9
Erik woke the next morning with an aching head and dry mouth, knocking the bottle of whiskey out of the bed as he sat on it. After Isabel’s response to his question at dinner, he decided he couldn’t be in her presence any longer and sought out the solace of a bottle of whiskey instead.
Now his stomach rolled from the alcohol he had imbibed in, and his head hurt even worse.
Erik braced his hands on his bare thighs and forced himself upright, the room spinning slightly. It was because of two women that he had grabbed the whiskey bottle.
One was part of a memory he longed to forget, and the other, well, she was making him think of things he swore off because of the first one.
Och, his life had grown far too complicated in a matter of days.
After splashing his face with the cold water in the basin, Erik dressed quickly and deliberately, choosing to strap his sword to his back this morning. He would be forgoing breakfast and heading straight to the warrior’s circle, needing to clear his head and his body of this alcohol.
More importantly, he wanted to learn more from McIves’s warriors as to why they were truly there. Finley was correct in her reasoning to be concerned.
Unfortunately, his reasoning was far different than what she could imagine.
Opening the door to the hallway, Erik stepped out. The rest of the keep was likely still asleep given the early morning hour, and he wanted time to himself in the circle before the other warriors rose for the day.
But as he turned the corner, he found a woman waiting for him in the hall, her cloak clutched around her.
“Still getting up early, I see,” Isabel mused as she gave him a soft smile.
“Wot do ye want, Isabel?” he asked, not bothering to keep the disdain out of his voice.
Her smile faded, and sadness flashed across her face. “Dinnae be like that, Erik. Surely we have more than that between us.”
“There is nous,” he shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. “There hasnae been since the day ye walked away from me.”
Isabel looked wounded. “Erik, I had tae. I couldnae stay there any longer. After wot he did.”
Her voice trailed off, but Erik knew what she was referring to. “Ye could have stayed with me,” he said softly, feeling the tug on his soul. “I loved ye.”
A tear slid down Isabel’s cheek. “’Tis wasnae enough.”
It wasn’t the first time she had told him such. Erik still remembered that day between them, how it was storming outside the tavern with the rain falling hard. Afterward, whenever it stormed, he was pulled back to that moment, remembering the hurt. He had thought he would never see her again after that day, yet here she was, standing before him just like he remembered.
Erik walked into the tavern, finding it empty despite the lateness of the morning. Normally it would be full of patrons, but the tavern was closed, likely forever now that its owner was in the dungeon, awaiting his fate.
Climbing the stairs, he ignored the heaviness in his chest. His mother had spent many of her days in this tavern herself, having died in Erik’s arms a year ago from some sort of infliction that had her waste away before his eyes.
Now he climbed them for another reason. At the top of the stairs, he entered one of the rooms, finding Isabel placing items on her bed.
“Wot are ye doing?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.
She paused her work. “I am leaving, Erik.”
“Good,” he replied, pushing away from the doorframe. “’Tis no good for ye tae stay here.” He had nowhere to take her, having stayed in the warrior bunks himself, but he would find another place for her to go until he could secure his own hut for them.
She let out a breath and finally looked at him, her long hair falling against her face. “I’m leaving the clan, Erik.”
He stopped breathing. “Wot?”
She crossed her arms around her waist, hugging herself. “I know ye want tae wed, but I dinnae want tae be a warrior’s wife. I dinnae want tae stay here and be reminded of wot happened.”
She was referring to the way her father had killed her mother two days prior, strangling her when he caught her in bed with another Scot. It had been Isabel that had found her mother dead and her father in the tavern, having his last ale.
Now he was likely going to hang for his crimes, but that wasn’t what Erik was concerned with. He grabbed Isabel’s arm lightly and forced her to meet his eyes. “Tell me ye dinnae love me.”
