“Erik!”
He moved to the bed, smearing his blood across the pristine white sheets with methodical efficiency. “This way ye keep yer maidenhead, the envoy gets his evidence, and we both keep breathin’.”
She crossed to the bed, staring at the spreading stain—dark and visceral and utterly damning. “That’s the most idiotic, self-sacrificin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Probably.” He wrapped his injured hand in leather, the movements practiced. “But I’ll nae have ye forced intae somethin’ before ye’re ready. Even if it means sleepin’ in that cursed chair.”
“Ye call that a chair?” She glanced at the miserable piece of furniture by the hearth—barely padded, nowhere near long enough for a man of his size.
“Aye. Ye get the bed. I get splinters in me arse and a crick in me neck that’ll last fer days.” He settled into it with a grimace that would’ve been comical under different circumstances.
“Erik.” She moved closer, compelled by something she couldn’t name. “Thank ye.”
“Fer what? Explainin’ how I’d bed ye and then nae daein’ it?”
“Fer givin’ me the choice.” Her voice broke on the words. “Fer bleedin’ fer me instead of just… takin’ what the law says is yers by right.”
His eyes locked on hers—intense, burning with something that made her stomach flip. “I’ll never force ye, Claricia.”
She wanted to say something profound. Something worthy of the gift he’d just given her. Instead, she just nodded and retreated to the bed, crawling beneath blankets that smelled of lavender and woodsmoke.
The chamber fell silent except for the fire’s crackling and the wind’s keening outside.
Sleep didn’t come. Hours passed. The fire burned low. And still she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened if she’d said yes.
She lay there acutely aware of him in that chair—the soft sounds of his breathing, the occasional creak of wood as he shifted,trying to find comfort that didn’t exist. She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her face, still hear his voice describing things that made her body ache in ways she didn’t understand.
Sleep proved impossible.
Erik shifted in the chair for what must have been the hundredth time, trying to find some position that didn’t feel like divine punishment for his sins. The wood dug into his spine with malicious precision, and his legs—too long for this cursed piece of furniture—had gone numb an hour before.
This is what ye get fer playin’ the noble fool. Splinters in places nay man should have splinters, and a wife in yer bed ye cannae touch.
From the bed came a soft sound—fabric rustling as she shifted, a quiet sigh that went straight through him like an arrow. He could picture too easily how her hair would spread across those pillows like spilled bronze, how firelight would paint gold across skin he had no right to be thinking about.
He tried closing his eyes. Tried thinking about supply lists and defense rotations and anything except the woman in his bed. But his mind—and his body—had other ideas.
That little gasp she made when I mentioned me mouth between her legs…
His manhood stirred, pressing insistent and uncomfortable against his trews. Perfect. As if this night couldn’t get any worse.
Another sound from the bed—her breathing changing, quickening slightly. Was she awake? Thinking about what he’d told her? Wondering what it would feel like if she’d said yes?
Stop. Just... stop. Ye’ll drive yerself mad thinkin’ about her like this.
But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to slide into that bed beside her, to pull her warm body against his, to kiss her until she forgot every reason she thought she should resist. To bury himself inside her slowly, carefully, until that sharp pain gave way to pleasure and she arched beneath him, gasping his name.
The chair creaked ominously as he shifted again, and he bit back a curse.
His hand—the one he’d cut—throbbed dully beneath the leather wrapping. A small price to pay for her trust. For the chance that someday she might look at him without seeing her brother’s killer. That someday she might want him without guilt or shame.
From the bed came another sound—softer this time, almost like a sigh.
And Erik closed his eyes, settling in for what promised to be the longest night of his life.
When dawn finally crept across the floor hours later, pale and unwelcome, he allowed himself one glance back at the bed. She’d shifted in sleep, one arm flung across the space where he should have been lying. The blankets had slipped down, revealing the curve of her shoulder, the fall of her hair across the pillow, her face gone soft and unguarded in ways it never was when waking.
Beautiful enough to make him ache with wanting.
