“Which means he’s desperate, and his ego’s been bruised.” Erik’s jaw tightened. “And desperate men are dangerous.” His eyes turned hard. “But ye were never his.” The words came out fiercer than Erik intended, sharp with a possessiveness he couldn’t quite control. “And ye never will be.”
Something shifted in her expression then—surprise giving way to something warmer, softer. Like she was seeing him anew.
“Come.” He touched her face again, needing the contact, needing to feel her warm and alive beneath his palm. “Let’s get ye back inside where I ken ye’re safe.”
They walked back toward the castle in silence, but it was a different kind of quiet than before—charged with possibility, heavy with things unsaid. Erik kept her close to his side, his hand on the small of her back, acutely aware of every warrior who paused to watch them pass.
Let them see.Let them all see that she’s mine tae protect.
He thought it with a possessiveness that would have surprised him a week before. As they reached the keep’s entrance, Aksel emerged from the shadows, his expression grim as old stone.
“We’ve searched everywhere accessible, me jarl. Nay sign of the prisoner. But we found somethin’ in his cell ye need tae see.”
Erik’s gut tightened. “What?”
“Loose stones in the back wall. Hidden behind the pallet. Looks like they’ve been worked at fer days—maybe longer.” Aksel’s gaze flicked to Claricia, then back to Erik. “There’s a passage behind them. Narrow, but big enough fer a man tae squeeze through if he’s desperate.”
A passage. Not a traitor, then. Just a weakness Erik hadn’t known existed. The relief was minor—the threat was still real—but at least it meant his men were still loyal.
“Where daes it lead?”
“We’re still followin’ it, but best guess? Outside the walls. Probably an old escape route from when the castle was first built. Forgotten over time.”
Erik swore under his breath, the words sharp and vicious. “Seal it. I want that passage blocked with enough stone that nae even a rat could get through.”
“Already started.” Aksel hesitated, then added, “He also left somethin’ behind, though. In the cell. Ye’ll want tae see it.”
The warning in his friend’s voice made Erik’s shoulders tense. “Show me.”
He turned to Claricia, seeing the worry she was trying to hide behind that stubborn MacKenzie pride. “I need ye tae go back tae our chamber. Lock the door. Dinnae open it fer anyone except me, Aksel, or Liv. Can ye dae that fer me?”
“What did he leave?” Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed her worry.
“I dinnae ken yet. But I’ll tell ye everythin’ once I dae.” He touched her face again, the gesture becoming almost habitual now, like breathing. “I promise, little bird. Nay more secrets between us. Just—let me see what we’re dealin’ with first.”
Claricia nodded slowly, then she was gone, climbing the stairs toward their chamber with two guards flanking her like shadows. Erik watched until she disappeared around the corner, making certain she was truly heading where he’d told her to go.
“Well,” Aksel said quietly, a hint of amusement creeping into his grim expression. “That looked… different.”
“Shut it. Show me what the bastard left behind.”
They descended into the North Wing, where the escaped prisoner’s cell stood empty and mocking. The loose stones Aksel had mentioned were pulled away from the wall now, revealing a dark passage that disappeared into the castle’s bones like a throat swallowing light.
But it was what lay scratched into the stone floor beside the pallet that made Erik’s blood turn to ice.
Three words, carved deep enough to be permanent:
She is ours.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“D’ye really need a fortress between us, little bird?”
Claricia looked up from where she’d just positioned the final pillow—a particularly substantial one she’d commandeered from the wardrobe—to find Erik standing at the foot of the bed. Arms crossed. One eyebrow raised. That look on his face that always made her want to either hit him or kiss him, and she still hadn’t worked out which impulse was stronger.
“’Tis nae a fortress,” she said, straightening with as much dignity as someone kneeling on a bed surrounded by pillows could manage, “but a reasonable boundary.”
“Reasonable.” His mouth twitched. “Lass, ye’ve used every pillow in this chamber. Plus the ones from the next. And I saw ye eyein’ those chair cushions.”
