“The ceremony takes place two days hence, with the king’s envoy as witness.” He pushed off the door, moving toward her with measured steps. “Did ye think ye’d have weeks tae plot yer escape? Months tae scheme some way out of this?”
“I wasnae schemin’.” She backed toward the window, maintaining distance between them like a wild creature cornered. “I simply… expected more time tae adjust.”
“Adjust.” Erik stopped an arm’s length away, close enough to catch the scent of lavender soap on her skin, close enough to see the flecks of green in her blue eyes. “From where I stand, it looks more like ye’re measurin’ the height of that window and wonderin’ if ye’d survive the drop.”
Her chin lifted. “Me laird is very observant.”
“Dinnae call me that.”
“What else should I call ye? ‘Tis proper address fer?—”
“I’m nae some spoiled Highland laird in his fancy castle, lass. I’m ajarl, and if ye cannae bring yerself tae call me by me given name, then dinnae bother speakin’ tae me at all.” The words came out harsher than he intended, scraped raw by frustration he couldn’t quite name. “I’ve enough men who call me ‘me jarl’ with fear in their voices. I’ll nae have me wife addin’ tae the chorus.”
“Wife.” She said it like a curse. “I’m nae that yet.”
“Ye will be. In two days, Claricia Mackenzie will become Claricia Thorsen, Lady of Skye, and naethin’ short of death will change that fact.” He reached out slowly, giving her time to retreat if she chose. When she didn’t, he caught a strand of her hair between his fingers, marveling at its softness as he twirled it around his fingers. “The sooner ye accept that, the easier this will be. Fer both of us.”
“Easy?” She jerked away from his touch, eyes flashing. “There’s naethin’ easy about bein’ sold like a bloody sheep, forced tae marry the bastard who murdered me braither!”
There it is.
The accusation he’d been waiting for. Erik let his hand fall to his side, curling it into a fist. “I’m sorry ye lost yer braither but I didnae murder him. I led a raid on a Highland settlement that had been attackin’ our supply ships. Men died on both sides. If Logan Mackenzie chose tae stand in me path, that was his decision.”
“He was twenty years old!”
“He was a warrior old enough tae hold a blade.” Erik’s voice dropped to something dangerous. “Dinnae mistake me fer a man who apologizes fer defendin’ his people, lass. If ye’re waitin’ fer me tae fall on me knees and beg yer forgiveness, ye’ll be an old wench before it happens.”
Silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring. Then Claricia did something unexpected—she laughed. Not the bitter sound from before, but something genuine, if tinged with exhaustion.
“Well, at least ye’re honest about bein’ a brute.”
“Aye, well.” He found himself fighting a smile. “I’m everythin’ but proper, as ye’ve already discovered. Best ye remember that before ye decide tae test me patience further.”
“And if I choose tae test it anyway?”
“Then we’ll both discover just how stubborn the other can be.” Erik turned toward the door, needing distance before he didsomething foolish like close the space between them. “Be ready fer dinner in an hour. Me allies are here fer the weddin’, and they’re expectin’ tae meet ye.”
“Will ye be escortin’ me?”
He paused, hand on the latch. “Liv will bring ye down.”
“I see.” Her voice went cold. “So ye’ll demand I call ye by name, and allow ye tae claim me as yer wife, but ye willnae even dae me the courtesy of enterin’ a room on me arm?”
Erik looked back at her. She stood straighter now, the woolen gown clutched before her like armor, her jaw set with the kind of pride that could start wars or end them.
A lass worth fightin’ fer.
“I’m nae a man who daes things by half, Claricia. When I escort ye intae that hall, when I claim ye before me allies and me people, ‘twill be as me wife, nae me betrothed. Until then—” He pulled open the door “—we remain what we are. Two strangers bound by a decree neither of us wanted.”
He left before she could respond, but her voice followed him into the corridor.
“Erik.”
He stopped, surprised she’d used his name. He turned to find her framed in the doorway, backlit by firelight, looking every inch the Highland lady she’d been raised to be.
“Two days,” she said quietly. “And then what?”
Then everythin’ changes.
