Her breath caught. “Ye did?”
“Aye. Sent it days ago. He should arrive soon, if he accepts.”
Tears burned behind her eyes. “Why?”
“Because ye’re me wife. Because makin’ ye happy matters tae me.” His expression turned almost shy, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen.
Claricia didn’t think. Didn’t let herself analyze or question or talk herself out of it. She just leaned forward and kissed him.
Erik made a sound low in his throat and his good arm came around her waist, pulling her closer until she was in his lap. His mouth opened under hers, and she tasted salt and copper and something uniquely him that made her head spin.
“Claricia,” he breathed against her lips. “Tell me tae stop. Tell me this is too fast, too much, and I’ll?—”
“Dinnae ye dare stop.” Her hands slid into his hair, tangling in the pale strands.
His kiss turned demanding, possessive, consuming in its intensity. His hand moved to cup the back of her head, angling her mouth while his tongue explored it with slow, deliberate thoroughness that made heat pool low in her belly.
She gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, his teeth catching her lower lip in a gentle bite that sent sparks racing down her spine. His hand at her waist tightened, pullingher flush against him until she could feel every hard plane of his chest, every rapid beat of his heart matching hers.
“I’ve wanted tae dae this,” he murmured against her throat, his lips trailing fire down the column of her neck, “since the moment I pulled ye from the sea.”
“Ye—och…” The protest died as his mouth found the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, his teeth scraping gently before his tongue soothed the sting.
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, and what she saw there made her breath stop. Raw need. Desperate want. “I think part of ye wanted tae touch me even then, too.”
“I’m afraid,” she whispered.
“Of me?”
“Of this. Of wantin’ ye when I shouldnae. Of losin’ ye tae the next ambush or raid or who kens what other danger lurks out there.” Her hands framed his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I watched ye fight today, and I wasnae afraid of ye. I was afraidferye. And that’s so much worse.”
Understanding dawned in his expression. “Ye care?—”
“And losin’ ye will destroy me.” The admission cost her, but it was true.
Erik’s hands came up to cover hers, pressing them more firmly against his face. “I cannae promise I’ll never face danger. But I can promise that I’ll fight like hell tae come back tae ye. Every. Single. Time.”
“That’s nae a promise ye will survive?—”
“Watch me.” He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her palm.
Despite everything, she felt a laugh bubble up. “Ye’re insufferably arrogant.”
“Ye like it.”
“I really dinnae.”
He kissed her again, softer this time, sweeter. “Ye like it as much as I like yer sharp tongue.”
Her hands drifted from his face to his shoulders, careful of the wound, tracing the edges of the raven’s wings. “Tell me about these.”
Erik shivered under her touch, his muscles tensing. “The raven is fer Odin. God of wisdom and war. Got it when I became laird—reminder that I needed both tae lead properly.”
Her fingers traced down his arm, following the intricate knotwork. “And these?”
“These are fer the people I’ve lost. Each pattern represents someone.” His voice had gone rough again. “Me parents. Me aunt. The warriors who fell under me command. Every life that became me responsibility.”
“And the tree?” Her hand moved to rest over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath her palm.
