Leo emerged first, his face a mask of grim duty. Behind him, two guards dragged a man in heavy chains.
Finley.
The silence that fell over the hall was absolute.
Enya felt the air vanish from her lungs. Her brother looked nothing like the man he had been. His clothes were rags, his facewas gaunt, and the arrogance that had once fueled him seemed to have curdled into something sour and small.
As they reached the center of the hall, the guards jerked the chains, forcing Finley to halt. For a heartbeat, the world stopped.
Enya looked at him. Despite the kidnapping, despite the blade he had held to her throat, a sudden, treacherous wave of sorrow crashed over her. She remembered him as a boy—the way he used to pull her through the fields, promising they’d always be together. He had been her only friend in a world that called her cursed.
She took a small, involuntary step forward, her eyes searching his. She was looking for a spark of the brother she had loved. She was ready to offer a silent goodbye, a shred of pity, a final nod to the blood they shared.
Finley raised his head and his eyes locked onto hers.
Enya flinched as if he had struck her. There was no love there. No regret. There was only a cold, poisonous hate—a look of such absolute loathing that it made her blood run cold. His lips curled into a silent snarl, his gaze screaming that everything—his ruin, his chains, his failure—was her fault.
He hates me.
Enya’s breath hitched in a sob she refused to let out. She felt herself begin to tremble, the ground beneath her feet turning into smoke.
Then, a hand—vast, warm, and solid as the earth—clasped hers.
Harald didn't look at Finley. He simply stepped into Enya’s space, his fingers interlaced with hers, his thumb stroking the back of her hand in a slow, possessive rhythm. The heat of himflooded into her, a barrier of pure love that blocked out the poison in Finley’s eyes.
Enya looked up at Harald. In his gaze, she saw a man who knew exactly who she was and loved every jagged edge of her.
She turned her head away from her brother. The sorrow was gone, replaced by a crystalline clarity. She didn't owe the past anything. She wasn't a Cameron shadow anymore; she was the Lady of Lewis, and her heart belonged to the man holding her hand.
"Take him," Harald said, his voice flat and final.
Henry cleared his throat, sensing the shift in the air. "Aye, well. Quite. The king extends his most...sincereapologies fer the delay in justice. He kens the burden ye have carried. The Crown will see him tae Edinburgh fer trial. Ye have the king’s gratitude, Laird Alvsson. And his respect."
Henry bowed once more. "We shall trouble ye nay further."
The guards turned, dragging Finley toward the door. The sound of the chains scraping against the stone echoed through the hall, growing fainter and fainter until the heavy doors groaned shut, sealing the past away for good.
Enya stood in the sudden quiet, her hand still tucked firmly in Harald’s. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the scent of pine and salt filled the room. She felt the secret within her thrum with a sudden, joyful energy.
"Well," she whispered, raw emotion in her voice. "That’s that."
Harald pulled her closer, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. "I’m here fer ye, Enya."
Harald searched her face.
"Are ye alright?" he asked, his voice low and roughened by concern. "Seeing him... seeing the hate in his eyes. I ken it wasnae the goodbye ye deserved."
Enya looked toward the heavy oak doors where her brother had disappeared, then back at the man who was her entire world. The back of her throat stung.
"I have quite a lot o’ feelings, if I'm being honest," she admitted, her voice trembling lightly. She swallowed hard, forcing her stubborn composure back into place. "Part o' me wants tae weep fer the boy he used tae be. But the rest o' me? The rest o' me is just glad he has finally been taken out. It’s much easier tae breathe kenning he is nae in the castle with us, wi’out the stench o' betrayal in the air."
Harald let out a soft, huffing sound and leaned down. He kissed her softly, a lingering touch of lips that tasted of peace. It was a slow, grounding kiss, the kind that promised a lifetime of quiet mornings.
Then, he pulled back abruptly. His eyes narrowed, a sudden spark lighting them up. "Earlier. In the room." He straightened his spine, his hands moving to rest on her waist. "Ye were about tae tell me something, when we were interrupted."
A playful, mischievous heat rose in Enya’s chest. The secret was clawing to get out now, dancing in her blood. She felt a smile—genuine, bright, and slightly wicked—pull at the corners of her mouth. She reached up, toyed with the collar of his linen shirt, and looked at him through her lashes.
"Was I?" she asked innocently. "I cannae recall. Perhaps I was just being theatrical fer the sake o' it."
