CHAPTER FIVE
“The water’s ready, m’lady. Let me help ye with?—”
“I can manage, thank ye.”
The words came out sharper than Claricia had intended, and the young maidservant’s eyes widened before she bobbed a quick curtsy. Her hand reached for the door latch, and something in Claricia’s chest twisted with guilt.
“I’m sorry.” The apology tumbled out before pride could stop it. The girl paused, surprise flickering across her plain features. “I didnae mean tae snap at ye. ‘Tis been… a long day.”
Understanding softened the maid’s expression immediately. “Och, nay need fer apologies, m’lady. Ye’ve been through a terrible fright, ye have.” She moved back toward the copper tub steaming near the hearth, her nervousness melting into something gentler. “Will ye be needin’ help with yer hair, atleast? ‘Tis thick as anything, and the salt’ll make it a right mess if it’s nae combed through proper-like.”
“Aye,” she admitted quietly. “That would be kind of ye.”
The girl’s smile transformed her whole face. “I’m Tovi, m’lady. If ye need anythin’ at all, ye just ask fer me, aye?”
“Thank ye, Tovi.”
Claricia let the girl help her from the shirt—hisshirt, still carrying the scent of salt and leather and something darker she couldn’t quite name—and sank into the bath with a sigh that came from somewhere deep in her bones. The water was almost too hot, but she welcomed the burn. Welcomed anything that drove away the memory of freezing seawater closing over her head, of lungs screaming for air that wouldn’t come, of the terrifying certainty that she was going to die.
I almost died.
The realization hit her again, sharp as any blade. One moment she’d been falling, the next she’d been under—lungs burning, limbs tangling in sodden skirts, the current pulling her down into darkness. She’d felt her body giving up the fight, felt consciousness starting to slip away?—
And then strong hands had grabbed her. Had dragged her back toward light and air and life.
Erik.
Tovi’s gentle fingers worked through the tangles in her hair, and Claricia forced herself to breathe. To focus on the crackle of the fire, the warmth soaking into her chilled bones, the sweet-smelling oil Tovi used to coax the snarls free.
“Yer hair’s a wonder, m’lady,” Tovi said softly. “Never seen such a color. Like chestnuts fresh from the shell, it is.”
“Me mother’s hair.” The words escaped before Claricia could stop them, carried on a wave of homesickness so acute it stole her breath. “She died when I was five. Winter sickness took her, and me faither… he never quite recovered.”
“I’m sorry fer yer loss, m’lady.” Tovi’s hands paused for just a heartbeat. “Me own mam passed three years ago. Some hurts never quite heal, dae they?”
“Nay,” Claricia whispered. “They dinnae.”
A darker thought crept in, unbidden and unwelcome.
Who were those men who wanted tae take me?
The attack had been too coordinated and they’d wanted her specifically.
Duncan MacRae’s face flashed in her mind.
He wouldnae… would he?
She dismissed that thought as quickly as it came. Duncan MacRae was ambitious and jealous, and his pride had most certainly been wounded, but orchestrating an attack on a royal decree? No, that was absurd.
It was most likely pirates or enemies of the Wolf’s—the man probably had hundreds of them.
A sharp knock shattered her thoughts.
Both women turned toward the door as it swung open without waiting for permission. A young woman swept into the room with the kind of natural authority that made servants step aside without thinking. She was nothing like Claricia had expected—not the broad-shouldered Viking Amazon she’d imagined, but slender and elegant, with hair so pale it was almost silver and eyes the color of a winter sky.
“Me name is Liv. Liv Eriksdottir,” the woman presented herself. Then she turned to the maid. “That’ll be all, Tovi,” Liv said, her tone polite but brooking no argument. “I’ll see tae Lady Claricia’s needs from here.”
Tovi bobbed a quick curtsy, gathering her supplies. “Aye, mistress. I’ve laid out the shift and gown on the bed, and there’s fresh linens fer dryin’—”
