But Harald couldn't quite forget the moment when Enya's eyes—those strange, beautiful, impossible eyes—had met his without fear.
Just curiosity.
He pushed away from the desk with a curse, pacing to the window. Below, the courtyard was quiet now, most of the household settled inside the night.
Somewhere in the guest wing, Enya was probably warming herself by a fire, probably still shaking from cold and shock.
Probably still afraid of him.
The thought bothered him more than it should.
"Damn," Harald muttered to the empty room. To the maps that held no answers. To the marriage he hadn't wanted and the woman who'd already managed to unsettle every careful plan he'd made.
He should stay there. Should focus on the real threats—the ambush, the missing brigand, the questions that didn't have clean answers.
But his feet were already carrying him toward the door.
Just to make certain the healer had gone to her, that she had everything she needed.
Just to escort her to the hall, he told himself.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Hold still, me lady, or I'll nae get the tangles out."
Enya winced as the comb caught on another knot in her hair. "Sorry. I'm just?—"
"Exhausted, freezin’, and probably still in shock," Amelia finished, her hands gentler now as she worked through the wet strands. "Ye've every right tae be. That was..." She trailed off, shaking her head.
"A disaster," Enya supplied.
"I was goin' tae say something else, but aye, disaster works too." Amelia set the comb aside and reached for the towel warming by the fire. "At least ye're alive. And clean. And nae covered in pond weed anymore."
"There's that." Enya pulled the borrowed robe tighter around herself, grateful for the heat radiating from the hearth.
The chamber was simple but comfortable, far nicer than she'd expected. Moira had already lit candles, laid out fresh linens,and left a tray of bread and cheese on the side table. "They're bein' very kind."
"Aye. The maids seem nice enough." Amelia began drying Enya's hair with careful movements. "Though they keep starin' at yer eyes when they think ye're nae lookin'."
"I noticed." Enya's stomach twisted. "Harald said they think I'm touched by the Norns. Fate-weavers or somethin'. That I bring death and ruin."
"Well, that's cheerful." Amelia's hands stilled. "Dae ye want me tae tell them tae stop?"
"Nay. It willnae help." Enya closed her eyes, letting the warmth seep into her bones. "They'll believe what they believe, same as everyone else."
A knock at the door interrupted them. Amelia opened it to reveal an elderly woman carrying a leather satchel, her silver hair braided in a crown around her head.
"Beggin' yer pardon, me lady," the woman said with a slight bow. "I'm Isa, the castle healer. Laird Harald asked me tae see tae yer injuries once I'd finished with the wounded guard."
Aye, he did.
Enya felt that strange twist in her chest again, the one that came every time Harald did something unexpectedly considerate.
"How is he?" Enya asked. "The guard?"
"Stable, fer now." Isa moved into the room with the ease of someone comfortable in her own authority. "He's young and strong. If infection daesnae set in, he'll likely survive." She sether satchel on the table and studied Enya with sharp grey eyes. "Now, let's see what we're workin' with, aye?"
The examination was thorough but gentle.
