Epilogue
Five months later…
“Ye’re starin’ again.”
Claricia didn’t bother denying it. She was sprawled across the bed—their bed, in their chamber, in the castle that had somehow become more home than Kintail —watching Erik strip off his training gear with the kind of shameless appreciation that would have scandalized her five months ago.
Now? Now she simply enjoyed the view.
“Can ye blame me?” She propped herself up on one elbow, letting her gaze trail over the broad expanse of his back, the play of muscle beneath scarred skin as he tugged his sweat-soaked tunic over his head.
“Ye’re rather pleasant tae look at when ye’re all”—she waved a hand vaguely—”sweaty and half-naked. ”
Erik glanced over his shoulder, and the heat in those gray-blue eyes made her breath catch. “Pleasant, am I?”
“Aye. Very. Like a particularly well-made tapestry, or a nicely roasted—”
He was on top of her before she could finish the thought, crawling over her with predatory grace until she was trapped beneath him, laughing breathlessly as he nipped at her throat.
“Ye’re comparin’ me tae wall decoration now?” he growled against her skin.
“A very fancy tapestry,” she amended, gasping as his teeth found that sensitive spot below her ear. “Expensive. Well-crafted. The kind ye’d hang in the Great Hall tae impress—Erik!”
He’d found the laces of her dress, loosening them with practiced efficiency. “Keep talkin’, little bird. I want tae hear more about how I compare tae household furnishin’s.”
She laughed again, the sound turning into something breathier as his mouth moved lower, trailing heat across her collarbone.
Five months of marriage had taught her many things—how to run a Norse household, how to navigate the politics of being a Highland bride among Viking warriors, how to stand her ground when Erik got overprotective.
But mostly, it had taught her that: how to come alive under his hands, how to crave his touch like air, how to love so completely it sometimes terrified her with its intensity.
“I love ye,” she said suddenly, the words spilling out unbidden. “In case I havenae mentioned it today.”
Erik stilled, lifting his head to look at her. Something soft flickered through his expression—that vulnerability he only ever showed her, when the Wolf disappeared and left just the man beneath.
“Ye mentioned it this mornin’,” he said quietly. “And at lunch. And again when ye ‘just bumped intae me’ on the way tae the trainin’ yard.” His thumb traced her lower lip. “But I’ll never tire of hearin’ it.”
“Good.” She pulled him down fer a kiss that started gentle but quickly turned hungry. “Because I plan tae keep sayin’ it. Every day. Multiple times. Fer the rest of our lives.”
When they finally broke apart, Erik’s fingers found her stomach, spreading wide and warm against the fabric of her loosened dress. The touch was weighted with intention.
“There’s somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ tae ask ye,” he said, his voice rougher than usual.
Claricia’s heart kicked. She knew that tone—the one he used when vulnerability made him gruff. “Aye?”
“These past months…” He paused, searching for words. “Ye’ve turned cold stone intae a home. And now I find meself wantin’ more. Wantin’ tae see what we could build together. What we could create.”
Understanding crashed over her. Not just about children—about legacy, about weaving their lives together so completely that something new could grow from the joining.
“A bairn,” she whispered.
“Aye.” The word came out fierce. “I want tae watch yer belly swell with our child. Want tae feel it kick and ken that we made somethin’ good out of the madness the king forced upon us.” His hand pressed firmer. “But only if it’s what ye want too.”
“Erik.” She caught his face between her palms. “D’ye really think I’ve spent five months fallin’ more deeply in love with ye and havenae imagined wee ones with yer stubborn jaw and me temper runnin’ through these halls?”
His slow smile was devastating. “They’ll be absolute terrors.”
“Aye,” she agreed, grinning back. “And we’ll love them so fiercely it’ll make the gods themselves jealous.”
Something shifted in his expression—relief and desire and profound tenderness. “Then let’s make one, lass. Right now.”
When Erik undressed her this time, his hands trembled slightly—not with inexperience but with the weight of what they were choosing. Each garment removed felt like a ritual.
“I used tae think I was cursed,” he said suddenly, pausing at the final lace of her chemise. “That everyone I loved was destined tae be torn from me.” He swallowed hard. “And then ye came, all fire and fury, and somehow ye chose this. Chose me.”
“Erik—”
“Nay, let me finish.” He pulled the chemise over her head, baring her to the golden light, but his eyes stayed locked on hers.
“Ye made me believe I could have this—a home, a family, a future that daesnae end in blood. So when I’m inside ye tonight…
” His voice dropped to something raw. “I need ye tae ken it’s about choosin’ hope.
Choosin’ life. Choosin’ ye, over and over again. ”
Tears pricked her eyes. “How am I supposed tae be seductive when ye’re makin’ me cry?”
“I dinnae need seduction.” He kissed one tear from her cheek, then the other. “I just need ye. Exactly as ye are.”
She pulled him down, kissing him with everything she couldn’t put into words—gratitude and desire and bone-deep certainty that that man, that moment, was exactly where she was meant to be.
He responded with matching intensity, his hands reverent as they rediscovered skin they’d mapped a hundred times before.
His touch carried new meaning as his palm skated down her side, across the flat plane of her stomach where life might soon take root. She shivered, arching into him as his mouth followed.
“Ye’re perfect,” he breathed against her skin, his lips brushing just below her navel. “And soon ye might grow round here. Might swell with our child.” He groaned. “The thought of it drives me mad with wantin’ ye.”
“Then stop thinkin’,” she gasped as his hands parted her thighs with gentle insistence, “and dae somethin’ about it.”
His laugh was dark velvet against her heated skin. “As me lady commands.”
When his mouth found her center, she cried out. Five months had taught him exactly how to unmake her, where to press and lick until she was writhing beneath him, desperate and aching.
“Erik, please—”
“I ken what ye need.” His voice was pure sin, muffled against her flesh. “But tonight, I’m goin’ tae worship every part of ye, wife.”
His tongue working magic while his fingers joined the assault, sliding inside her. She was slick and ready, her body demanding what came next.
But he held back, drawing out her pleasure until she was babbling nonsense, pulling at his hair, begging with broken words.
Only when she was trembling on the edge did he relent, adding pressure until she broke apart with a cry that was his name and a prayer tangled together.
She was still shaking when he crawled up her body, kissing her deeply so she could taste herself on his tongue. The intimacy of it made fresh heat pool low in her belly.
He helped her, stripping away the last barriers until they were skin to skin. When he settled between her thighs, his weight grounding and perfect, she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Look at me,” he said. “I want tae see yer eyes when I fill ye.”
She met his gaze—those storm-cloud eyes now burning with warmth and want.
“I love ye,” she whispered. “Whatever comes of taenight—whether there’s a bairn or nae—I love ye more than I have words tae express.”
His answering smile was brilliant and broken. “Then we’ll find other ways tae say it.”
He entered her slowly, giving her body time to adjust despite how many times they’d done that. But that night felt different. That night, every inch felt weighted with meaning, with the possibility their joining might create something miraculous.
When he was fully in, they both stilled—foreheads pressed together, breathing ragged.
“Ye feel like home,” Erik breathed. “Like every good thing I never thought I deserved.”
She couldn’t speak around the emotion clogging her throat, so she kissed him instead—deep and claiming and full of promises for all the tomorrows they’d build together.
He began to move—not with desperate urgency, but with deliberate purpose. Each thrust a declaration, each withdrawal a promise to return. He made love to her like a man savoring every moment.
Claricia met him thrust for thrust, her hands mapping the flex of muscle in his back. She could feel his careful control, the way he held back from the edge, wanting to draw it out.
“I can feel ye,” she gasped as he hit that perfect spot inside her, the one that made stars burst behind her eyelids. “So deep. So—och, aye!—right there.”
“Touch yerself,” Erik commanded roughly, his rhythm faltering. “I want tae feel ye come apart around me. Want tae ken that when I spill inside ye, ye’re already flyin’.”
She obeyed, her hand sliding between their joined bodies to find that bundle of nerves he’d tormented so expertly earlier. The added sensation made her gasp, made her inner muscles flutter around him in a way that drew a guttural groan from his chest.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his own control clearly splintering. “Take yer pleasure, lass. Take everythin’ ye need from me.”
The combination of his deep, purposeful thrusts and her own fingers working frantically between her thighs sent her over the edge with shocking speed. She came with a cry, her body clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that seemed to go on forever.
Erik followed her into bliss moments later, burying himself to the hilt with a shout. She felt him pulse inside her—once, twice, three times—flooding her with heat and possibility. His face was transformed, all harsh edges softened by ecstasy and love.
We might have just made a baby.
He collapsed beside her, pulling her close.