"We're goin' out there?" Enya eyed the waves uncertainly. "In that wee boat?"
"It's nae as wee as it looks. And the weather's fine—we'll just row out far enough to see the cliffs from a different angle." Harald was already pulling the boat toward the water. "Unless ye're afraid?"
"I'm nae afraid." But her voice said otherwise.
"Ye're a terrible liar, Lady Cameron."
"And ye're an insufferable ken-it-all, Laird Harald." But she stepped into the boat when he offered his hand, settling on the bench with careful dignity.
Harald pushed them off and took up the oars, rowing with steady strokes that carried them out past the breaking waves.
The sea was calm, but even as he rowed, Harald noticed the sky darkening to the west.
Storm coming. Fast.
"We should head back—" he started.
The wind hit like a fist.
One moment the water was merely choppy. The next, waves were rising around them, angry and white-capped, driven by a wind that seemed to come from nowhere.
The boat pitched violently, and Enya grabbed the sides with white-knuckled hands.
"Harald…"
"I ken. Hold on." He fought with the oars, trying to turn them back toward shore, but the current had other ideas. It pulled them sideways, toward the rocks, toward the place where water met stone with bone-breaking force.
Another wave crashed over the bow. Enya cried out as cold water soaked them both, and Harald saw real terror in her eyes.
"Look at me," he commanded. "Enya, look at me, nae the water."
Her gaze snapped to his, wild with panic.
"We're goin' tae be fine," Harald said with a certainty he didn't quite feel. "But I need ye tae stay low and hold on. Can ye dae that?"
She nodded, pressing herself down into the bottom of the boat. Harald turned his full attention to the oars, reading the waves, timing his strokes to work with the current instead of against it.
The storm fought him. The sea wanted that boat, wanted tae dash it against the rocks.
But Harald had been navigating those waters since he was a boy, and he'd be damned if he'd let them take Enya.
He rowed with every ounce of strength he had, ignoring the burn in his shoulders, the ache in his wounded arm. Slowly, impossibly slowly, the shore drew closer.
When the boat finally scraped against sand, Harald was out before it had fully beached, hauling it up beyond the tide line with Enya still inside. Only then did he reach for her.
She was shaking. Soaked through and trembling like a leaf, her lips pale, her eyes huge.
"Come here." Harald pulled her out of the boat and wrapped her in his arms without thinking. "Ye're safe. I've got ye."
Enya pressed against him, her fingers clutching his wet shirt, her whole body wracked with shivers.
"I thought—" Her voice broke. "I thought we were goin' tae die."
"Nay. Never." Harald held her tighter, feeling the rapid beat of her heart against his chest. "I wouldnae let that happen."
They stood like that for a long moment, the storm raging around them while Harald's cloak—blessedly dry in the waterproof pack he'd brought—settled over Enya's shoulders.
He drew her down to sit on a rock sheltered from the wind, keeping his arm around her until the worst of her shaking stopped.
