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs hard enough to hurt. “And what if I dae?”
The sound he made was somewhere between a growl and a groan. His hand tightened at her waist, pulling her closer. “I’m at the end of me rope here.”
“Erik.” She reached up, letting her fingers trail along the hard line of his jaw. Felt the muscle jump beneath her touch. “I’m ready.”
“Ye’re sure?” His voice had gone rough as gravel. “Because once I start, little bird, I’m nae sure I can stop.”
“Och, will ye stop blabberin’ and just—”
His mouth claimed hers with a hunger that stole what little breath she had left. But this time, there was nothing gentle about the way his tongue swept past her lips, tasting her like he was starving for it.
Claricia’s arms came up around his neck, fingers tangling in his wet hair as she kissed him back with everything she’d been holding in. All the want and confusion and terrifying, impossible feelings she’d been trying to deny.
He lifted her effortlessly—one arm banding around her waist, the other sliding under her thighs until she was wrapped around him, every inch of her pressed against every inch of him with nothing but hot water between them.
The hardness of him pressed against her belly, the realization sending a shock of heat straight through her core.
“Need ye…” Erik bit out against her mouth, then dragged his lips down her throat. “Somewhere tae… lay ye down proper…”
“I dinnae care where —”
“Then against the rocks.” His teeth grazed her pulse point, and she made a sound she’d never heard herself make before. “Just need ye under me. Need tae feel ye wrapped around me.”
She should say no. Should tell him to wait until they were back at the keep, in their chamber, somewhere proper and planned. But instead, she heard herself whisper, “Aye.”