And, if she was telling the truth, desperate in a way he recognized.
"Yer faither found ye anyway," he said quietly.
"Aye. Three days later. His men dragged me back." Ada's voice had gone flat, emotionless. "He locked me up again. That time he said he'd make sure I learned me lesson. That I'd never embarrass him like that again."
"And the Pact?"
"Was his solution." A bitter smile crossed her lips. "When the king issued the decree, most Highland lairds refused tae offer their daughters. Too afraid of the savage Norsemen, the rumors, the violence. But nae me father. He saw opportunity. A chance tae prove his loyalty tae the Crown and rid himself of a troublesome daughter in one move." She looked away. "What happened tae me after didnae matter tae him. I am nay longer his concern once I am married."
Magnus felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest. Not pity, he couldn't afford it, but understanding, perhaps. Recognition of a desperation he'd felt himself.
"Why should I believe ye?" he asked, though the question sounded weaker.
"Because I'm tellin' ye the truth." Ada turned back to face him. "Believe it or nae. I cannae control what ye think of me. But I willnae stand here and be accused of somethin' I didnae dae."
Magnus opened his mouth, searching for words that wouldn't come. Part of him wanted to believe her, to think she was just another person trapped by forces beyond her control, same as him.
But Freydis had seemed trapped too. Had seemed frightened and alone and desperate for protection. And she'd lied to him every day for months.
"I need time," he said finally.
"Time fer what?"
"Tae decide if I believe ye. Tae decide if this marriage can work."
Ada laughed—short, harsh, bitter. "Ye dinnae have time. Ye have a fortnight, same as me. And at the end of it, we either marry or face the consequences."
"Then I suppose we'll both be decidin' quickly."
Then he left, closing the door softly behind him, and tried very hard not to think about the look in her eyes when she'd said she'd used him to survive.
The evening meal was a tense affair.
Ada sat at the high table in the great hall, positioned between Brian and an empty chair that should have held Magnus. The laird himself sat at the far end, speaking quietly with Torvald, his expression unreadable.
He hadn't looked at her once since she'd entered.
The hall was only half-full, guards and servants eating quickly, conversation muted. This wasn't a celebration. It was an obligation.
Ada pushed food around her plate, her appetite gone. The bread was fresh, the stew rich with mutton and root vegetables, but everything tasted like ash in her mouth.
"Ye should eat, me lady," Brian said beside her, his tone polite but firm. "The crossin’ was difficult, and ye'll need yer strength fer the days ahead."
"I'm nae hungry."
"Nevertheless."
Ada forced herself to take a bite, chew, swallow. It sat heavy in her stomach.
Across the hall, she caught sight of Donnan. He stood near one of the side tables, not eating, just watching. When his eyes met hers, he smiled—that same easy, unsettling smile that made her skin crawl.
She looked away quickly.
A moment later, Donnan moved. He crossed the hall with casual confidence, weaving between tables until he reached the high table. He stopped directly behind Ada's chair.
"Me lady," he said, his voice loud enough to carry. "I wanted tae make certain ye are comfortable. If there's anything ye need..."
"She's fine," Magnus's voice cut through the hall like a blade.
