Chapter 28 #2
But before Claricia could sit, another figure rose from one of the lower tables—Torsten, one of Erik’s oldest warriors, a man with more scars than teeth and a reputation for brutal honesty.
“A toast!” he bellowed, and somehow his gravelly voice cut through the chaos. The hall quieted again, curious.
Torsten raised his cup toward Claricia, his weathered face splitting in a gap-toothed grin.
“When the jarl told us he was takin’ a Highland bride, we thought the king had lost his bloody mind.
Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady, but we’d been fightin’ yer kind fer so long we couldnae imagine one of ye sittin’ at our table. ”
A few uncomfortable chuckles rippled through the crowd.
“But then ye arrived,” Torsten continued, “and ye solved the dispute at the fishin’ village when none of us could—got that stubborn mainland trader tae unload the winter stores with naught but yer clever tongue and quick wit.
Ye’ve reorganized the castle stores so efficiently even old Bjorn stopped grumblin’ about wastin’ grain.
And within a few weeks…” he shook his head wonderingly, “ye’ve made every man, woman, and bairn in this castle understand what the jarl already kent—that ye’re nae just a Highland bride forced upon us by a king’s decree.
Ye’re our lady. Our Wolf’s mate. And any bastard who tries tae take ye from us will have tae go through every sword in this hall first.” The roar of approval was deafening.
Men pounded tables, women cheered, and Claricia had to blink rapidly to keep tears from spilling over.
“Tae Lady Claricia!” Torsten finished. “The Highland lass who conquered the Wolf!”
Erik’s arm went around her waist, steadying her as emotion threatened to overwhelm her completely. She leaned into his strength, grateful beyond words for that moment, that place, those people who’d accepted her despite everything that should have kept them apart.
“They’d follow ye intae battle if ye asked.” Erik murmured in her ear.
“I dinnae want them followin’ me intae battle,” she whispered back. “I want them followin’ ye home safe from it.”
The musicians struck up a Highland reel, and couples began moving toward the cleared space before the hearth. Erik stood, offering his hand with mock formality.
“Dance with me, wife.”
She let him lead her into the swirl of bodies, hyperaware of every point where they touched—his palm warm and callused against hers, his other hand settling at her waist with possessive certainty.
Around them, other couples moved through the pattern: Aksel spinning a blushing serving girl with surprising grace, Liv dancing with one of the young warriors who’d been trying to catch her eye for weeks, even old Torsten attempting the steps with his wife.
The hall had transformed into something magical—firelight and music and laughter weaving together into a tapestry of pure joy.
This was what peace looked like, Claricia realized.
Not grand treaties or political maneuvering, but moments like these, where people from different worlds could celebrate together without swords drawn or hatred burning.
“What are ye thinkin’ about?” Erik asked, pulling her close as the tempo slowed.
“Just… this. Us.” She looked up at him, seeing past the Wolf to the man who had knelt at her feet and confessed his love with trembling honesty. “A month ago, I thought ye were a monster. Now I cannae imagine me life without ye in it.”
His expression went soft in a way that made her heart forget how to beat properly. “A month ago, I thought I was incapable of lovin’ anyone. Ye proved me wrong about that too.”
The music shifted, became something sweeter. Erik pulled her closer still, one hand at the small of her back, the other clasping hers against his chest where she could feel his heartbeat—strong and steady and racing just slightly faster than normal.
“I meant what I said yesterday,” he murmured. “Every word.”
“I love ye, too Erik Thorsen.” The confession came easily now, without fear or hesitation. “Even though ye’re stubborn and overprotective and ye still dinnae ken how tae knock—”
He kissed her right there in front of everyone, cutting off her teasing with his mouth.
Around them, the hall erupted in cheers and laughter and good-natured ribbing, but Claricia barely heard it.
All she knew was Erik’s arms around her, his heart beating against hers, and the perfect rightness of finally speaking the truth aloud.
When they broke apart, both breathless and grinning like fools, she caught sight of her father watching from across the hall.
His expression was complicated—pain and resignation warring with something that looked almost like guilt.
He wasn’t celebrating with the others; instead, he stood apart, isolated in his grief and anger despite being surrounded by joy.
Her happiness dimmed slightly. “I should speak with him,” she said reluctantly.
“Aye.” Erik pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Go. I’ll be here when ye’re done. And if he gives ye trouble, just whistle. I’ll come runnin’.”
She laughed despite the anxiety coiling in her belly. “Me knight in shinin’ armor.”
“Yer wolf in battered armor,” he corrected. “Much more frightenin’.”
She wove through the celebrating crowd toward Finnian, her heart full enough to burst despite the worry gnawing at her. Her father stood as she approached, his face drawn and tired in the firelight.
“Walk with me?” he asked. “I’d like tae talk. Just the two of us, if ye dinnae mind.”
Something in his tone made her hesitate—a brittleness, a desperation that set warning bells chiming in her mind. But it was her father. The man who’d raised her, protected her, loved her even if that love was becoming suffocating.
“All right,” she agreed.
He led her out of the hall, through corridors she’d learned over the past weeks.
Behind them, the sounds of celebration faded gradually—music and laughter becoming distant echoes, then whispers, then silence.
The air grew colder as they moved away from the warmth and noise of the feast, and Claricia wished she’d thought to bring a cloak.
But her father kept walking with purposeful strides, deeper into the castle than she’d expected.
“Where are we goin’?” she asked as he pushed through a side door that led to the gardens.
“Just here.” His voice was strained. “I need tae tell ye somethin’, and I dinnae want anyone overhearin’.”
The night air bit cold after the hall’s warmth, raising goosebumps on her arms. Above them, stars scattered across black sky like thrown salt, and the moon hung fat and silver over Skye’s dark cliffs.
Finnian walked deeper into the gardens, past manicured paths into wild growth where shadows gathered thick.
“Faither, what on earth’s goin’ on?” Unease coiled tighter in her belly with each step. “Why are we—”
She stopped abruptly. They’d reached the eastern edge of the gardens, and there—barely visible in moonlight—was one of the hidden gates Erik had shown her weeks ago. The gate he’d told her to use if there was ever danger.
“Faither?” Her voice came out smaller than she’d intended. “Why are we here?”
Finnian turned to face her, and even in dim light she could see something broken in his expression—a desperation that made her pulse kick into her throat. He opened his mouth, closed it, then reached for her hand with trembling fingers.
“I need ye tae understand,” he said quietly, “that everything I’ve ever done has been tae protect ye. Even when ye hate me fer it. Even when—”
“What are ye talkin’ about?” Fear clawed up her spine, cold and sharp. “Faither, ye’re scarin’ me.”
“I love ye, lass.” His voice cracked. “More than me own life. More than me honor or me oath tae the crown. And I willnae lose ye tae him the way I lost Logan.”
The words hung between them like smoke, and suddenly Claricia understood with terrible clarity why he’d brought her there. To that particular spot. To that hidden gate that led beyond the castle walls.
“Nay.” She backed away, shaking her head. “Faither, whatever ye’re thinkin’—whatever ye’ve planned—”
“I’m sorry.” Tears tracked down his weathered cheeks, silver in the moonlight. “But I willnae let these Norse bastards take another of me bairns!”
“’Tis nae yer choice tae make!” Her voice rose, desperate. “I’m happy here! I love him! Why can ye nae just—”
Movement beyond the gate—shadows shifting in darkness, the unmistakable sound of horses stamping, men waiting.
Understanding crashed over her like ice water.
“What have ye done?”