It was the closest thing to a compliment he'd given her in years, and she hated how much she wanted to believe it meant something.
"And if I refuse?"
The softness vanished.
"Ye willnae. Because if this marriage fails, if ye shame our clan or give Harald reason tae break the Pact, ye'll have nowhere left tae go. Nay clan will take ye. Nay man will want ye." He paused. "Ye'll be alone, Enya. Completely and utterly alone."
The threat landed like a blade between her ribs. Because he was right. She knew he was right.
"How?" Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. "How am I supposed tae?—"
"We'll arrange meetin' points. Signals." Finley urged his horse forward again, and the conversation shifted from confrontation to strategy. "There's a clearin' half a mile south of Dun Barra castle. I'll wait there three days after ye arrive, then once every week. If ye need me sooner, leave a white ribbon tied tae the east gate at dawn."
"And if someone sees it?"
"They willnae. Ye're good at movin' unseen when ye want to be." He glanced at her. "Ye've had practice, after all."
The reference to all the times she'd hidden from curious eyes, from whispers and pointed fingers, made something ugly twist in her chest.
"This feels wrong," Enya said quietly.
"Aye. It daes." Just a moment, Finley's voice held something that might've been regret. "But it's necessary. And ye willnae have tae endure it long. Once I have what I need, I'll find a way tae remove ye from the marriage. I'll end Harald properly, and ye can come home."
The promise should've comforted her. Instead, it made her feel hollow.
"Home," she repeated.
"Aye." Finley's jaw set. "Where ye belong."
Behind them, Amelia was silent, but Enya could feel her maid's disapproval like a weight against her back. They'd argued about this already, argued until Amelia's voice went hoarse and Enya's eyes burned.
But in the end, what choice did she have?
Her father was dead. Her brother was all the family she had left. And if he believed the Norse were a threat, if he needed her help to protect their people, how could she refuse?
Even if everything in her screamed that it was wrong.
"I'll dae it," she heard herself say. "But I want yer word, Finley. Yer word that ye'll get me out when the time comes."
"Ye have it." The answer came too quickly, too easily. "I swear it on Faither's grave."
The oath should've been enough.
But as the darkness approached, the road stretched on toward Lewis, toward a marriage built on lies and a husband she was meant to betray, Enya couldn’t shake the feeling that she'd just agreed to something she'd never be able to take back.
The time passed in a blur for Enya, and when Amelia’s whisper brough her back to reality, they were close to the castle. Close enough that she could smell the salt air from the sea, and Finley was veering off the main road like he'd always planned to leave her.
He had told her an hour earlier that she’d continue on her own.
"Ye're certain ye willnae come?"
Enya hated the way her voice sounded—small and uncertain, like a child asking for reassurance she knew she wouldn't receive. But she couldn't help it.
"I told ye already." Finley didn't look at her as he guided his horse toward a dense thicket of trees. "I'll nae set foot in that Norse bastard's keep. But I'll be close enough when ye need me."
"The weddin' is in ten days."
"Aye. And I'll nae be there fer that either." Now he did glance back, and something flickered in his expression. Not quite guilt. "It's better this way, Enya. Safer."
