“Aye, well,” his mouth curved. “I’d rather have Finnian MacKenzie alive and hatin’ me than dead and makin’ ye weep.” Erik studied her face for a long moment, then seemed to come to some decision. “Will ye come with me somewhere. I reckon fer a moment, we need tae get away from all of this.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere I go when I need tae escape bein’ the Wolf.” He paused. “It’s gettin’ dark, but… will ye trust me? Even nae kennin’ where?”
She should have demanded details. Pressed for answers.
But looking at him—at that carefully hidden vulnerability—she found herself nodding, despite everything
“Aye.”
Relief flooded his features. “Get yer cloak. Ye’ll need it fer the journey.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“That’s what all the mystery’s been about? A weepuddle?”
Erik glanced over his shoulder at Claricia, who stood at the edge of the clearing with her arms crossed, staring at the steaming pool as if it had personally offended her. The hot spring wasn’t large—maybe fifteen feet across, hidden behind a natural wall of black rock and twisted pines, carved into the earth by forces older than any kingdom. Steam rose in lazy spirals from it, carrying the faint sulfur-scent of the earth’s blood warming the water from below.
“Puddle?” He turned the word over like a coin he was testing for weight. “’Tis ahotspring, ye wee heathen!”
Her chin lifted in that stubborn way he was learning meant she was terrified and would die before admitting it. “I thought ye’d take me somewhere… I dinnae ken. More impressive?”
“More impressive than hot water in the middle of Skye?” He began unlacing his tunic, watching her from the corner of his eye. “Ye’re a difficult woman tae please, little bird.”
“I… what are yedaein’?”
“Gettin’ in the puddle.” He pulled the tunic over his head, letting it drop to the moss-covered stone. The night air bit at his skin, but the heat from the spring pushed back against it. “That’s generally what one daes with water meant fer bathin’.”
Her eyes went wide. Then wider when he reached for the ties of his trews.
“D’ye have tae benaked?”
“Aye, well.” He paused, meeting her gaze with deliberate innocence. “I could leave them on, but then I’d have tae walk back tae the keep soakin’ wet and freeze me arse off. Seems a foolish choice when there’s a perfectly good solution.”
“But I… ye cannae just…” The words tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks going pink even in the darkness. “That’s naeproper!”
“Lass.” He finished untying the laces but didn’t push the fabric down yet. Just stood there, half-undressed and utterly unbothered by her panic. “We’re married. I’ve seen lose yersel’, I’ve held ye while ye slept. I’ve kissed ye until neither of us could breathe straight.” His voice dropped, going rougher. “Dinnae fash yerself over naethin’.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.
“Besides,” he continued, turning away to give her the illusion of privacy as he stripped off the rest, “the water’s deep enough fer modesty if that’s what concerns ye. And it’sdark.”
That was a lie. The moon was nearly full, and the steam caught its light like silver threads. He could see her perfectly well—the way she bit her bottom lip, the way her fingers twisted in the fabric of her cloak, the way she kept glancing between him and the spring like she was weighing her chances of survival.
He stepped into the water before she could form another protest, and the heat hit him like a blessing from the gods themselves.
Thor’s bones, that’s good.
He sank down until the water reached his chest, then leaned back against the smooth rock and closed his eyes.
“Ye just gonnae stand there all night, then?”
Silence. Then the rustle of fabric. Erik kept his eyes firmly shut, but every sound reached him with perfect clarity. The soft thud of her cloak hitting stone. The whisper of her dress being unlaced. A muttered curse in Gaelic when something—her belt, maybe—refused to cooperate. The sharp intake of breath when her bare feet touched the stone.
“’Tis warmer than ye’d think,” he said, still not looking.
“I’m nae afraid of warm water.”
