“Send word tae the Council, lad,” he turned to the guard, already adjusting his course toward the hall. “I want them gathered wi’in the hour.”
The scout nodded and turned to run.
Enya found her voice as they crossed into the stone corridor beyond. “What sort o’ movement?”
“Men I suppose,” he replied, keeping his tone even. “They must be too close tae be coincidence.”
Her breath hitched—quick, shallow, panicked—before she fought to master it. Something icy and suspicious slid into place beneath his ribs. He stopped walking and turned fully toward her, his presence looming and heavy. “Enya.”
She met his gaze at once, her composure snapping into place like armor. “I’m fine.”
“I didnae ask,” he said quietly.
Her mouth thinned into a hard line, defiance sparking in her eyes, but then her gaze flicked past him toward the unseen coast. A look crossed her face that made his blood run cold. It wasn't just concern. It was…anticipation.The irritation in his chest flared into a hot, prickling anger. Nothing made sense. The woman at the lake was gone, replaced by this riddle of a girl who looked like she was waiting for the world to burn.
“We’ll speak later,” he decided, more to himself than to her. “Fer now, ye’ll stay close tae the keep. Understood?”
Her chin lifted. “I am nae a child tae be tucked away, Harald.”
“Aye,” he agreed, stepping closer until his shadow swallowed her. “And that’s precisely why I’m asking ye tae listen.”
Their gazes held for a beat longer than necessary, something stretching between them.
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor and broke the moment.
Henry.
The man approached with measured steps, his expression already arranged into something attentive and faintly disapproving. His eyes darted between Harald’s damp hair and Enya’s flushed face with a needle-sharp calculation that made Harald’s shoulders square instinctively.
“Me laird,” Henry said, his voice oily with false concern. “There are whispers o’ trouble.”
“So, I hear,” Harald replied, his tone clipped.
Henry’s gaze paused on Enya, lingering a breath too long. Harald felt his teeth grind. When Henry’s eyes slid back to him, they were flat. “Should she be here fer this, me laird? It’s hardly the place fer a bride.”
Harald loathed the question. He loathed the implication that Enya was an accessory to be moved when the real men started talking.
Enya stiffened, her body vibrating with an offense so clean and sharp it was almost a physical heat.
“She’ll be dismissed when I decide it’s time,” Harald replied evenly, not turning his head.
Henry’s mouth thinned. “O’ course.”
A sharp, ugly silence followed. Harald braced for Enya to strike back, to defend her pride with the fire he’d seen at the lake. Instead, she retreated.
“If there’s business tae be discussed,” she said, voice cool and steady, “I can leave.”
The words were formal, but the edge beneath them cut Harald to the quick. It was pride, yes, but it was also a withdrawal that left him feeling strangely abandoned. It irritated him—no, itenragedhim—that Henry had managed to make her feel like a trespasser in a home that was supposed to be hers.
She was to be his wife. The thought settled in his chest, made heavier by the fact that everything else felt slightly off its balance.
Harald did not contradict her but didn’t agree either.
Instead, he turned his head at last and looked at her fully. “Remember what I said,” he murmured, low enough that only she would hear.
Her eyes met his, searching his face for something he could not have named even if pressed. For a heartbeat, the noise of the keep seemed to fall away, leaving only that look between them, weighted with things neither of them was ready to say.
Then she inclined her head once, the smallest acknowledgment, and stepped back.
