“I’m nae lookin’ at anythin’.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.
Erik rode beside her on his massive grey stallion, close enough that his leg occasionally brushed hers when the horses moved together. Close enough that she could feel his gaze on her face, reading every tell she thought she’d hidden.
His voice carried no judgment, just that blunt observation he wielded like a weapon. “Ye’ve gone pale as milk.”
Heat crept up her neck despite the chill. “I’m fine.”
“Aye. And I’m the King of Norway.”
Behind them, Aksel and the four guards maintained their distance—close enough to respond to danger, far enough to give the illusion of privacy. The sun sat low on the horizon, painting everything in shades of amber and blood, and the wind off the water carried the sharp bite of salt and seaweed.
“Would ye like tae learn?”
Claricia’s head snapped toward him. “Learn what?”
“Tae swim.” Erik’s expression remained neutral, but something in his eyes suggested this wasn’t a casual offer. “The water’s cold now but come spring… I could teach ye. If ye wanted.”
The thought alone made her stomach clench. “Why would I want that?”
“Because fear’s a cage, little bird.” His hand gestured toward the endless grey expanse. “And ye dinnae strike me as someone who likes bein’ caged.”
He’s right. Curse him, but he’s right.
“I’ll think about it,” she said finally, the words feeling like both a promise and a surrender.
Erik’s mouth curved—not quite a smile, but close. “That’s all I?—”
He went still. Completely, utterly still in a way that made every hair on Claricia’s body stand on end. His hand moved to his sword hilt with practiced ease, his eyes scanning the rocky outcropping ahead where the path narrowed between stone and sea.
“Erik?”
“Quiet.” The word came out barely a whisper. Then, louder, pitched to carry to Aksel behind them: “Defensive positions. Now.”
The world exploded into violence.
Men erupted from behind the rocks like demons materializing from smoke—six, seven, maybe more, their faces covered, weapons already drawn and gleaming in the dying light. They moved with the coordination of trained fighters, not desperate bandits, and Claricia’s mare screamed and reared as steel sang free of scabbards all around her.
“Claricia! Stay behind me!” Erik’s roar cut through the chaos as his stallion wheeled, putting himself between her and the attackers.
But her mare had other ideas. The animal bolted sideways, hooves scrabbling for purchase on loose stones, and Claricia feltherself sliding, the reins torn from her grip as gravity and terror conspired against her.
She hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs, tasted copper and dirt, saw boots rushing toward her through a haze of dust and shock.
They’re coming fer me.
“Touch her and die!”
Erik’s voice carried the kind of cold fury that made grown men reconsider their life choices. Claricia rolled onto her side just in time to see him vault from his saddle with terrifying grace, his sword already moving, already singing its deadly song.
The first attacker never saw the blow coming. Erik’s blade opened his throat in a spray of crimson that looked black in the fading light. The man dropped without a sound, and Erik was already pivoting, already moving toward the next threat with the fluid efficiency of a predator born to hunt.
He’s magnificent. He’s terrifying. He’s?—
Hands grabbed her arms, yanked her upward, and Claricia screamed. She twisted, clawed at the face above her, felt her nails rake across flesh and heard a satisfying curse.
“Feisty wee bitch, arenae ye?” The man’s breath reeked of stale ale and rotting teeth. “MacRae wants ye alive, but he didnae say undamaged?—”
Steel flashed. The man’s words ended in a wet gurgle as Aksel’s blade punched through his spine from behind. The warrior yanked his sword free and the attacker crumpled, revealing Aksel’s blood-splattered face twisted in grim satisfaction.
