They walked in silence through the corridors, Amelia trailing behind them at a respectful distance. Enya could hear voices ahead—laughter, conversation, the sounds of a hall filling with people for the evening meal.
"Are ye nervous?" Harald asked suddenly.
"Should I be?"
"The king's envoy is... persistent. He'll likely ask questions ye dinnae want tae answer." Harald's jaw tightened slightly. "Just follow me lead. I'll handle him."
"I can handle meself."
"I ken ye can. Ye've proven that already." Harald glanced down at her. "But ye dinnae have tae. Nae taenight."
The offer settled somewhere warm in Enya's chest, right next to all her confusion about that man who killed with cold efficiency but spoke to her with unexpected gentleness.
The hall was already crowded when they entered.
Conversation died as heads turned toward them, and Enya felt every eye track their progress toward the high table. She kept her chin up, kept her expression calm, even as her heart hammered against her ribs.
“Henry. Enjoyin’ the meal?” Herald asked as they were settling down.
“Aye.”
The king's envoy rose from his seat as they approached. He was tall and thin, with a sharp face and eyes that missed nothing.
"Ah, Lady Cameron." Henry's smile didn't reach those calculating eyes. "How fortuitous. We were just discussing yer... eventful arrival."
"Were ye?" Enya let Harald seat her before responding. "I hope the discussion was brief. I'd rather nae relive it."
"Of course, of course. Most distressing." Henry settled back into his chair, his gaze flicking between her and Harald. "Though I must say, ye're looking remarkably well considering the circumstances. The rumors of yer injuries seem tae have been... exaggerated."
"The rumors?" Harald's voice was dangerously quiet.
"Well, we heard there was blood, screaming, a rescue from certain death..." Henry waved a hand dismissively. "Ye ken how servants talk. But clearly Lady Cameron is made of sterner stuff than we were led tae believe."
Enya felt Harald tense beside her. Felt the shift in the air that said violence was closer than it should be at a dinner table.
"The lady was attacked by brigands," Harald said, each word precise. "She fought back, was struck in the face, and nearly kidnapped. If that's nae worthy of concern in yer estimation, perhaps ye should reconsider yer standards."
Henry's smile faltered. "I merely meant?—"
"I ken what ye meant." Harald's grey eyes had gone cold. "And I'm tellin' ye now that Lady Cameron's courage is nae a subject fer casual gossip. She's tae be me wife, and she'll be afforded the respect that position demands. Am I clear?"
The hall had gone very quiet. Enya could feel dozens of eyes on them, could sense the weight of the moment settling like snow.
"Perfectly clear, Laird Harald." Henry's voice was stiff. "Me apologies if I gave offense."
"Nae tae me." Harald's gaze didn't waver. "Tae her."
Henry turned to Enya, his expression carefully neutral. "Lady Cameron. Please accept me apologies. I spoke carelessly."
"Apology accepted," Enya said, because what else could she say? Her hands were shaking slightly under the table, and she had to clasp them together to make it stop.
Harald had just defended her. Publicly. Forcefully. Like she was something worth protecting.
No one had ever done that before.
The meal began with careful formality. Servants brought course after course—roasted meat, fresh bread, winter vegetables, ale and wine.
Enya ate mechanically, very aware of Harald beside her, of Henry across the table watching them both like a hawk studying prey.
