Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
"Hold still, me lady, or I'll nae get the tangles out."
Enya winced as the comb caught on another knot in her hair. "Sorry. I'm just—"
"Exhausted, freezin’, and probably still in shock," Amelia finished, her hands gentler now as she worked through the wet strands. "Ye've every right tae be. That was..." She trailed off, shaking her head.
"A disaster," Enya supplied.
"I was goin' tae say something else, but aye, disaster works too." Amelia set the comb aside and reached for the towel warming by the fire. "At least ye're alive. And clean. And nae covered in pond weed anymore."
"There's that." Enya pulled the borrowed robe tighter around herself, grateful for the heat radiating from the hearth.
The chamber was simple but comfortable, far nicer than she'd expected. Moira had already lit candles, laid out fresh linens, and left a tray of bread and cheese on the side table. "They're bein' very kind."
"Aye. The maids seem nice enough." Amelia began drying Enya's hair with careful movements. "Though they keep starin' at yer eyes when they think ye're nae lookin'."
"I noticed." Enya's stomach twisted. "Harald said they think I'm touched by the Norns. Fate-weavers or somethin'. That I bring death and ruin."
"Well, that's cheerful." Amelia's hands stilled. "Dae ye want me tae tell them tae stop?"
"Nay. It willnae help." Enya closed her eyes, letting the warmth seep into her bones. "They'll believe what they believe, same as everyone else."
A knock at the door interrupted them. Amelia opened it to reveal an elderly woman carrying a leather satchel, her silver hair braided in a crown around her head.
"Beggin' yer pardon, me lady," the woman said with a slight bow. "I'm Isa, the castle healer. Laird Harald asked me tae see tae yer injuries once I'd finished with the wounded guard."
Aye, he did.
Enya felt that strange twist in her chest again, the one that came every time Harald did something unexpectedly considerate.
"How is he?" Enya asked. "The guard?"
"Stable, fer now." Isa moved into the room with the ease of someone comfortable in her own authority. "He's young and strong. If infection daesnae set in, he'll likely survive." She set her satchel on the table and studied Enya with sharp grey eyes. "Now, let's see what we're workin' with, aye?"
The examination was thorough but gentle.
Isa cleaned the cut on Enya's jaw with something that stung, applied a salve that smelled of herbs, and checked her over for other injuries with practiced efficiency.
"Ye'll have a bonnie bruise tomorrow," the healer said, stepping back. "But the cut's clean. It should heal without scarrin' if ye keep it dry and let it breathe."
"Thank ye." Enya touched the tender skin carefully. "And thank Laird Harald fer sendin' ye."
"Ye can thank him yerself at supper." Isa packed her supplies with quick movements. "Which ye should attend, despite wantin' tae hide in here all night."
Enya blinked. "What?"
"I'd want to hide too, after the day ye've had." The healer's expression softened. "But the king's men are here, and they'll expect tae see ye. Best tae get it over with, show them ye're nae broken by a few brigands."
"I'm nae broken," Enya said quietly.
"Nay, ye're nae. But they'll be watchin' tae see if ye are." Isa headed for the door, then paused. "One more thing, me lady. The laird... he's a good man. Better than most ken. Dinnae judge him by his reputation alone."
Before Enya could respond, the healer was gone, leaving her alone with Amelia and a warning that felt far too personal to be casual.
"Well," Amelia said into the silence. "She certainly has opinions."
"Aye." Enya stared at the closed door. "She daes."
The maids returned shortly after to help Enya dress for dinner. They'd found her trunk, the one that had somehow survived the ambush, and pulled out the nicest gown she owned. It was deep green wool, simply cut but well-made, with Cameron colors woven into the trim.
Enya felt like an imposter wearing it.
"Ye look lovely, me lady," one of the maids, a young woman named Brina, said shyly. "The color suits ye."
"Thank ye." Enya tried to smile, but her face felt stiff. "I appreciate yer help."
Brina glanced at the other maid, then back to Enya. "If ye dinnae mind me sayin', me lady... yer eyes are quite strikin'. I've never seen anythin' like them."
It wasn't said with fear. Just curiosity. Enya didn't know what to do with that.
"They're just eyes," she said carefully.
"Aye, but they're yers." Brina's smile was genuine. "That makes them special."
The words were so unexpected, so kind, that Enya felt her throat tighten. "That's... thank ye. That's very kind."
Another knock interrupted the moment. That time, when Amelia opened the door, Harald stood in the corridor.
He'd cleaned up since the ambush—the blood was gone, his hair was damp like he'd bathed, and he wore fresh clothes, dark grey and black. But his expression was still guarded, still carefully controlled.
"Lady Cameron." His gaze swept over her, lingering for just a moment on the bruise darkening her jaw.
She hesitated.
"I've come tae escort ye tae the hall. The castle's large, and ye've had a difficult day." Harald's voice was polite but firm. "Humor me."
Enya wanted to argue.
Wanted to insist she didn't need his protection or his concern. But Isa's words echoed in her head—the king's men will be watching—and she realized this wasn't just about kindness.
This was about appearances. About showing a united front to the royal observers who would judge every interaction, every gesture.
"Alright," she said quietly. "Thank ye."
Harald offered his arm. Enya took it, very aware of the strength beneath the fabric, the heat of him even through the layers of cloth.
They walked in silence through the corridors, Amelia trailing behind them at a respectful distance. Enya could hear voices ahead—laughter, conversation, the sounds of a hall filling with people for the evening meal.
"Are ye nervous?" Harald asked suddenly.
"Should I be?"
"The king's envoy is... persistent. He'll likely ask questions ye dinnae want tae answer." Harald's jaw tightened slightly. "Just follow me lead. I'll handle him."
"I can handle meself."
"I ken ye can. Ye've proven that already." Harald glanced down at her. "But ye dinnae have tae. Nae taenight."
The offer settled somewhere warm in Enya's chest, right next to all her confusion about that man who killed with cold efficiency but spoke to her with unexpected gentleness.
The hall was already crowded when they entered.
Conversation died as heads turned toward them, and Enya felt every eye track their progress toward the high table. She kept her chin up, kept her expression calm, even as her heart hammered against her ribs.
“Henry. Enjoyin’ the meal?” Herald asked as they were settling down.
“Aye.”
The king's envoy rose from his seat as they approached. He was tall and thin, with a sharp face and eyes that missed nothing.
"Ah, Lady Cameron." Henry's smile didn't reach those calculating eyes. "How fortuitous. We were just discussing yer... eventful arrival."
"Were ye?" Enya let Harald seat her before responding. "I hope the discussion was brief. I'd rather nae relive it."
"Of course, of course. Most distressing." Henry settled back into his chair, his gaze flicking between her and Harald. "Though I must say, ye're looking remarkably well considering the circumstances. The rumors of yer injuries seem tae have been... exaggerated."
"The rumors?" Harald's voice was dangerously quiet.
"Well, we heard there was blood, screaming, a rescue from certain death..." Henry waved a hand dismissively. "Ye ken how servants talk. But clearly Lady Cameron is made of sterner stuff than we were led tae believe."
Enya felt Harald tense beside her. Felt the shift in the air that said violence was closer than it should be at a dinner table.
"The lady was attacked by brigands," Harald said, each word precise. "She fought back, was struck in the face, and nearly kidnapped. If that's nae worthy of concern in yer estimation, perhaps ye should reconsider yer standards."
Henry's smile faltered. "I merely meant—"
"I ken what ye meant." Harald's grey eyes had gone cold. "And I'm tellin' ye now that Lady Cameron's courage is nae a subject fer casual gossip. She's tae be me wife, and she'll be afforded the respect that position demands. Am I clear?"
The hall had gone very quiet. Enya could feel dozens of eyes on them, could sense the weight of the moment settling like snow.
"Perfectly clear, Laird Harald." Henry's voice was stiff. "Me apologies if I gave offense."
"Nae tae me." Harald's gaze didn't waver. "Tae her."
Henry turned to Enya, his expression carefully neutral. "Lady Cameron. Please accept me apologies. I spoke carelessly."
"Apology accepted," Enya said, because what else could she say? Her hands were shaking slightly under the table, and she had to clasp them together to make it stop.
Harald had just defended her. Publicly. Forcefully. Like she was something worth protecting.
No one had ever done that before.
The meal began with careful formality. Servants brought course after course—roasted meat, fresh bread, winter vegetables, ale and wine.
Enya ate mechanically, very aware of Harald beside her, of Henry across the table watching them both like a hawk studying prey.
"So," Henry said after the third course, his tone artificially light. "Shall we discuss the terms of the union? I assume ye're both eager tae understand what's expected."
"We ken what's expected," Harald said flatly. "A marriage. An alliance. Peace between the Isles and the Highlands."
"Yes, yes, of course. But there are... particulars." Henry dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "His Majesty has granted ye ten days tae become acquainted before the ceremony. We felt it important that ye have time tae... adjust tae one another."
Ten days.
Enya felt something cold settle in her stomach. Ten days to learn Harald's secrets. To find evidence of his supposed plans against her clan. To betray the man currently defending her honor to a room full of strangers.
"How generous," she heard herself say.
"Indeed. We want this union tae succeed, Lady Cameron. For everyone's sake." Henry's smile was thin. "After all, ye're the third such marriage under the Pact. It would be... unfortunate if this one were tae fail where the others succeeded."
"It willnae fail," Harald said. His voice was absolute. Final.
"I'm glad tae hear it. Though of course, we'll need proof of consummation after the ceremony. Standard procedure, ye understand. Cannae have questions about the legitimacy of the union later."
Enya's cheeks flamed. She stared at her plate, unable to look at anyone, as shame crawled up her spine.
They were going to demand the sheets, inspect them like livestock, looking for blood to prove she'd been a virgin, that the marriage was real.
The humiliation of it made her want to sink through the floor.
"That's enough." Harald's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. "Ye've made yer point, Henry. We understand the Crown's requirements. There's nae need tae belabor them at the dinner table."
"I simply want tae ensure—"
"I said enough." Harald's hand moved to rest on the table near Enya's—not touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat of it.
Close enough that it felt like support. "Lady Cameron has had a long day.
She daesnae need tae hear ye discussin' her weddin’ night like it's a business transaction. "
"Everything about this is a business transaction, Laird Harald." Henry's voice hardened. "The king commanded these marriages tae secure peace. That means certain... assurances must be given. Surely ye understand that."
"I understand that ye're enjoyin' this far more than ye should.
" Harald's grey eyes were ice. "I understand that ye've been here a day and already made the lady uncomfortable.
And I understand that if ye keep speakin' tae her like she's a broodmare bein' inspected at market, we're goin' tae have problems. Dae ye understand that? "
The threat hung in the air between them. Henry's face had gone pale, then flushed with anger.
"I am here on His Majesty's authority."
"And I'm laird of this island. In me hall, at me table, ye'll show the proper respect. Or ye can take yer authority and sleep in the stables."
Someone—Enya thought it might be Leo—coughed to cover a laugh. The rest of the hall remained frozen, watching the standoff with bated breath.
Finally, Henry inclined his head stiffly. "As ye wish, Laird Harald. Once again, I meant nay disrespect tae Lady Cameron."
"See that ye dinnae." Harald turned his attention back to his meal, effectively dismissing the envoy. "Now, if we're finished discussin' private matters in public, perhaps we can enjoy the rest of supper in peace."
The conversation gradually resumed, though the tension never fully left the table. Enya pushed food around her plate, her appetite gone, very aware of Harald beside her.
He'd done it again. Defended her. Protected her. Like it was instinct.
"Ye didnae have tae dae that," she said quietly, once the talk had shifted to other topics.
"Aye, I did." Harald didn't look at her. "He was bein' an arse."
"He's the king's man."
"I dinnae care if he's the king himself. He daesnae speak tae ye that way." Harald's voice was low, meant only for her. "Nae in me hall. Nae ever."
Enya's throat was tight. The words settled into her chest like hot coals—warming her, burning her, making it hard to breathe.
Thar wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to like him. Wasn't supposed to feel... whatever it was when he looked at her like she mattered.
She was supposed to spy on him. Betray him. Help her brother destroy him.
The knowledge sat like poison on her tongue.
"Thank ye," she whispered, because she didn't know what else to say.
Harald nodded once, then turned back to his meal, leaving Enya to wrestle with the growing certainty that nothing about this marriage was going to be as simple as Finley had promised.