His gaze flicked over her, quick and dismissive, before returning to her face. “Aye. Exactly.”
Something inside her finally cracked.
It was the sound of a decade of bending. Of shrinking. She had spent a lifetime waiting for him to look at her as his sister instead of a weapon.
“I trusted ye,” she said, voice dropping to a whisper.
Finley exhaled, impatient. “Ye trusted me tae dae what’s best fer our clan. That is me duty.”
“Nay,” she snapped. “I trusted ye tae see me as yer sister. I trusted ye taeloveme.”
Silence fell, thick and suffocating. For a heartbeat, something flickered across Finley’s face. It was the annoyance of a craftsman whose tool had suddenly grown a mind of its own.
“I feared ye’d ruin everything,” he said flatly.
The words settled into her bones and she laughed again, but this time there was no humor in it at all. “So ye decided tae steal me like a sack o’ grain?”
“Ye were growing attached,” he said, his eyes narrowing in the torchlight. “Ye’re nae as careful wi’ yer tongue as ye think. Ye look at him too long. Ye defend him too fiercely.”
Her chest tightened painfully.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly raw. Images flickered through her mind unbidden. Harald’s steady gaze. The way he smiled when her wit cut too close. The careful restraint in his hands when he stood near her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him without a single improper touch.
“And what exactly is it ye think ye’re daeing now?” she asked. “Taking me where? Locking me away until ye’re finished using me?”
His jaw tightened. “I’m removing a liability.”
She tasted salt on her lips and realized, distantly, that she was crying.
Before she could speak again, before she could tear herself apart further trying to make him understand, the night exploded into sound.
Steel rang, a sharp, silver shriek that sliced through the howling wind. A shout followed, and the yard erupted. Torches swung in frantic arcs as Finley’s men scrambled, their formation shattered by a sudden, surging confusion.
“Enya!”
The voice anchored her. She would have known it in the depths of her worst nightmare—a rough, low-timbered roar that made the world steady beneath her feet.
Her heart lurched so violently it felt like it might burst.
Harald burst into the torchlight like a force of nature, a god of iron and storm. His men fanned out behind him with the silent, lethal efficiency of a wolf pack, but Enya only had eyes for him. His sword was already unsheathed, the steel gleaming like ice, and his cloak snapped behind him in the gale. He took in the scene—the gravel, the torches, her brother—in a single, sweeping heartbeat.
Then, his gaze found her and everything else ceased to exist.
She saw the fury that scorched across his features, a dark, protective fire that turned his eyes to molten gold. She saw his shoulders square, his knuckles turning white as he readjusted his grip on the hilt of his blade.
“Get away from her,” Harald said. It was an ultimatum delivered by a man who was finished with words.
Finley reacted with the desperate speed of a cornered cur. He shoved Enya backward, his arm snapping around her throat in a chokehold that cut off her air. She was dragged hard against his chest, the smell of his wet wool suffocating her, but it was the sensation beneath her jaw that froze her blood. Cold, thin steel kissed her skin—a blade pressed just beneath her chin.
“Stay back,” Finley barked, his voice cracking with a frantic edge. “Or she dies here.”
Harald didn't even flinch. The yard seemed to hold its breath as he advanced, one heavy, deliberate step at a time. His eyes never left Enya’s. He wasn't looking at the blade at her throat; he was looking into her soul, steadying her, demanding she stay with him.
The world narrowed until there was nothing but his eyes.
Enya felt a strange, shimmering stillness settle over her, a quiet that defied the blade biting into the soft skin of her throat. She couldn't tear her gaze away from Harald.
He was a mountain of iron and absolute certainty.
