19. Erik

Chapter 19

Erik

E rik was riding his horse across the moat, his animal skin shawls covered in a thin layer of snow, when he saw Cherine come stumbling out of the main gates. In seconds, he had leaped off his mount and was at her side, grabbing both her arms.

She shrieked at his contact, but once she realized it was him, she threw her arms around his neck and collapsed into him in a sobbing heap.

Erik’s first instinct was to kill Rolf. Without knowing what had happened to her, he knew Rolf had some part in it. He let her cry for a bit before he lowered his head and pressed the back of his hand to her cheek.

“Cherine, what happened?” he asked softly, he tried to get her to look at him, but her eyes were pinched shut as the tears spilled out of them.

“She’s…she’s dead!” she said between sobs, the horror and heartbreak apparent in her voice.

He ran his thumb underneath her eyes, catching her tears. “Who is dead?”

She just shook her head and leaned into him. “I don’t know… I caught him. He was with another woman. I don’t know who. But she’s dead now. He just…he just killed her right in front of my eyes!”

“Rolf?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

“Of course, Rolf,” she said, finally meeting his eyes. “Who else would do such a thing?”

Erik gave her a small but brief smile. “You know, you really should be careful saying such things about a duke.”

She gave him a wry look through her watery eyes. “He’s not a duke yet. And I know Rolf would be nothing but pleased by his reputation.”

He wanted nothing more than to scoop her up into her arms and plant kisses along her neck until she smiled again. But all the talk of Rolf being a duke reminded him that could never be an option.

“You’re correct in thinking that,” he said, straightening in order to put some distance between them. Her tears had subsided, and her breathing had returned to normal.

She frowned. “And just like that, you push me away again.”

He raised his brow at her. “I am merely reminding you of where you stand. Or, should I say, where I stand. You are Rolf’s, soon to be his duchess—at least whenever the king decides to show his merry little head. I am but a mere Viking.”

“You’re his second in command,” she pointed out. “All Rolf does is talk about you.”

He wondered how much of that was in a positive light. Did Rolf talk about Erik the Axe or Erik the Would-Be Deserter?

“What has he been saying?” he asked, taking the bait.

She smirked and wiped the sides of her face. “Oh, he says you’re a true savage, a total barbarian. He says you’re one of the worst.”

“He’s not lying,” Erik admitted. Naturally, Rolf would try and paint him in the worst light. It annoyed Erik that it bothered him, to care so much about what she thought of him. He was tempted to bring up the fact that her future husband had just brutally murdered an innocent woman in front of her, but she had finished crying, and he didn’t want to cause her anymore distress.

“He also said you wanted to sleep with me all that time, that you wanted to keep me for yourself. Was he lying?” She gazed at him, and he found his knees weak, lost in her eyes.

He rubbed at his face, debating whether to tell the truth. What did he have to lose at this point, save for his pride?

“He wasn’t,” he said gravely. “I did want you, Cherine, from the moment I first saw you. And to tell you the truth, I still do. I want you very much.” He looked away from the softness in her face and concentrated on the snowscape around him. The white flakes were drifting to the ground, light as a cloud, sticking to the ground like a fine layer of dust. They caught in Cherine’s hair, making her look like a living fairy-tale. She really did take his breath away.

He took her speechlessness as a sign to change the subject. “Now, before I embarrass myself further, how about we get you back inside and-”

“No!” she cried out. She put her hand to her lips and blushed. “My apologies. I meant to say, I’d rather not go back inside right now. Do you think…” She looked down at the snow collecting on her boots. Erik was gobsmacked. Was his dear, fiery maiden actually shy?

When she looked up again, she seemed as small and lost as ever. Erik had to fight the urge to kiss her right there, to throw her into the snow and make her flush all over.

“Do you think we could go for a walk?” she continued, her words light as air. “I just want to talk to someone. It’s been so long since I’ve really talked to anyone. With Rolf, we mainly just...well, you can imagine.”

Erik twitched at the thought but said nothing. He quickly grabbed her by her small waist and hoisted her up to his horse. She let out of squeal of delight, and he mounted up after her. It was just like when they had first rode in search of Saint Martin. That had felt like another lifetime ago.

They rode down the lane, first in silence, enjoying the soft hoofbeats of the horse, the whisper of the wind as it scraped against the white branches, the pensive quality of the dark clouds. Then, they began to talk. Not about Rolf, not about the Vikings or the manor or the horrific scenes they had to endure. No, they talked about the sweet smell of grass in the springtime and the fresh fish off the Norwegian coast. They talked of first kisses and favorite words, of different tastes of wine and beautiful sounds.

They talked about lovely things and only lovely things, so by the time they had circled a meadow and watched a pair of bucks bound across the patchy snow, it was hard to imagine that their lives—for the most part—had been anything but lovely.

So, it was extra surprising when Cherine stared longingly at the deer as they leaped into the frosted evergreens and said, “All I want to do is be free like they are, to just run away and not look back.”

Erik tensed. Did she have any idea what he was planning?

Before he could ask, she suddenly dismounted, nearly kicking him in the face, and she was running across the snow. Whether she was chasing after the deer or running away from him, it was hard to tell. Either way, she was on the move, and Erik couldn’t let that happen.

He jumped off his horse, hoping he’d stay put and not gallop back to the manor, and he started jogging after Cherine. She had fallen a few times in the snow, white powder flying up in her wake and coating her fur-trimmed coat. But each time, she pushed herself back up and continued running again.

Erik, however, was taller and faster. He covered ground easily and, in no time, he was at her. He leaped forward and brought her down into the snow. She struggled to get up, but he pushed down on her shoulders.

“Please, calm down,” he pleaded, struggling to keep her in place without hurting her. When she relaxed slightly, he flipped her over. She wasn’t crying, but her face was scrunched up in anguish, rubbed pink and red from the snow.

“Cherine, you can’t run,” he said softly, brushing the snow off her cheeks and hair. It made him feel guilty to know he could. But wherever she went, Rolf would follow. Besides, he knew there was no way she’d give up being a duchess in her own country for becoming a poor man’s wife in frigid Norway, no matter how badly she wanted to get away. He wouldn’t even let himself dwell on such a ridiculous idea.

“I just want to run,” she whispered, her eyes strangely blank, like she was retreating internally.

He pulled her so she was sitting and put his hands on either side of her face. It was so small, so precious, so cold between them. He was finding it hard to take air in.

“Listen to me,” he said, searching her eyes for the life in them he loved so much. “I know you want to run. I know you’ve never been able to. But for now, you can’t. You belong to Rolf and no one else.”

“But what if I don’t want to belong to him?” she asked, and her eyes finally focused on him, sparkling with clarity.

He shook his head and began dusting the snow off her shoulders. “Right now, it doesn’t matter. This is the path you’re on. It’s much better than any life that has you running off into the woods and freezing to death. Is death worse than being a duchess? Is it worse than having the things you’ve always wanted, the things you’ve always dreamed of?”

“But what of love?”

He swallowed hard and looked down. “Do you not love him?”

“What do you think? Do you think I’d run away from love?”

No. Yet, that’s exactly what he was doing.

And before he could even chastise himself for it, she leaned forward and kissed him. It tasted sweeter, purer in the new snow, and his pulse began to throb wildly in his throat.

“Tell me you still want me,” she murmured, her lips trailing in a hot line from his mouth to the corners of his eyes. Her warm touch was like a tonic, heating his bones from head to toe.

“I still want you,” he whispered back.

“Tell me you love me,” She planted a long, soft kiss on his cheekbone.

And with that, his pride was gone. He stepped over the edge and into the abyss.

“I love you.”

“Tell me there’s another path for me. Tell me what it is, and I’ll follow it. I’ll follow you.”

His breath hitched, swelling in his lungs at the immensity of the moment. Melted snowflakes were beginning to run down both their faces.

“Your path is the one you deserve,” he answered, hating himself for every word he was saying. “You were born to be more than you were. I couldn’t imagine a better duchess than you.”

She pulled back from him, looking as if he just slapped her across the cheek.

“So stay the course?” she asked. Her voice was hard, her eyes dead. Erik felt the cold air bite away the heat her kisses had left on him. “Stay with Rolf. Marry the savage. Become a duchess. Rot away. Anything without love just rots. I should know. I was rotting until the day you came into my village and burned my life away!”

He quickly got to his feet, suddenly caught with the same foolish urge to run through the snow as she had. “We need to go back before Rolf worries.”

“Oh, to hell with Rolf!” she yelled, the urgency in her voice weakening him. “How do you know he won’t one day stab me through the heart because I displeased him so?”

“He wouldn’t do that to you,” he mumbled, but he couldn’t meet her eyes. “You can learn to be happy with him.”

“Just as you learned to be happy with him? Always at his side but never his equal? Don’t think I can’t tell when someone is thinking of running.”

He was close to spilling—dangerously close. He wanted to tell her everything, to tell her the plan and convince her that her path was actually with him, as insignificant as he now was.

“Let’s not fight, Cherine,” he said and held his hand out for her. She paused, debating, and then accepted. He helped her up to her feet and didn’t let go of her hand. “I can’t stand to fight with you.”

She exhaled loudly, trying to pull away, but he pulled her right back to him.

“I’ll be here for you for as long as I can,” he told her, squeezing her hand hard. “Until then, I’ll do everything I can to help you.”

It was too bad that only gave them two days.

But his words caused the hardness to melt from her eyes, and she nodded, relenting. They walked back to the horse, their hands holding onto each other for a few steps until they both let go.