Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
"Saints preserve us, what happened tae ye?"
The voice came from somewhere in the blur of torchlight and stone, and Enya wanted to sink into the ground.
She was vaguely aware of being helped down from Harald's horse, of Amelia hovering anxiously at her side, of too many faces turned toward her in the castle courtyard.
She was soaked. Muddy. Bleeding. And about to be formally presented to her future husband's entire household looking like something dragged from a bog.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
"There was an ambush," Harald's voice came from behind her, steady, controlled. "Brigands on the south road. Lady Cameron's escort was attacked."
A ripple of reaction moved through the assembled crowd.
Enya caught fragments—"brigands," "Cameron guards," "is she hurt?"—but couldn't focus on any of it. The cold had seeped so deep into her bones that she couldn't stop shaking, and the torchlight seemed to waver and dance in ways that made her dizzy.
"Me lady?" Amelia's hand was on her elbow, steadying. "Can ye stand?"
"Aye." Enya forced herself upright, forced herself to meet the stares. She'd endured worse than curious looks. She could do this. "I'm fine."
"Is that pond weed in her hair?"
Of course there was pond weed in her hair.
Of course, the first thing Harald's people would see was her at her absolute worst—soaked and filthy and marked by eyes that half the Highlands already feared.
It was a disaster.
"Enough." Harald's voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. Not loud. Not harsh. Just absolutely certain. "Lady Cameron has had a difficult journey and needs care, nae an audience. Someone fetch hot water and blankets. Now."
The crowd shifted, but no one moved quickly enough for Harald's liking.
"Moira." He addressed a grey-haired woman near the front directly. "Take Lady Cameron and her maid tae the guest chamber. See that there's a fire lit and hot water brought. She needs tae warm up before anythin' else."
The woman stepped forward with a swift nod. "Aye, me laird. Right away."
"And be gentle with her," Harald added, so quietly Enya almost didn't hear it. "She's been through enough fer one day."
Something in Enya's chest twisted at the concern in his voice. She shouldn't care. Shouldn't let it matter. But it did anyway.
"Come, me lady." Moira's hand was gentle on her arm, her expression kind despite the curiosity in her eyes. "Let's get ye inside and warm, aye?"
Enya nodded, not trusting her voice. As she was led toward the castle entrance, she caught sight of other faces in the crowd—some curious, some wary, some openly staring at her eyes with expressions she recognized all too well.
Fear. Suspicion.
The look of people who'd already decided she was something dangerous.
Her step faltered.
"Easy, lass," Moira murmured. "Just a bit further."
The castle interior was warmer, but not by much. Stone walls rose around them, torches casting flickering shadows that made everything seem strange and unfamiliar.
Enya followed Moira through a maze of corridors, Amelia close at her side, very aware of the servants they passed and the way conversations stopped when they approached.
They were almost to the guest chamber when Harald appeared behind them.
Enya stopped so abruptly that Amelia nearly crashed into her.
"Lady Cameron." Harald's gaze swept over her—assessing, she thought, checking for injuries. "I wanted tae make certain ye had everythin' ye needed."
"Why are they starin'?" The question burst out before Enya could stop it. "Yer people. They keep lookin' at me like... like I'm somethin' tae be afraid of."
Harald's expression shifted—something that might have been regret crossing his features. He glanced at Moira, who immediately took Amelia's arm.
"Come, lass," the older woman said gently. "Let's get that chamber ready, aye?"
Amelia looked like she wanted to protest, but Enya gave her a small nod. Once they'd disappeared around the corner, she turned back to Harald.
"Well?" she demanded. "Are ye goin' to tell me, or am I meant tae guess?"
"It's yer eyes." Harald said it plainly, without hesitation. "They mean something... in Norse belief."
"Ye mean cursed." Enya's voice was flat. "Everyone thinks they're cursed. I ken that already."
"Nae cursed. Marked." Harald stepped closer, his voice dropping. "The Norse believe that certain people are touched by the Norns, the weavers of fate. Women who decide who lives, who dies, when and how. They're the most feared beings in our stories, more than any god or monster."
Enya's throat was tight. "And ye think I'm touched by them."
"I think that tae people who grew up with those stories, yer eyes mean somethin'." Harald's gaze held hers steadily. "To them, ye're marked by powers that bring death and ruin. Chosen by fate itself."
"That's..." Enya didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "That's ridiculous."
"Is it more ridiculous than believin' ye're touched by the devil? Or cursed by God?" Harald's expression was unreadable. "Different people, different fears. Same outcome."
He was right. Saints, he was right, and that made it worse somehow. She'd spent her whole life fleeing one superstition only to walk straight into another.
"So yer people are afraid of me," Enya said quietly.
"Some of them, aye. For now." Harald's voice softened slightly. "But fear will fade when people get tae ken ye. When they see ye're just a woman, nae a weapon of fate."
"Just a woman with devil's eyes."
"Just a woman with unusual eyes," Harald corrected. "There's a difference."
Enya wanted to believe him. Wanted to think that maybe here, on this island full of people who didn't know her history, she could be something other than the cursed Cameron lass.
But she'd tried that before. It had never worked.
"Ye should rest," Harald said, stepping back. "Get warm. We can speak more later, after ye've recovered."
"Thank ye."
“Ye’re welcome lass.” Harald's gaze lingered on her face—on the cut along her jaw, the bruise forming beneath it. "The healer will come tae ye. That needs tendin'."
"It's just a scratch."
"It's nae a scratch. And I'll nae have ye sufferin' when there's help to be had." Harald's voice was firm. "Let the healer see tae it, Enya."
The use of her name—casual, familiar—caught her off guard. Made something warm unfurl in her chest despite the cold still clinging to her bones.
"Alright," she heard herself say. "I will."
Harald nodded once, then turned and walked away, leaving Enya standing in the corridor wondering why she suddenly felt more unsettled than she had facing down the ambush.
"Ye're broodin'."
Harald didn't look up from the maps spread across his desk. "I'm thinkin'."
"Ye're broodin'," Leo repeated, settling into the chair across from him with the easy familiarity of a man who'd earned the right. "I ken the difference. What's rattlin' around in that head of yers?"
"The ambush was too organized." Harald traced the route they'd taken earlier, marking where they'd found Enya's escort. "Too precise. They were waitin' fer someone specific."
"Aye, I thought the same." Leo leaned forward, studying the map. "Question is, were they waitin' fer the Cameron bride, or just any rich target that came along?"
"If they wanted just any rich target, there are easier roads to watch. Safer ones." Harald's jaw tightened. "They were on the most dangerous stretch, at exactly the right time to catch someone comin' from the Cameron lands tae Lewis."
"Could be coincidence."
"Could be." Harald didn't believe in coincidences. "Or it could be that someone kent she was comin' and wanted tae make certain she never arrived."
Leo was quiet for a moment. "Ye think her braither set her up?"
"I think her braither sent his only sister through hostile territory with four guards and nay proper escort." Harald's voice was harder than he intended. "I think he established camp instead of deliverin' her safely tae the castle. And I think when I asked her about it, she lied."
"She was frightened."
"She was protectin' him." Harald looked up, meeting Leo's eyes. "There's a difference."
"Maybe." Leo sat back, crossing his arms. "Maybe she's just loyal tae her family. That's nae a crime, Harald."
"Nay, it's nae." But it complicated things. Everything about Enya Cameron complicated things. "The king's men are already breathin' down me neck about this marriage. The last thing I need is a bride who's keepin' secrets."
"Everyone keeps secrets." Leo's expression turned thoughtful. "Even ye."
"That's different."
"Is it?" Leo's eyebrow rose. “Want tae tell me what ye're really broodin' about?"
Harald's hands stilled on the parchment. "She tried tae run from me."
"Aye, she did. Straight into a pond." Leo's mouth twitched. "It was almost impressive, really. I've never seen someone flee a rescue quite so dramatically."
"It's nae funny."
"It's a little funny."
"She was terrified, Leo." Harald's voice dropped. "Terrified of me. She took one look at me covered in blood and decided I was more dangerous than the bastards who'd just tried tae kidnap her."
"Can ye blame her?" Leo's amusement faded. "Her father was killed by Norsemen. Her braither's probably been fillin' her head with stories about savage raiders fer years. And then ye appear out of nowhere, cut down half a dozen men in as many seconds, and expect her tae trust ye?"
Harald knew Leo was right. Knew it was unreasonable to expect anything else. But something about her fear had cut deeper than he wanted to admit.
"She looked at me like I was a monster," he said quietly.
"Aye. And then she looked at ye like ye were a puzzle." Leo leaned forward again. "I saw it, Harald. When ye were talkin' tae her by the pond. She was curious despite herself. Interested, even."
"Ye're seein' things that arenae there."
"Am I? Because it looked like ye were both daein' yer best nae tae stare at each other." Leo's grin turned knowing. "She's bonnie, that one. Sharp tongue, fire in her eyes, both of them. And she's nae afraid tae speak her mind, even when she probably should be."
Harald thought of Enya dripping pond water and still managing to trade barbs with him.
Thought of the way she'd stood her ground despite shaking from cold and fear. Thought of her eyes—one brown, one green, both absolutely fearless when they met his.
"She's dangerous," he muttered.
"Aye," Leo agreed cheerfully. "Tae yer composure, at least. When's the last time a woman made ye forget yerself enough tae actually smile?"
"I didnae smile."
"Ye did. By the pond. I saw it." Leo was enjoying this far too much. "The mighty Hawk of Lewis, brought low by a lass who called his boots dear."
"She was mockin' me."
"She was banterin’ with ye." Leo's expression turned more serious.
"Look, I ken this marriage is nae what ye wanted.
I ken havin' the Crown breathin' down yer neck makes yer teeth ache.
But that lass has had just as rough a time as ye have, if nae worse.
Maybe give her a chance before ye decide she's the enemy. "
Harald wanted to argue. Wanted to point out all the reasons why trust was a liability, why opening himself up to anyone—especially someone with family ties to the Highlands—was dangerous.
But he couldn't quite silence the memory of Enya's voice asking about the wounded guards.
The genuine concern in her eyes. The way she'd stood dripping and freezing but still demanded answers instead of cowering.
"Send the healer to her," he said instead. “After her escorts that were wounded.
"Aye, me laird. That cut on her jaw needs tendin'." Leo paused.
"Have extra blankets and wine sent tae her chamber.”
“Ye made certain Moira herself attended her, nae one of the younger maids."
"She's a guest in me home. It's only proper."
"It's protective," Leo corrected. "Ye're already protective of her, Harald. Might as well admit it."
"I barely ken the woman."
"Ye ken her enough to nearly take that brigand's head off when ye saw he'd struck her." Leo's voice was quiet now. "I've fought beside ye fer ten years. I've never seen ye that angry that quickly."
Harald's hands curled into fists on the desk.
He remembered the moment he'd seen the blood on Enya's face, the bruise forming on her jaw. Remembered the cold fury that had swept through him, the absolute certainty that whoever had hurt her would pay for it.
He'd killed the man quickly. Cleanly. It was more mercy than the bastard deserved.
"She's meant tae be me wife," Harald said finally. "I'll nae have anyone thinkin' they can put hands on her without consequence."
"See? Protective." Leo stood, stretching. "Are ye comin' tae the hall, or are ye goin' tae hide in here all night?"
"I'm nae hidin'."
"Ye're absolutely hidin'. While the king's envoy is probably drinkin' all yer good wine and complainin' about the accommodations."
Leo headed for the door, then paused. "And Harald? That lass didnae just look at ye like ye were a monster. She also looked at ye like ye were the first person who's ever really seen her. Might want tae think about that."
He left before Harald could respond, leaving him alone with the maps and the mess of thoughts he couldn't quite untangle.
Leo was wrong. He had to be.
But Harald couldn't quite forget the moment when Enya's eyes—those strange, beautiful, impossible eyes—had met his without fear.
Just curiosity.
He pushed away from the desk with a curse, pacing to the window. Below, the courtyard was quiet now, most of the household settled inside the night.
Somewhere in the guest wing, Enya was probably warming herself by a fire, probably still shaking from cold and shock.
Probably still afraid of him.
The thought bothered him more than it should.
"Damn," Harald muttered to the empty room. To the maps that held no answers. To the marriage he hadn't wanted and the woman who'd already managed to unsettle every careful plan he'd made.
He should stay there. Should focus on the real threats—the ambush, the missing brigand, the questions that didn't have clean answers.
But his feet were already carrying him toward the door.
Just to make certain the healer had gone to her, that she had everything she needed.
Just to escort her to the hall, he told himself.