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 him flooded 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 straightenedhis 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."
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.
