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 werewrong. 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.Heis 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 andhers—this was worth every sacrifice. Every fear. Every moment of doubt.
That was home.
That was love.
That was everything.
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-soakedtunic 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?—”
