Enya took a breath, forcing the panic back into the dark. Amelia stepped forward, her gaze searching her mistress’ pale face. "What is going on in yer head, Enya?"
"We need tae talk," Enya whispered. She reached out, her fingers grazing the girl's shoulder in a rare, brief moment of comfort. "Come. I cannae breathe in this hall.”
They retreated to the solar but Enya didn’t sit. She began to pace the length of the rug, her footsteps muffled and restless. Her fingers mindlessly traced the thread of her skirts, catching on the fabric. She felt a raw, burning need to be clean of the filth she had brought into this house.
"The envoy took the sheets, didnae he?" Amelia asked softly, closing the door with a click that sounded like a gavel.
Enya stopped mid-stride, her back to her friend. She squeezed her eyes shut, seeing the image of Harald's fury and the envoy's cold, clinical hands. "He took them. And in doin' so, he reminded me that everythin' in this room—the bed, the silk, even the breath in me lungs—belongs tae a world I’ve been betrayin' since the moment I entered."
She let out a short, jagged laugh that lacked any humor. "And the worst part, Amelia? The absolute worst part is that fer a moment last night, I forgot about me sick braither. I was foolish enough tae think I belonged tae meself. Or tae him."
"Yedaebelong tae him, me lady. The way he looks at ye?—"
"He looks at me with a devotion I dinnae deserve," Enya snapped, her voice rising with a sudden, fiery intensity. "He looks at me like I’m his salvation, while I carry me braither’s dagger in me heart. I’m a bad, bad person. I dinnae deserve him.”
She sank into a high-backed chair, her hands trembling. She pressed them against her knees to hide the movement.
"He would hate me," she whispered, the words sounding hollow and jagged in the quiet room. She looked down at her hands. They looked filthy to her. "If he kent what I’d been daein’ here when I first came—the way I watched his guards, the way I spied on him fer Finley—he would hate me. He’d be right tae dae it, too."
She felt the weight of Harald’s gaze from the night before, the way he’d looked at her like she was the only light in a world of darkness. The memory didn't bring her comfort; it felt like a brand.
"Perhaps ye can tell him the truth," Amelia insisted, her voice unwavering. She squeezed Enya’s hand. "The laird... he isnae like yer braither. He has a heart o' iron, aye, but he’s fallen fer ye. He would understand why ye did what ye had tae.”
Enya let out a jagged, shaky breath, her chin trembling. "He loves a woman who daesnae exist, Amelia. If I tell him, I’m handin' him the axe tae me own neck."
"I dinnae think he'll strike, me lady."
Still, the thought he could was terrifying.
"Safety built on silence will collapse under pressure, ye ken this," Amelia continued, stepping into Enya’s space. "Ye have tae tell him. All o’ it.”
Enya let out a long, shuddering breath. She felt the sensitivity in her chest flare up, a terrifyingly direct sense of morality that had been her only compass in the dark. She was a Cameron, and despite everything, her honor demanded truth, even if that truth burned everything she loved to the ground.
"He is out there now, guarding his people," Enya whispered, looking toward the door. “Dae ye ken how much it will hurt him tae ken the biggest threat tae his keep was me?"
"He is a mountain o' a man, me lady," Amelia said softly. “Dinnae worry too much about him.”
Enya closed her eyes. She thought of the way Harald’s chest rumbled when he laughed. She thought of the rough scrape of his jaw against her forehead and the way his thumb had grazed her knuckles during the ceremony. She realized then that she didn't just want his protection; she wanted his respect. And she could never have it as long as she was hiding behind a mask.
The decision settled in her gut like a cold stone, but the trembling in her hands began to ease.
"I’ll tell him," Enya said, her voice regaining its stubborn, sharp edge. She straightened her gown, her fingers finding the strength to clasp her brooch. "I’ll tell him taenight.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The iron nib of Harald’s pen scratched the parchment. It was the only sound in the suffocating silence of his study when, a soft, hesitant knock brushed against the door.
Harald’s heart gave a traitorous, heavy thud. He knew that sound. He didn't have to look up to know it was her. The crushing weight of the day’s work vanished instantly. In its place was a surge of genuine, bone-deep relief.
"Enter," he said, his voice dropping into a low, welcoming sound.
The door creaked open, and Enya stepped into the amber glow of the candlelight. She looked small in the vastness of the room, her shoulders slightly hunched, her fingers twisting the fabric of her skirts. Her expression was veiled in worry.
Harald’s stomach dropped. The warmth that had been building in his chest curdled into a cold, heavy stone.
"Enya?"
He stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. He didn't like the way she wouldn't meet his eyes. He didn't like the way she seemed to be holding herself together by a single, fraying thread.
