His gaze stayed locked on hers. “I want tae talk.”
The words he left unsaid hung in the air like a physical weight.
Before this distance between us becomes a canyon. Before I lose ye tae whatever ghost ye’re chasin’ in the dark.
He felt a raw, gnawing ache in his chest—a fear that if he didn't pull her aside now, the woman he had kissed the night before would vanish, leaving only a stranger in a wedding dress.
Enya’s pulse jumped visibly at her throat. For an agonizing heartbeat, she looked as though she might refuse.
Then she nodded once. “Aye.”
Harald turned first. He didn't reach for her hand; he gave her the space to choose him, to walk into the light rather than be dragged. He forced himself not to look back, but every nerve in his body was attuned to her. He felt her brief, heart-stopping hesitation, and then finally, the soft, rhythmic shift of her skirts as she stepped forward to follow him.
The walk felt like a mile. Every step toward the stairs was a step away from the safety of the crowd and closer to a truth that Harald was beginning to fear might break them both.
When he stopped before his door and turned the latch, he was keenly aware of how close she stood behind him, how easily he could have reached for her instead.
They entered and the door closed behind them with a muted thud and the sudden quiet was almost physical.
Enya lingered near the threshold. Her hands were clasped loosely before her, fingers worrying at one another. He faced her fully, giving her his attention without crowding her, even as everything in him strained to close the space.
“Now tell me,” he said, his patience already worn to a thread. “What troubles ye?”
Enya looked away, her chin lifted in that stubborn, defiant line. “I told ye. Naething.”
Harald exhaled sharply, his restraint snapping. He stepped into her space, his shadow looming over her. "I’m nae a fool, Enya. Dinnae lie tae me."
Her fingers twisted together, knuckles turning white, until she finally broke, “They talk too much.” she whispered, the words rushing out.
“Who?”
“The maids,” Enya replied. She looked at him then, her face flushing a deep, sudden crimson. "They talked about what happens... after the vows. At night."
Harald’s throat went dry.
The anxiety that had been clawing at his gut vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a sudden, flashing vision of the night to come—of Enya, unbound and golden in the firelight.
The image hit him like a physical blow.
The protective laird died in an instant, consumed by a surge of heat that made the room tilt and his head swim. His pulse began to hammer a heavy, rhythmic violence against his ribs, turning his blood to liquid fire. He was imagining the taste of her skin and the way her defiance would turn into a different kind of gasp beneath him.
He saw her then—not as a puzzle to be solved, but as a woman standing on the precipice of a world she didn't understand.
“What did they say?” he asked, his voice thickening with a hunger he no longer tried to hide. He took another step, closing the distance until their breaths mingled.
"Enough," she whispered, though her eyes were wide, searching his. "About the pain. About what men... demand."
Harald let out a low, rough sound that was half-laugh, half-growl.
"Then they told ye lies," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her mouth. "If ye think I would demand anything that makes ye recoil, ye dinnae ken me at all."
Her mouth puckered, a small, soft movement that drew his gaze to the fullness of her lower lip and held it there. She watched him with a wide, guarded attention, but beneath the fear, he saw a flickering, burning curiosity.
“I dinnae ken what I’m meant tae feel,” she whispered, her voice thinning until it was a ragged thread. “Or dae. And the nae kenning... it is worse than any story they could tell me.”
The image of her hair spread across his pillows and her skin flushed under his touch, flashed through his mind with such violence it made his head swim.
He clasped his hands behind his back, his fingers digging into his palms as he fought to ground himself. His blood was pulsing in a heavy, rhythmic thrum through his veins.
