She couldn't tell what color they were from this distance, but she felt the weight of his stare like a physical thing.
"Check the guards," he said without looking away from her. His voice was low, controlled. Not Highland. Definitely Norse. "See who can be saved."
The dark-haired rider—broader, older—dismounted immediately. "Aye, Harald."
Harald?
Oh God.
Enya's heart was suddenly hammering for an entirely different reason. That was him. That was the Hawk of Lewis. Her future husband. The man her brother wanted her to spy on, to betray, to?—
He took a step toward her, and panic overtook reason.
Enya bolted.
She had no plan, no destination. Just blind animal instinct that said run, get away, don't let him touch you.
Her boots slipped on the blood-slicked ground, and she nearly went down before she caught herself. Behind her, she heard him curse softly.
"Wait."
She didn't wait. Couldn't wait. The trees were right there, just a few more steps.
Her foot caught on something. A root, maybe, or a stone. She didn't have time to see which before she was falling, tumbling sideways off the road toward…
Water.Damn it!
The pond wasn't deep but it was cold. So cold it drove the air from her lungs in a shocked gasp.
Enya surfaced spluttering, her skirts already dragging her down, her hair plastered to her face. Mud squelched beneath her feet as she tried to find purchase, and the humiliation of it—the sheer mortifying absurdity of fleeing a rescue only to end up soaked and filthy in a pond—made her want to sink back under and never resurface.
"Are ye hurt?"
The voice came from directly beside the pond. Enya shoved her hair out of her eyes and looked up to find Harald standing there, one hand extended. He'd wiped most of the blood from his face, but his expression was... she couldn't read it.
"I'm fine," she managed through chattering teeth. "I'm perfectly fine"
Her foot slipped again. She went under with an undignified splash, came up coughing, and that time, when Harald reached for her, she was too cold and miserable to fight.
His grip was firm but careful as he hauled her out of the pond.
Water streamed off her in rivers, and she was pretty sure there was pond weed in her hair.
Excellent. Wonderful. This was exactly how she'd wanted to meet her future husband.
"Easy," Harald said, steadying her when she swayed. "Ye hit yer head?"
"Nay." Enya tried to step back and nearly slipped again. His hand shot out, catching her elbow. "I'm fine. Just—ye can let go now."
"Can I?" There was something in his voice that might have been amusement. "Because ye seem determined tae drown yerself the moment I dae."
Enya's eyes snapped up to his face, and for the first time she saw him clearly. Saw the sharp angles of his jaw, the pale grey of his eyes, the way his mouth was—saints preserve her—almost smiling.
"I wasnae drownin'," she said with as much dignity as she could muster while dripping mud and pond water. "I was... strategically retreatin'."
"Intae a pond."
"It seemed like a good idea at the time."
