CHAPTER SEVEN
“Care tae share what’s got ye pacin’ like a caged beast, cousin?”
Erik stopped mid-stride and turned to find Liv leaning against the doorframe of his chamber, arms crossed and one eyebrow arched in that particular way she had—half-exasperated, half-amused—that always reminded him too much of her mother. Dawn light spilled through the narrow window behind her, turning her pale hair to molten gold.
“I’m nae pacin’,” he muttered.
“Are ye inspectin’ the floorboards then?” She moved into the room with the easy grace of someone who’d never needed permission to enter his space. “Ye’ve been stompin’ about since before dawn. I could hear ye from the corridor. The entire keep probably could.”
Erik rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the rough stubble that scraped against his palm. He hadn’t slept—not really. Every time he’d closed his eyes, he’d seen green eyes and clever smiles that made something dangerous bloom warm in his chest.
“Take her tae see yer domain today,” Liv said quietly, her expression softening into something that might have been understanding. “Show her what she’s agreein’ tae when she becomes Lady of Skye. Let her see that there’s more here than just raids and blood.”
Erik’s jaw tightened. “The king’s decree daesnae care what she wants.”
“Nay.” Liv touched his arm, gentle. “Butyedae. I see it in the way ye watch her.”
Before he could form a response that didn’t sound like weakness, she was gone, leaving him alone with thoughts that felt far too dangerous for the morning light.
“Och fer the love of—” The door to Claricia’s chamber swung open with enough force to rattle the iron hinges. “If ye’re goin’ tae make a habit of stormin’ intae me chamber before dawn, ye can at least have the decency tae bring breakfast!”
Erik Thorsen filled the doorway like a storm given human form, already dressed for riding in worn leather and dark wool thatemphasized the breadth of his shoulders. His hair was tied back with a leather cord, and in the pale morning light, she could see every hard angle of his face, every line carved by years of battle and command.
“Or wait until I’mdressed!” Claricia finished, her hands flying to clutch the half-laced bodice of her borrowed gown. The blue wool gaped at her chest, revealing far more skin than any unmarried woman should show a man.
Erik’s gaze swept over her in one assessing glance—quick, thorough, utterly unapologetic—before settling on her face with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. “Ye’re dressed enough.”
“I’mhalf-dressed!” Heat flooded her cheeks, though whether from embarrassment or fury, she couldn’t quite tell. “Have ye nay concept of propriety?”
“Nae particularly.” He stepped fully into the room without invitation, closing the door behind him with deliberate calm, the soft click of the latch somehow more threatening than violence. “And tomorrow, ye’ll be me wife. I’ll be seein’ considerably more of ye than a half-laced bodice, little bird.”
Claricia’s fingers tightened on the fabric, torn between the urge to throw something at his arrogant head and the traitorous awareness of how her body responded to his proximity. He radiated heat like a forge, and the small chamber suddenly felt airless.
“That’s still hours from now, ye arse!” she lifted her chin in defiance even as her heart hammered against her ribs. “Until then, ye can bloody wellknockandwaitlike any civilized man.”
“Ach, but ye forget,” Erik’s mouth curved—not quite a smile, but something sharper. “I’m a savage Viking.”
He moved closer, and she could smell leather and salt air and something woodsy that made her want to lean in and breathe deeper. “Though I’ll have ye ken I ken how tae behave.”
“How very refined of ye.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.
His gaze dropped again—deliberately this time, slowly enough that she felt it like a physical touch—to where her hands clutched the gaping fabric. “D’ye need assistance with those laces?”
The offer, delivered in that low, rough voice, sent liquid heat pooling low in her belly. For one breathless moment, she imagined it—his hands on her, his fingers working the intricate fastenings with surprising deftness, his breath warm against her neck as he stood behind her...
Absolutely nae.
“I can manage on me own, thank ye very much.” She turned her back to him, fingers fumbling with renewed desperation at the stubborn ties. “And ye can wait outside like a proper gentleman.”
“I’m nae a gentleman either, Claricia.” Something in his voice made her shiver despite herself. “The sooner ye accept that, the easier this’ll be fer the both of us.”
“What’ll be easier? Ye orderin’ me about like I’m one of yer warriors?” She yanked at a particularly stubborn knot, cursing under her breath when it only tightened further.
Footsteps behind her. Close. Too close.
“Here.” His voice came from directly over her shoulder now, and she froze. “Ye’re makin’ it worse.”
“I dinnae need?—”
