“Nay?” He cracked one eye open, just enough to see her silhouette at the spring’s edge. Naked and trying very hard not to shake. “What are ye afraid of, then?”
“The drownin’ part, ye thick headed Viking turnip!”
There she is.
That sharp tongue she wielded like a blade whenever fear got too close. He’d come to crave it.
“Turnip.” He opened both eyes now, letting himself look at her properly. Moonlight and steam turned her into something out of legend—all curves and shadows. “Are ye truly so afraid that ye’ve even lost yer cuttin’ tongue, little bird?”
He held out one hand, palm up. “Come here. I’ll teach ye tae float.”
“Float.” She stared at his hand like it might bite. “Ye mean… stay above the water. Without drownin’?”
“That’s generally the idea behind floatin’, aye.”
“And if I sink?”
“Then I’ll pull ye up.” Simple. Absolute. “Claricia, I jumped intae the sea tae save ye once already. Ye think I’d let ye drown in a puddle I can stand up in?”
Then, she stepped forward. The water took her slowly—first her feet, then her calves, her thighs. She gasped when it reached her waist, and Erik saw her whole body go tense with the primal fear of deep water. But she kept moving, kept trusting him enough to take another step.
When she was close enough, he caught her hand. Her fingers locked around his with bruising force.
“Easy.” He tugged her closer, until she was standing right in front of him. The water came up to her shoulders here, and he could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse where his thumb rested against her wrist. “See? Nay drownin’.”
“Because I’mstandin’.” Her voice had gone high and thin. “That’s nae the same as floatin’.”
He shifted position, moving until his back was against the rock wall and she was between him and the rest of the pool. “Turn around.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m gonnae teach ye, and I need tae be able tae reach ye proper.” When she didn’t move, he added, “I’ll keep me hands exactly where they need tae be and nowhere else. Thor’s honor.”
She turned, and suddenly she was so close he could feel the heat of her skin even through the water. Could see the elegant line of her spine disappearing into the spring, the way her hair clung to her shoulders in dark, wet ropes.
“Dinnae look. Dinnae think. Just… focus”. His voice came out rougher than intended. “First rule of floatin’—ye need tae relax.”
“Iamrelaxed.”
“Lass, if ye were any more tense, ye’d snap in half.” He touched her shoulders, just his fingertips, and felt every muscle locked tight as bowstrings. “Breathe. In through yer nose, out through yer mouth. Slow.”
He let his hands slide down her arms carefully, nothing that could be mistaken for anything but instruction. “Now, I need ye tae lean back. Let the water take yer weight.”
“I’ll sink.”
“Ye’ll nae sink. He moved his hands to her waist, solid and sure. “On the count of three. One… two…”
She leaned back before he reached three, and for a heart-stopping moment she went rigid, fighting the water instead of trusting it. Then his hands found her back—one between her shoulder blades, one at the small of her spine—and he held her steady.
“There.” He kept his voice low, soothing. The same tone he used with spooked horses. “See? The water’s holdin’ ye up.”
“I dinnae—” Her hands flailed briefly, searching for purchase, and found his forearms. “Erik?—”
“I’ve got ye. Always.” He shifted one hand up to cup the back of her head, cradling it above the water. “Now, keep yer belly up. Arch yer back just a wee bit… that’s it!”
“I’m nae drownin’!”
“Nay, ye’re nae.”
