Harald didn't move. He stood like a monolith, his gaze unyielding. "Enya. Ye are many things, but ye are nae theatrical. Speak."
She chuckled, a light, musical sound that echoed against the stone walls. She leaned in, her lips almost brushing his ear, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"I was merely thinking," she whispered, her voice a teasing rasp, "that we might need tae start makin’ some... changes. This hall is far too quiet. And the nursery hasnae been used in years. It’s getting quite dusty, Harald."
She pulled back to watch his face.
Harald froze. His jaw went slack, his hands tightening slightly on her hips. He looked at her as if she was speaking a language he had forgotten, his mind clearly racing to catch up with the implication. He blinked once, then twice. He looked utterly lost for words.
"Enya?" he breathed, his voice cracking. "Ye mean..."
"Oh, fer the love o' the Saints," she laughed and grabbed his face between her hands, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones. "I’m wi’ child, Harald. There’s a little Alvsson in here, likely already preparing tae be just as stubborn and overbearing as his faither."
The shock broke. A light erupted in Harald’s eyes—a brilliant, fierce radiance that made him look younger, freer. He let out a sound that was half shout, half sob of laughter.
Before she could draw another breath, he lunged forward, his massive arms hooking under her knees and around her back. He lifted her off the stone floor, spinning her around in a dizzying circle.
"Harald! Put me down, ye big brute!" she shrieked, though she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
She clung to his neck, her forehead pressed against his as the room blurred into a swirl of gold light and gray stone.
He slowed his spin but didn't let her go. He tucked her against his chest, his face buried in the crook of her neck. She could feel the tremor in his muscles, the sheer, staggering weight of his happiness. When he finally set her feet back on the ground, he didn't pull away.
"I will be a good faither," he promised, his voice thick with a passion that made her eyes fill with tears. "I will give our bairns a world where they never have tae hide. Where they never have tae feel the weight o' a name or a curse. I swear it tae ye, Enya."
She looked at him, seeing the man who had faced armies and fire, now brought to his knees by the thought of a child. She saw the iron, and she saw the love, and she knew there was no lie in his heart.
"I ken ye will," she whispered, her voice cracking with the sheer force of her feelings. "Ye’ve already spent yer life guarding this island. I think ye can handle one small, loud Alvsson."
He leaned in then, kissing her with a force that tasted of every hardship they had survived and every joy yet to come.
Enya leaned into him, her soul finally, truly at rest. The mists of her past had vanished. The shadow of her brother was gone. As Harald held her in the center of their home, she knew theCursed Bridehad found the only magic that mattered.
And the story was only just beginning.
But there’s more…
Peace settles briefly over Lewis, but the Lairds’ Pact moves on. As Enya and Harald look toward the future, a gathering of the lairds reveals new life, new alliances… and the name of the next man bound by the Pact.
EPILOGUE
One month later…
Soft, golden light slanted through the curtains, warming the tangled furs of their bed. Spring had finally come to Lewis.
Enya lay still, barely breathing. Her head rested on Harald’s chest, his heart beat a steady, thundering rhythm beneath her ear.Safe. Safe. Safe.It was the only clock she needed now. The only sound that mattered in a world that had once been so loud with screams.
She traced a faint, jagged scar on his ribs. Her touch was light, a silent caress for every wound he had taken.
She felt a new kind of weight within her. It was a shimmering secret tucked deep beneath her ribs. A new flame. The feeling was so fragile it made her ache. Her eyes stung with a sudden, happy heat. She pressed her face closer to his skin, memorizing the scent of him—salt, woodsmoke, and home.
Harald shifted, his breath hitching as he transitioned from sleep to the waking world. His arm tightened around her waist, hauling her flush against his heat.
"Ye’re awake," he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that she felt more in her own chest than her ears. "And ye’re thinking. I can hear the gears grinding from here, Enya."
"I am nae thinking," she lied effortlessly, her lips twitching into a dry smile against his skin. "I was merely wondering if the great Hawk o’ Lewis was ever going tae wake up, or if I’d have tae run the perimeter meself today."
Harald let out a low, vibrating chuckle that shook them both. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his beard scratchy and warm. "Ye go, then. I’ll stay here. The bed is warm, and the lady is… remarkably tolerable today."
