“What are ye thinkin’ about?” Erik asked, pulling her close as the tempo slowed.
“Just… this. Us.” She looked up at him, seeing past the Wolf to the man who had knelt at her feet and confessed his love with trembling honesty. “A month ago, I thought ye were a monster. Now I cannae imagine me life without ye in it.”
His expression went soft in a way that made her heart forget how to beat properly. “A month ago, I thought I was incapable of lovin’ anyone. Ye proved me wrong about that too.”
The music shifted, became something sweeter. Erik pulled her closer still, one hand at the small of her back, the other clasping hers against his chest where she could feel his heartbeat—strong and steady and racing just slightly faster than normal.
“I meant what I said yesterday,” he murmured. “Every word.”
“I love ye, too Erik Thorsen.” The confession came easily now, without fear or hesitation. “Even though ye’re stubborn and overprotective and ye still dinnae ken how tae knock?—”
He kissed her right there in front of everyone, cutting off her teasing with his mouth. Around them, the hall erupted in cheers and laughter and good-natured ribbing, but Claricia barely heard it. All she knew was Erik’s arms around her, his heart beating against hers, and the perfect rightness of finally speaking the truth aloud.
When they broke apart, both breathless and grinning like fools, she caught sight of her father watching from across the hall. His expression was complicated—pain and resignation warring with something that looked almost like guilt. He wasn’t celebrating with the others; instead, he stood apart, isolated in his grief and anger despite being surrounded by joy.
Her happiness dimmed slightly. “I should speak with him,” she said reluctantly.
“Aye.” Erik pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Go. I’ll be here when ye’re done. And if he gives ye trouble, just whistle. I’ll come runnin’.”
She laughed despite the anxiety coiling in her belly. “Me knight in shinin’ armor.”
“Yer wolf in battered armor,” he corrected. “Much more frightenin’.”
She wove through the celebrating crowd toward Finnian, her heart full enough to burst despite the worry gnawing at her. Her father stood as she approached, his face drawn and tired in the firelight.
“Walk with me?” he asked. “I’d like tae talk. Just the two of us, if ye dinnae mind.”
Something in his tone made her hesitate—a brittleness, a desperation that set warning bells chiming in her mind. But it was her father. The man who’d raised her, protected her, loved her even if that love was becoming suffocating.
“All right,” she agreed.
He led her out of the hall, through corridors she’d learned over the past weeks. Behind them, the sounds of celebration faded gradually—music and laughter becoming distant echoes, then whispers, then silence. The air grew colder as they moved away from the warmth and noise of the feast, and Claricia wished she’d thought to bring a cloak. But her father kept walking with purposeful strides, deeper into the castle than she’d expected.
“Where are we goin’?” she asked as he pushed through a side door that led to the gardens.
“Just here.” His voice was strained. “I need tae tell ye somethin’, and I dinnae want anyone overhearin’.”
The night air bit cold after the hall’s warmth, raising goosebumps on her arms. Above them, stars scattered across black sky like thrown salt, and the moon hung fat and silver over Skye’s dark cliffs. Finnian walked deeper into the gardens, past manicured paths into wild growth where shadows gathered thick.
“Faither, what on earth’s goin’ on?” Unease coiled tighter in her belly with each step. “Why are we?—”
She stopped abruptly. They’d reached the eastern edge of the gardens, and there—barely visible in moonlight—was one of the hidden gates Erik had shown her weeks ago. The gate he’d told her to use if there was ever danger.
“Faither?” Her voice came out smaller than she’d intended. “Why are we here?”
Finnian turned to face her, and even in dim light she could see something broken in his expression—a desperation that made her pulse kick into her throat. He opened his mouth, closed it, then reached for her hand with trembling fingers.
“I need ye tae understand,” he said quietly, “that everything I’ve ever done has been tae protect ye. Even when ye hate me fer it. Even when?—”
“What are ye talkin’ about?” Fear clawed up her spine, cold and sharp. “Faither, ye’re scarin’ me.”
“I love ye, lass.” His voice cracked. “More than me own life. More than me honor or me oath tae the crown. And I willnae lose ye tae him the way I lost Logan.”
The words hung between them like smoke, and suddenly Claricia understood with terrible clarity why he’d brought her there. To that particular spot. To that hidden gate that led beyond the castle walls.
“Nay.” She backed away, shaking her head. “Faither, whatever ye’re thinkin’—whatever ye’ve planned?—”
“I’m sorry.” Tears tracked down his weathered cheeks, silver in the moonlight. “But I willnae let these Norse bastards take another of me bairns!”
