Safer fer whom?
The question burned on her tongue, but she swallowed it. She knew the answer anyway. Safer for him. For his plans. For everything that mattered more than watching his only sister marry a stranger.
The trees swallowed them, and Finley's men began to disperse with practiced efficiency.
"The clearin' is south," Finley said, dismounting. "Half a mile past the castle's wall. Can ye remember that?"
"Aye." Her throat was tight. "Half a mile south."
"Three nights after ye arrive. Then once every week unless ye signal otherwise." He moved closer, and for just a moment, his hand rested on her arm. The closest thing to comfort he'd offered in years. "Ye can dae this, Enya. Ye're stronger than ye think."
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe this was about strength and admiration for her, not just desperation. But when she looked at her brother, all she saw was a man who'd already made peace with using her.
"What if I cannae get away?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. "What if he watches me too closely."
"He's a man, Enya. And ye're..." Finley's gaze flicked to her eyes, then away. "Ye're nae exactly hard tae look at, curse or nae. He'll trust ye eventually. They always dae."
The words were meant to be encouraging. They felt like ash.
"Right," she said quietly. "Of course."
Finley stepped back, already turning toward his men, already moving on to more important things. "Go on, then. Ye're expected at the castle, and it's nae good tae keep the Hawk waitin'."
That was it. No embrace. No blessing. Not even a proper goodbye.
Enya gathered her reins, blinking hard against the sudden sting in her eyes. She wouldn't cry.
She hadn't cried when the MacLeods had sent her away, or when Duncan MacRae had called her a monster to her face, or when her own father had died without ever once telling her he loved her despite what she was.
She certainly wouldn't cry now.
"Me lady?" Amelia's voice was soft beside her. "We should go."
"Aye." Enya didn't look back at the camp, at her brother, at the last piece of her old life disappearing into the trees. "Let's go."
CHAPTER TWO
The escort Finley left her with was small, just four men, all wearing expressions that said they'd rather be anywhere else. They didn't speak to her as they rode, didn't meet her eyes.
Enya had stopped expecting otherwise years ago.
The road narrowed as they drew closer to the coast, trees pressing in on either side. The light had almost faded, shadows stretching long and dark across the path. Somewhere ahead, Lewis waited. The castle. The husband she'd never met.
The lie she'd agreed to live.
"Dae ye think they're waitin' fer us?" Amelia asked quietly. She'd moved her horse closer to Enya's, close enough that their stirrups nearly touched. "The royal convoy and... and him?"
"I dinnae ken." Enya's hands tightened on the reins. "Perhaps they thought we'd nae come today. The sea delayed us enough."
"Or perhaps they're all warm inside, drinkin' wine and laughin' about the cursed Cameron lass."
"Amelia."
"I'm just sayin' what ye're thinkin'." Her maid's chin lifted, defiant even in the growing dark. "And I still say we should've told yer braither tae go hang himself with his own schemes."
One of the guards glanced back at them, and Enya lowered her voice. "We've been through this."
"Aye, we have. And I still think it's shite." Amelia's hands twisted in her reins. "Ye shouldnae have tae spy on yer own husband, Enya. Ye shouldnae have tae?—"
