Enya’s pulse hammered. She kept her smile in place until it started to ache.
“Aye,” she said, and lifted her shoulders in a small, self-deprecating shrug. “He worries. Always has.”
Claricia rose slowly, careful with the baby, and Ada pushed herself to her feet with a controlled exhale, one hand braced at the chair. Their movements were unhurried, but Enya felt the shift. The visit was ending. The moment of steadiness dissolving back into the reality of what she was.
“We should let ye read it,” Claricia said, warmth still in her tone. “And I should feed him before he decides tae scream the keep down.”
Enya’s throat tightened. She nodded once, because if she tried to speak she might betray herself.
They left in a soft rustle of wool, Amelia lingering just long enough to catch Enya’s arm.
“Enya,” Amelia breathed, eyes bright with fear.
“I ken,” Enya whispered back, and pressed Amelia’s hand once, hard, a silent command to stop.
Silence fell.
Enya stood in the middle of the room with the folded note in her hand, staring at Finley’s mark until her fingers cramped.
She crossed to the hearth, unfolded the message, and read it once.
Meet me in the woods. At midnight.
Enya’s jaw flexed so hard it hurt.
“Ye arrogant—” The words tore out of her in a whisper, thick with fury. She could see the boy’s frightened eyes again. She could see what might have happened if someone stopped the child, if someone read the seal, if someone decided a messenger from the village was suspicious.
Finley had not thought of any of it. Or he had, and he had not cared. The realization settled heavy and sick inside her, because of his recklessness and entitlement.
Enya carried the note to the flame and held it there until the edge caught, curling black. She watched the words disappear, watched her brother’s demand turn to ash. For the first time since she’d arrived, she knew with painful clarity that she did not want to go.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The hall was too loud. It was filled with the heavy, easy comfort of men who had fought and bled together. Their voices rose and fell like a tide, familiar and rhythmic, demanding nothing.
This should have been easy. Harald was used to the noise of his men. Yet, his focus kept slipping to Enya. She held herself with a grace that mimicked peace. But Harald saw the way her fingers gripped her cup until her knuckles turned white, only for her to force them to loosen a second later.
“Ye’ve gone quiet,” Magnus murmured from across the table. His voice was laced with a dry, knowing amusement. “That’s usually me warning sign.”
Harald did not look at him. “I’m listenin’.”
“Aye,” Magnus said lightly. “That’s what worries me.”
Harald ignored him. His mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile, but it didn't last.
What was wrong with her?
He wondered if the noise was too much. Maybe his friends and their wives made her uneasy. But that didn't make sense. He had seen her with Claricia and Ada; they had seemed like sisters. Something else was eating at her.
A cold thought settled in his gut. The wedding was approaching. Was she regretting it? Did she look at the life he offered and realize she didn't want him after all?
Harald reached for his cup. He wrapped his fingers around the wood and gripped it hard. He needed the weight to anchor him.
“Did Barra’s birlinn anchor farther out than usual?” Magnus asked from across the table, tone idle. “I noticed her sail sat wider in the channel.”
Harald drew a breath, already forming the answer. “Aye. The tide’s been?—”
He stopped.
