“Have ye lost all sense?”
“Nay. But I’ve finally gained some perspective.” She lifted her chin, met his eyes. “Or maybe I’m just tired of hatin’ him because everyone tells me I should.”
“He’s twisted yer mind against yer own blood?—”
“Yer daughter makes her own mind, Laird MacKenzie. Ye should ken that.”
The new voice came from the doorway. Erik stood there, face carefully blank.
Claricia’s pulse kicked up, but not from fear. From something that felt dangerously close to vindication. “Seems ye’re part of this conversation after all, me jarl. Perhaps ye should stop lurkin’ in the corridors and join us properly?”
Erik’s gaze held hers for a long moment before he stepped into the room. The space suddenly felt smaller with all three of them in it. More volatile, like adding oil to fire.
“Yer daughter is safe here, Laird MacKenzie.” Erik’s voice was quiet. Controlled. The kind of control that came from years of practice keeping his temper leashed. “Ye have me word.”
“Yerword.” Finnian’s laugh was sharp as broken glass. “Fergive me if a faither finds small comfort in that. Words are?—”
“We’ll finish this at supper,” Claricia cut in, looking between them. Between the two most important men in her life, circlingeach other like wolves. “All of us. With civility, if ye can manage it.”
The tension didn’t ease as servants laid out the evening meal in Erik’s solar. If anything, the intimate setting—just the three of them at a table meant for private counsel—only sharpened the edges of every unspoken grievance. No audience to play to. No witnesses to temper behavior. Just three people, a table, and enough animosity to start a war.
Claricia took her seat between the two men and braced herself. Finnian sat ramrod straight, barely touching the venison on his plate. Each time he lifted his cup, his hand shook slightly—whether from rage or restraint, she couldn’t tell. Erik ate with his usual methodical efficiency, seemingly unbothered by the hostile glares being directed his way, but she’d learned to read the small tells. The tightness around his eyes. The deliberate slowness of his movements. A predator pretending to be calm.
Claricia pushed food around her plate and wished desperately to be anywhere else.
“The isle is well-defended?” Finnian asked, tone suggesting he already doubted the answer.
“Aye.” Erik took a measured sip of ale. “Increased patrols along the coast. More men at the harbor.”
“And yet.” Finnian set down his cup with deliberate care. “Me daughter acquired those bruises under all this… vigilance.”
Claricia saw Erik’s hand tighten fractionally on his knife.
“There was an incident days past. An ambush on the coast road. Yer daughter was unharmed.”
“Anambush.” Finnian’s voice went dangerously soft. “How convenient that this detail escaped yer letter.”
“It was after the letter was sent and it was dealt with?—”
“She could’ve beenkilled!” Finnian slammed his cup down hard enough to rattle the table.
“Faither, please?—”
“Nay, I want tae hear what kind of protection he’s offerin’ ye as his wife! As?—”
“Calm. Down.”
Erik’s voice didn’t rise, but something in it made the air go sharp. He stood slowly, and Claricia was reminded of a wolf rising to its full height—all coiled power and deadly calm.
“Ye’re concerned fer yer daughter. As ye well should be.” Erik’s eyes never left Finnian’s. “But ye’ll nae question me ability tae protect what’s mine.”
“Yers?” Finnian rose to meet him. “She was mine before the king played his games?—”
“Enough!” Claricia’s hands hit the table hard enough to make cups jump. Wine sloshed. A knife clattered. Both men stared at her with wide eyes. “Both of ye, just…stop this.”
They turned to stare at her—her father with wounded fury written across every line of his face, Erik with something that might have been surprise buried beneath granite control.
“Faither, I understand ye’re frightened fer me. Truly, I dae.” She looked between them. “But Erik is me husband now. Whether either of us chose it or nae, whether ye approve or nae—he’s me husband. And ye—” She turned to Erik, saw him watching her with those pale, unreadable eyes. “Ye need tae ken that he’s mefaither. He raised me. Protected me. Loved me when I had naethin’ and nay one. He’ll nae simply trust ye because a king commanded it.”
