“I ken what I want ye tae teach me.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, but it carried the weight of a decree. One eye was cool and piercing; the other was dark with a heat that made his pulse thrum in his throat.
His gaze dropped to her hands—to the way her fingers pressed into the surface as if she were anchoring herself against a storm. When he looked back up, the fire in her eyes was barely banked.
“And what,” he asked, keeping his voice level by force of will, “dae ye think needs teaching?”
She held him without blinking. “How tae fight.”
The words landed and something in him reacted at once. “Nay.”
The refusal was sharp, a jagged reflex born of a sudden, cold fear that lanced through his gut. He didn't just hear the request; he saw the consequences—the image of her pale skin bruised by a hilt, or worse, split by an edge. Her brows snapped together, offense flaring in the dark depths of her eyes.
“Ye didnae even?—”
“Nay.”
He moved before the argument could draw breath, his body acting on a protective instinct so primal it felt like a physical ache. He unfolded his arms and slammed his own hands onto the table, palms flat next to hers, the wood groaning under the sudden violence of the movement. He leaned in until he was crowding her space, his shadow swallowing her whole, pinning her against the weight of his resolve.
The air between them thickened, turned heavy with the scent of her skin—something clean and warm like sun-drenched heather.
“That’s nae a thing I’ll entertain, Enya. Ask fer a horse. Ask fer a castle in the south. I'll give ye the world on a silver platter, but I’ll nae give ye the means tae find yer own grave.”
Her jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in the curve of her throat. She didn't flinch. Instead, she leaned in even further, refusing to yield an inch of ground until their faces were mere inches apart.
“Why?”
The word was clipped, a jagged challenge that felt like a blade against his throat. He caught the faint, honeyed warmth of her breath against his lips, and for a second, his focus didn't just slip—it shattered. The heat coiled low and immediate in his body, a fierce, demanding throb that made it impossible to remember why he was supposed to be the sensible one.
All he could think about was the proximity of her mouth. All he could feel was the magnetic pull of her defiance. He wanted to shake her for being so reckless, and he wanted to haul her across the table and kiss her until neither of them remembered what they were fighting about. The conflict was a physical agony, a war between the laird who had to protect his prize and the man who was drowning in the woman.
He drew a breath through his nose, steadying himself, because the answer pressed too close to places he did not wish to show her.
“Because it’s dangerous,” he said, each word chosen with care. “Because it’s unnecessary. Because?—”
He stopped.
The rest waited just beneath his tongue, heavy.
Because I’ve seen what steel daes tae people. Because the thought o’ ye learning it puts a weight in me chest I cannae shift.
“Tell me,” she whispered, her eyes boring into his, relentless. “Is it me safety ye’re guarding, Harald? Or yer own pride?”
His hands curled slightly against the table, the old wood groaning under the pressure. His knuckles went white, the skin stretching taut as he fought the urge to reach out and grab her—to pull her into his arms. Her challenge was a physical weight, a blow to his stomach that left him winded.
Is it pride?
That thought a dark, jagged thing in his mind. Or was it the realization that if she learned to wield a blade, she might finally find a way not to need him at all?
She straightened slowly, withdrawing her hands from the table. The loss of her touch—even through the wood—made the air in the room feel suddenly, violently cold. Her posture stiffened into a line of pure defiance. “Dangerous didnae stop the men who attacked us.”
“That’s precisely me point,” he said, his voice tightening, vibrating with a low, rough edge he couldn't smooth away. He was hyper-aware of her—the rise and fall of her chest, the pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat. He wanted to shout at her for being so reckless, but he mostly wanted to taste that defiance. “Ye should never have been in that position tae begin with.”
“And yet I was,” she shot back, her eyes flashing like steel. “And I will be again, wi’ everything that’s happenin’.”
“Ye’ll have guards,” he replied. “Ye’ll have me. Once we’re wed, ye’ll never walk unprotected.”
She laughed, short and incredulous, the sound carrying no humor at all. “Borrowed safety.”
His eyes narrowed, focus sharpening on her face. “What?”
