“Because I’m still figurin’ out how tae say it without soundin’ like a lovesick eejit?” Erik ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself for the uncertainty. He’d led men intae battle without flinching, had made life-or-death decisions with calm detachment, but the thought of telling Claricia he loved her made his palms sweat.
“Erik.” Liv stepped forward and took his hand, squeezing firmly and her expression turned fierce. “Dinnae waste time worryin’ about soundin’ foolish. Just tell her.”
“And if she daesnae feel the same?”
“Have ye gone blind as well as daft?” Liv shook her head, exasperated. “That woman is just as far gone fer ye as ye are fer her. She just hasnae admitted it tae herself yet.”
Erik wanted to believe that. Wanted to think the softness in Claricia’s eyes when she looked at him meant more than desire or grudging respect. Wanted to believe that somewhere between being hauled over his shoulder like a sack of grain and learning to float in a hidden spring, she’d fallen just as hopelessly as he had.
“Thank ye,” Erik said quietly, pulling Liv into a brief embrace. “Fer everythin’. Fer acceptin’ her. Fer helpin’ her find her place here. Fer puttin’ up with me all these years.”
“Ye’re family,” Liv said simply, her voice thick. “And she makes ye happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted fer ye.”
When she pulled back, her eyes were suspiciously bright. Erik pretended not to notice, and she pretended his own eyes weren’t equally affected.
“Now go,” Liv said, shooing him toward the library like he was a wayward child. “Before I start cryin’ and ruin me reputation of bein’ fearsome.”
Erik headed down the corridor, his heart beating faster with each step. Voices drifted from the partially open library door—Claricia’s sharp with frustration, Finnian’s low and worried.
“—Why can ye nae see ye’re in danger? Yer maither would have wanted better fer ye than this.”
Erik’s hand stilled on the door frame. He should walk away. Should give them privacy for this particular battle. But his feet had apparently decided to mutiny, rooting him to the spot like one of Skye’s ancient oaks.
Claricia’s voice dropped, went softer but somehow fiercer. “Maither would have wanted me alive and safe. And I am both.” A pause, heavy with things unsaid. “And I refuse tae apologize fer that!”
“Claricia, please listen tae reason?—”
“I need some air.” The chair scraped against stone as she stood up abruptly.
Erik barely had time to step away from the door before it swung open. Claricia emerged like a small storm—face flushed with anger and unshed tears, hands clenched at her sides, blue-green eyes blazing with frustration. She nearly collided with his chest before she saw him.
“Erik!” Her eyes went wide. “How long have ye been?—”
“Long enough tae hear yer faither thinks I’ve bewitched ye intae some kind of madness.” He studied her face, seeing the turmoil there, the war between love for her father and the choice she’d made. “Are ye all right?”
“Me faither thinks I’ve lost me mind. That ye’ve somehow tricked me intae believin’ I’m safe when really I’m just a lamb bein’ fattened fer slaughter.”
“And what daeyethink?”
She looked up at him then, and something fierce and bright sparked in those eyes he’d come to know better than his own reflection. “I think me faither loves me so much it’s blinded him tae the truth.”
“Which is?”
“That ye’re nae the monsterhe needsye tae be.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper.
Erik’s breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. “Come with me.”
The storage room was barely more than a closet—cramped with forgotten ledgers and the musty scent of old parchment. A heavy wooden trunk sat beneath the single high window, probably holding linens or spare candles. The door clicked shut, and suddenly the air between them felt thick enough to drown in.
Erik’s hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face up tae his. “Ye’re angry.”
“Aye.” The word came out rough. “Tired of explainin’ meself. Tired of everyone tellin’ me what I should feel.”
“I could help ye forget.” His thumb traced her lower lip with maddening slowness. “Make ye feel somethin’ better instead.”
Heat flooded through her. “Me faither is right there?—”
“Then ye’ll have tae be very, very quiet.” His mouth curved into that wicked smile she’d come tae crave. “Can ye dae that fer me, little bird?”
