Erik went very still. “Did he now.” His voice dropped to that dangerous quiet that meant violence was being carefullyleashed. “And what exactly did this former betrothed of yers suggest?”
“Erik—”
“Because from where I’m standin’, little bird, the man who’s been tryin’ tae abduct ye fer weeks suddenly offerin’ his aid sounds less like charity and more like a wolf beggin’ fer permission tae guard the lambs durin’ birthin’ season.” His jaw tightened. “Please tell me Finnian had the good sense tae refuse.”
“He seemed… open tae the idea.” She watched Erik’s hands curl into fists. “Faither thinks Duncan wants tae?—”
Erik’s laugh was short and bitter. “MacRae’s beggin’ fer a swim in the loch with stones tied tae his ankles.”
Despite everything, her mouth twitched at his dry tone. “That’s a bit much.”
Erik started pacing like a caged predator, that restless energy making the air around him crackle. “That’s bein’ merciful, little bird. The alternative’s the blood eagle.”
Claricia blinked. “Thewhat?”
“’Tis an ancient Norse tradition. Reserved fer the worst offences—betrayal, cowardice, crimes against kin.” His expression had gone dark in a way that should have terrified her, but instead,it sent heat pooling low in her belly. “Ye cut through the ribs from behind, crack them open tae spread them like wings. Then ye pull out the lungs through the openin’ while the man’s still breathin’.”
“Erik—” her voice came out strangled.
“The condemned is expected tae stay silent through the entire thing, ye ken.” He continued, matter-of-factly as if discussing the weather. “Nay screamin’, nay beggin’. If a single sound is uttered, entry is denied intae Valhalla—dyin’ a coward’s death, denied the afterlife. So most try tae last as long as they can without cryin’ out.”
“That’s…” she couldn’t find words, torn between horror and dark fascination at this rare glimpse into her husband’s culture. “That’s barbaric!”
“Aye.” He looked down at her, utterly unrepentant. “But ‘tis also justice. Nae a fate easily given. And Duncan MacRae has earned it twice over fer what he’s tried tae dae tae ye.”
“Ye cannae just blood eagle me previous fiancé because he’s bein’ a schemin’ bastard!”
“Watch me.” But something had shifted in his eyes when he looked at her—the lethal focus softening just slightly. “And he’s nae a schemin’ bastard, Claricia. He’sactivelytryin’ tae steal ye. There’s a difference.”
“Och, aye. The one bein’ mildly annoyin’, the other apparently earns ye disembowelment.” She crossed her arms. “Seems a wee bit extreme, even fer the Wolf of Skye.”
His mouth twitched. “And here I thought I’d finally found a use fer all those ancient execution techniques Aksel keeps tellin’ me are ‘culturally outdated’.”
“Och, poor ye. Denied yer bloodshed by petty things like laws and diplomacy.”
“Ye jest, but ‘tis a genuine hardship.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “Dae ye ken how many creative solutions I come up with on a daily basis that Aksel vetoes on principle? ‘Tis stiflin’ tae a man’s natural instincts, ye ken.”
“Yer natural instincts areterrifyin’.”
“Aye. But they keep ye safe.” His hands came up to frame her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones. “Though I suppose I’ll have tae settle fer lockin’ yer faither in the North Wing until he comes tae his senses.”
“Erik Thorsen, ye arenaelockin’ up me faither!”
“Why nae? ‘Tis fer his own protection.” Erik’s voice had gone reasonable in that infuriating way that meant he genuinely believed his ridiculous suggestion made perfect sense. “What’s a few days in me dungeon? He’ll have plenty of time tae reflect on who he’s trustin’.”
“That’s kidnappin’, ye daft Viking!”
“’Tis protective custody, little bird.” Erik teased.
She felt the shift in him, from dark humor to genuine concern. “What will we dae, Erik?”
“We keep Finnian close.”
“Ye want me tae spy on me faither?”
“I want ye tae save him from his own blind spots, Claricia.” Erik’s eyes held hers, fierce and unflinching.
Her throat tightened. “Since when daes the Wolf of Skye care about Highland faithers?”
