Isa cleaned the cut on Enya's jaw with something that stung, applied a salve that smelled of herbs, and checked her over for other injuries with practiced efficiency.
"Ye'll have a bonnie bruise tomorrow," the healer said, stepping back. "But the cut's clean. It should heal without scarrin' if ye keep it dry and let it breathe."
"Thank ye." Enya touched the tender skin carefully. "And thank Laird Harald fer sendin' ye."
"Ye can thank him yerself at supper." Isa packed her supplies with quick movements. "Which ye should attend, despite wantin' tae hide in here all night."
Enya blinked. "What?"
"I'd want to hide too, after the day ye've had." The healer's expression softened. "But the king's men are here, and they'll expect tae see ye. Best tae get it over with, show them ye're nae broken by a few brigands."
"I'm nae broken," Enya said quietly.
"Nay, ye're nae. But they'll be watchin' tae see if ye are." Isa headed for the door, then paused. "One more thing, me lady. The laird... he's a good man. Better than most ken. Dinnae judge him by his reputation alone."
Before Enya could respond, the healer was gone, leaving her alone with Amelia and a warning that felt far too personal to be casual.
"Well," Amelia said into the silence. "She certainly has opinions."
"Aye." Enya stared at the closed door. "She daes."
The maids returned shortly after to help Enya dress for dinner. They'd found her trunk, the one that had somehow survived the ambush, and pulled out the nicest gown she owned. It was deep green wool, simply cut but well-made, with Cameron colors woven into the trim.
Enya felt like an imposter wearing it.
"Ye look lovely, me lady," one of the maids, a young woman named Brina, said shyly. "The color suits ye."
"Thank ye." Enya tried to smile, but her face felt stiff. "I appreciate yer help."
Brina glanced at the other maid, then back to Enya. "If ye dinnae mind me sayin', me lady... yer eyes are quite strikin'. I've never seen anythin' like them."
It wasn't said with fear. Just curiosity. Enya didn't know what to do with that.
"They're just eyes," she said carefully.
"Aye, but they're yers." Brina's smile was genuine. "That makes them special."
The words were so unexpected, so kind, that Enya felt her throat tighten. "That's... thank ye. That's very kind."
Another knock interrupted the moment. That time, when Amelia opened the door, Harald stood in the corridor.
He'd cleaned up since the ambush—the blood was gone, his hair was damp like he'd bathed, and he wore fresh clothes, dark grey and black. But his expression was still guarded, still carefully controlled.
"Lady Cameron." His gaze swept over her, lingering for just a moment on the bruise darkening her jaw.
She hesitated.
"I've come tae escort ye tae the hall. The castle's large, and ye've had a difficult day." Harald's voice was polite but firm. "Humor me."
Enya wanted to argue.
Wanted to insist she didn't need his protection or his concern. But Isa's words echoed in her head—the king's men will be watching—and she realized this wasn't just about kindness.
This was about appearances. About showing a united front to the royal observers who would judge every interaction, every gesture.
"Alright," she said quietly. "Thank ye."
Harald offered his arm. Enya took it, very aware of the strength beneath the fabric, the heat of him even through the layers of cloth.
