Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
‘úLFR TIL VALH?LL!’
From somewhere in the darkness beyond the camp came a sound that made Claricia’s heart soar.
A wolf’s howl, long and terrible and absolutely furious.
Chaos erupted as warriors poured from the darkness like avenging spirits—Erik at their head, Aksel beside him, and behind them a force of battle-hardened Norsemen whose very presence made Duncan’s mercenaries hesitate.
“CLARICIA!” Erik’s roar cut through the night, raw and desperate and absolutely murderous.
“Here!” she tried to scream, but Duncan’s hand clamped over her mouth, dragging her towards the birlinn.
Steel rang against steel as the battle joined. Through the press of bodies, Claricia caught glimpses of Erik cutting through Duncan’s men like a scythe through wheat—his sword singing death with every stroke, his movements fluid and terrible and mesmerizing in their lethal grace.
He is truly a wolf, Bonnie and deadly and utterly unstoppable.
She felt fierce pride.
“Get her on the boat!” Duncan bellowed. “Now! Ye wretched dogs!”
They were almost at the birlinn when desperation made Claricia reckless. She slammed her head backward into her captor’s nose—felt the satisfying crunch of cartilage—and his grip loosened just enough.
She twisted, stumbled, tried to run but her bound hands destroyed her balance. She tumbled forward, momentum carrying her toward the water’s edge where Duncan stood bellowing orders.
She crashed into him.
They both went down. Cold water rushed over her head—salt burning in her nose and throat—and for one terrible heartbeat she was drowning again, helpless and sinking.
She kicked hard, breaking the surface. Her hands were still bound, but Erik had taught her enough. She found something wooden—part of the birlinn—and clung to it desperately, gasping for air.
“Ye bitch!” Duncan surfaced beside her, fury transforming his face into something monstrous. His hands found her throat, pushing her under—
Then he was gone, ripped away by a force like a striking serpent.
Erik!
Claricia broke the surface again, coughing. Through water-blurred eyes she saw them—Erik and Duncan locked together in the shallows, both more beast than men.
Erik’s fist connected with Duncan’s jaw. Once. Twice. The sound of bones breaking carried across the water. Duncan staggered but rallied, landing a vicious strike to Erik’s ribs that would have felled a lesser man.
Erik barely flinched.
“She’s mine.” Each word punctuated by another devastating blow. Erik’s knuckles split against Duncan’s face, blood mixing with seawater. “Ye. Bloody. Bastard!”
Duncan fought back with the desperation of a man who had nothing left to lose. His fist caught Erik’s temple. For a heartbeat Erik swayed, and Claricia’s heart stopped.
Then Erik smiled—all teeth, no warmth—and grabbed Duncan by the throat.
“Me turn.”
He drove Duncan backward into deeper water, using his superior size and strength to force his enemy under.
Duncan thrashed, clawing at Erik’s arms, but the Wolf of Skye was relentless.
When Duncan surfaced, gasping wildly, Erik’s fist was waiting—another crushing blow that sent blood spraying across dark water.
“This is fer hurtin’ me wife.” Erik’s voice was deadly calm despite the violence. Another strike, this one to Duncan’s ribs. The crack echoed sickeningly. “That’s fer makin’ her afraid.”
Duncan’s hand shot to his belt, finding the dirk hidden there. He lunged with surprising speed, his blade aimed for Erik’s throat.
Erik caught his wrist mid-strike. For a frozen moment they stood locked together, muscles straining. Then Erik twisted—sharp and brutal—and Duncan’s wrist snapped with a sound like breaking kindling.
The dirk fell into the water.
“And this,” Erik said quietly, his free hand finding his own blade, “is fer thinkin’ ye could ever take her from me.”
The sword found Duncan’s chest with terrible precision. Duncan’s eyes went wide—shock and understanding and the beginning of fear—as steel pierced through silk and skin and bone.
“She. Was. Never. Yers!” Erik said, each word deliberate as he drove the blade deeper. “She was always mine. From the moment the king spoke her name, she belonged tae me. And the Wolf of Skye protects what’s his.”
He twisted the blade.
Duncan MacRae made a sound—something between a gasp and a sigh—and went limp. Erik held him there for another heartbeat before letting the body slip from his sword into dark water.
Strong hands lifted Claricia from the water. She couldn’t stop shaking—from cold, from shock, from the overwhelming relief of being alive and safe and his.
“I’ve got ye.” Erik’s voice, rough with emotion as he carried her tae shore. “I’ve got ye, little bird. Ye’re safe now. I’ve got ye.”
He set her down only long enough to cut the ropes binding her wrists with hands that trembled slightly. Then she was in his arms again, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in a tilting world.
“I thought—” Her voice broke. “I thought ye wouldnae come in time. I thought—”
“Shh.” He pressed his face into her hair, and she felt him trembling too—this fierce warrior who’d just killed a man with his bare hands, shaking like a leaf in her arms. “I will always come fer ye. Always. D’ye understand? There is nowhere in this world ye could be taken that I wouldnae follow.”
She pulled back far enough to see his face—to see the fear still lingering in those eyes, the barely controlled terror of a man who’d almost lost everything that mattered most to him.
“I love ye,” she whispered. “I need ye tae ken—I didnae want tae leave. I told me faither I wanted tae stay. That I chose ye. That I love ye more than anythin’ in this world.”
Erik kissed her. Not gentle. Not tender.
This was claiming and desperate and tasted of salt water and blood and promises too big for words.
His hands cupped her face like she was made of glass and diamonds and everything precious he’d ever been denied.
When they broke apart, both gasping, he rested his forehead against hers.
“I ken, lass.” His voice cracked. “And I’m sorry I didnae see this comin’. Sorry I let ye be taken.”
“Ye’re here now.” She cupped his face with shaking hands, feeling the rough stubble beneath her palms, the warmth of him. “That’s what matters. Ye came fer me.”
“Always,” he repeated fiercely.
Movement behind them made them both turn. Finnian stood a few feet away, swaying slightly, blood still matting his gray hair and streaming down his temple. His face was a mask of anguish and shame.
“Claricia—” His voice cracked. “Lass, I’m so sorry. I thought I was savin’ ye, but all I did was—”
“Ye almost got her killed.” Erik’s voice went hard as iron.
He stood, putting himself between Claricia and her father, every line of his body radiating protective menace.
“Ye betrayed me hospitality. Brought an enemy inside me walls. Put me wife in danger because ye couldnae accept that she’d chosen me over yer precious pride. ”
“I ken.” Finnian’s shoulders bowed under the weight of his guilt, tears streaming freely down his weathered cheeks. “I ken what I’ve done. And if ye want tae hand me over tae the king fer treason, I’ll go willingly. I deserve whatever punishment—”
“Nay.”
Claricia stood on shaking legs, using Erik for support, and faced her father with eyes that held both hurt and understanding.
“Nay,” she repeated softer. “Ye were wrong. Ye were foolish and desperate and ye nearly destroyed everythin’.
But ye’re still me faither. And ye tried tae stop them when ye realized ye were wrong.
An’ I still dinnae ken how ye managed tae follow us here after they beat ye unconscious.
” Her voice wavered but held firm. “I willnae see ye executed fer lovin’ me too much, even if that love was twisted and blind. ”
Finnian’s face crumpled. “Lass—”
“Ye need tae accept this now. Really accept it. I’m stayin’ here on Skye whether ye approve or nae. This is me home. He is me home.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy with things unsaid. Then Finnian looked at Erik—really looked at him—and something shifted in his expression.
“The way ye fought fer her taenight,” Finnian said quietly. “The way ye looked at her in the hall.” He swallowed hard. “That’s nae the face of a monster. That’s the face of a man who’d burn the world tae ash tae keep her safe.”
Erik said nothing, just tightened his arm around Claricia’s waist.
Finnian nodded, unable to speak, and Claricia knew with certainty that she’d made the right choice. The only choice. Because that—Erik’s arms around her, his breath warm against her temple, his presence solid and real and hers—this was worth every sacrifice. Every fear. Every moment of doubt.
That was home.
That was love.
That was everything.