Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
By the time dawn bled pale and thin through the shutters, Enya had given up any pretense of rest.
She rose with the light, her body feeling heavy and hollowed out.
She braided her hair with savage precision, pulling the strands so tight her scalp ached, desperate for the external discipline to anchor the chaos in her chest. The castle was waking, and it sounded like an invading army.
Footsteps. Voices. The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of hammers outside.
Wedding preparations. Her wedding preparations.
As she reached the great hall, two women stood near the long table, draped in strips of fabric, muttering to one another. A servant hurried past with a wooden box against his chest.
She took her seat, her spine a line of iron. But her eyes were restless, darting toward the doorway, tracing every movement, searching for a massive frame that wasn't there. A maid approached with a tray, dipping into a curtsy. “Me lady.”
Enya inclined her head. The cup placed before her steamed faintly, but instead of drinking, she stared at the empty chair across from her.
The wood looked cold. The absence of him was a physical weight, a vacuum in the room that sucked the air from her lungs. She had spent the night trying to exorcise his voice from her mind, and now, his silence was louder than the hammers outside.
She glanced at the door once, a sharp, involuntary jerk of her head, and immediately felt a surge of self-loathing. Weakness.
Amelia, who sat by her, didn't know about the chess game. She didn't know about the wager or the way the air had hummed between them like a live wire. All she saw was the fallout—the way Enya sat now, pale and jagged, looking like she had seen a ghost and was still haunted by its touch.
Enya ignored her. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Amelia and see her reflection in her eyes.
Instead, she picked up a piece of bread and tore it with a violence that made the crust splinter.
Her fingers dug so deep into the dough that her nails left deep, crescent-moon marks, as if she were trying to throttle the memory of Harald’s voice.
She forced herself to chew, but the bread was dry, tasting of ash.
She bolted from the table before the tea could cool, and Amelia’s frantic eyes could pin her down and demand the truth she didn't have. She moved with small, ladylike steps—a practiced lie—while under her skin, her nerves were vibrating like a struck bell.
The noise of the castle was loud. The loneliness was a vacuum.
Where is he?
She loathed the question. It tasted like surrender.
A guard stood at the yard archway, his spear a vertical line of cold iron. He snapped to attention as she neared. "Me lady."
"Is there a chance ye ken where the laird has gone?" she asked. Her voice was a masterpiece of cool, idle curiosity, but her heart was a riot behind her ribs.
The guard blinked, caught off guard. "Out, me lady."
"Out where?" Her mouth tightened, the composure beginning to fray at the edges.
"I dinnae ken."
She gave a sharp, clinical nod and turned away before he could see the flash of frustration in her eyes. She let her feet carry her toward the garden, then further, toward the cliffs where the air turned jagged and salt-heavy.
Somewhere beyond that line of grey stone lay the lake—the secret he had whispered into the dark of the study. The memory of his voice returned, a low, visceral hum that pulled at her chest, dragging her toward the path.
I want tae see it. Curiosity is nae a crime.
She gathered her heavy skirts, her fingers trembling as she navigated the hidden dip in the track where the brush thickened.
The further she went, the more the world changed.
The scream of the sea faded, replaced by a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight.
The air grew cool and damp, smelling of ancient stone and moss.
The lake revealed itself all at once—a dark, mirror-smooth eye of water tucked into the throat of the cliffs.
It looked like a secret held too long. Enya stood at the edge, the stillness of the place sinking into her bones, offering a reprieve from the hammers and the wedding ribbons and the suffocating mission.
She took a step closer, drawn by a gravity she couldn't name.
Then, a sound broke the silence. The heavy, rhythmic displacement of water. A low, steady exhale of breath that sounded far too much like the man who had been haunting her thoughts.
She stopped. Her heart gave a violent, liquid kick against her ribs.
Harald stood waist-deep in the water, his back to her, shoulders broad and bare beneath the light, his skin darkened by wind and sun. For the briefest moment her mind refused the shape of what she was seeing. Then the realization settled with quiet, devastating clarity.
He wore nothing at all.
The heat erupted, a scorched-earth flush that raced from her chest to her hairline.
She took an unsteady step back, her knees weakening.
Her foot snagged on a gnarled root, and she lurched sideways, her palm slamming against the rough bark of a tree to keep from falling.
Her heart was a frantic, thudding animal in her chest, so loud she was certain it was echoing off the rock walls of the cove.
He moved then, pushing deeper into the lake with an ease that drew her gaze despite herself, the water sliding over him in a smooth line as he submerged without hesitation. When he surfaced, he exhaled a long, heavy sound of satisfaction.
Something low in Enya's belly coiled tight—a sharp, throbbing ache she had no name for.
She dropped behind a thicket of gorse, crouching so low her skirts tangled around her thighs, her breath coming in shallow, jagged hitches.
This was a trespass. It was a violation of every scrap of modesty she possessed.
And yet, she stayed. Her body was a traitor, refusing to move, her skin humming with a restless, hungry energy.
Just one more look, she told herself, the lie tasting like honey and ash.
She peered through the leaves, her gaze devouring the way he swam—long, unhurried strokes that showcased the lethal strength in his shoulders.
She had seen statues, heard the hushed, scandalous whispers of the maids, but none of it had prepared her for the sheer, heavy presence of him.
He was unguarded, unashamed, a creature of bone and sinew existing entirely for himself.
Watching him felt like a hand sliding over her skin. It was unreasonably intimate, a theft of a moment she had no right to own, and yet she couldn't tear her eyes away. She had never seen a man like that before.
When he turned, his chest breaking the surface, her breath caught painfully in her throat. She pressed herself back into the dirt, her fingers clawing into the damp earth, waiting for the roar of his anger.
His eyes swept the shoreline, passing over the shadows where she hid. He didn't see her.
The relief that washed over her was dizzying, making her limbs feel heavy and weak. But right behind it came something darker, sharper—a hot, pulsing frustration that settled beneath her ribs.
She wanted him to look. The realization was a lightning strike. She wanted those gold-flecked eyes to pin her to the dirt. She wanted him to know she was there, watching the water drip from his skin. The thought made her shift unconsciously, leaning forward to catch the light on his shoulders.
That was when his head tilted. It was a slow, deliberate movement—the way a wolf catches a scent on the wind. The air in the cove suddenly felt pressurized, thick with an awareness that made Enya’s skin prickle with static.
“Ye ken,” his voice carried easily across the water, warm and amused, “if ye stare any harder, ye’ll burn a hole on me skin.”
Enya went perfectly still, the blood in her veins turning to fire.
She pressed a hand over her mouth, mortified, her pulse thudding so hard against her palm she could feel the heat of her own blood.
She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for the ground to open and swallow her, but the image of his bare, wet shoulders was burned into the back of her eyelids like a brand.
When she dared to peek, he was moving—a slow, liquid circle that brought him closer to the bank. Closer to her.
“Well?” he called. His voice was a low, vibrating bridge across the water. “How much longer d’ye plan tae watch me from the weeds, Enya? I’m starting tae feel like a prize stallion at a fair.”
Her first instinct was to run. Her second was to deny everything. What came out instead was a flustered, indignant whisper that did nothing to improve her situation. “I was nae spying.”
His laughter rippled across the lake, deep and unhurried. “Aye? Is that why ye’re crouched in the gorse like a fox? I can see the top o’ yer head, lass. And I can hear yer heart from here.”
She stood up abruptly, abandoning her cover. If she was caught, she’d at least be caught with her chin up. She straightened her skirts, though her hands were shaking. “This is a public place, me laird. I have every right tae walk the cliffs.”
“That,” he replied, pausing where the water hit his mid-chest, “is debatable. This is me private sanctuary. But I suppose a thief who can pick a lock daesnae care much fer property lines.”
He rested one arm on a smooth, flat rock at the edge, his chest rising and falling in a steady, powerful rhythm. He made no move to hide, no move to duck. He simply watched her, his eyes bright with a predatory amusement that made her skin hum.
Her gaze skidded away, then returned against her will.
“Ye should—” She faltered, her gaze skidding over the bronze muscle of his arms before snapping back to his face.
“Cover meself?” he finished for her, his brow arching.
“Aye,” Her face went incandescent. “It would be the decent thing tae dae.”
“Why?” He tilted his head, the water dripping from his jawline. “There’s nay one here but us. And ye seem tae be finding the view… interesting.”
“It is indecent,” she snapped, her frustration flaring to mask the fact that her knees were trembling. “And ye are being deliberately provocative.”
“And yet here ye are,” he said mildly. “Still looking.”
She stepped forward, closer to the water’s edge than was safe, her hands clenched at her sides. “I didnae ken ye would be here, Harald. I came tae see the lake. Alone.”
“That part I believe,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a velvet rasp. “The rest, less so. Ye wanted tae see what lay behind the lock, Enya. Well… here it is. All o’ it.”
She shot him a glare that should have turned the lake to ice. “I am leaving.”
“Are ye?” He began to swim again, his movements long and unhurried, the water swirling around his hips as he moved into shallower water. “Why? Ye’ve already seen all there is tae it, I think.”
Her breath hitched. The implication of his nakedness sent a fresh, liquid jolt through her lower belly. “That was nae me intention.”
“I ken,” he said quietly, his teasing tone vanishing. He stopped, the water now lapping at his waist. He was only a few feet from the bank now. If he took two more steps, he would be entirely exposed to her, and the thought made her head swim with a terrifying, delicious dread.
“Ye are enjoying this,” she accused, her voice trembling. “Ye like making me look like a fool.”
“I like the way yer eyes darken when ye’re pressed, Enya,” he corrected, his gaze heavy and visceral. “Without the armor. Without the lies.”
“I am nae pressed,” she lied, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs. “I am bored. And I am going back tae the castle.”
She turned away, taking a sharp step back toward the path, but her body felt leaden—anchored to the spot by a gravity she couldn’t fight. Every nerve ending was screaming, raw and overstimulated, protesting the distance she was trying to put between them.
“Enya.”
She stopped. The sound of her name was a hook, sinking deep into the soft tissue of her resolve. She hated the way she obeyed it. She hated that her feet refused to move another inch.
“I didnae expect company,” he continued. The teasing edge had vanished, replaced by a tone so raw and stripped of pretense that it felt like a physical weight. “But I’m glad ye came. I think I’ve been waiting fer ye fer a long time. Nae just here... but everywhere.”
The words struck her center-mass, a blunt-force hit to her heart that made her lungs seize.
It wasn't just the words. It was the terrifying sincerity behind them, the sound of a man who had been a fortress for too long finally opening a gate.
She swallowed, her throat so tight it ached, her pulse thudding a frantic, uneven rhythm in her ears.
“This was a mistake, Harald,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“Perhaps,” he said, and she could hear the ghost of a smile in his voice, a low, vibrating hum that made her stomach flip. “But it’s the best mistake I’ve made all year. The only one that’s made me feel alive. So stay, Enya. Just fer a moment. Stop running.”
She let out a laugh—a short, breathless sound that was half-sob, half-electricity. “Ye are impossible!”
“So I’m told,” his answer came, as dark and deep as the water surrounding him.
She couldn't stay. If she stayed, she would turn around. She would never be able to leave. The mission, the lies, the Cameron blood in her veins—it would all burn to ash in the heat of his gaze.
She fled. She gathered her heavy woolen skirts in both hands and sprinted back along the path, her boots skidding on the damp earth. Her face was on fire, her heart racing so hard it felt like it would burst through her ribs.
“Enya!”
His voice chased her, echoing off the ancient, moss-covered rocks like a haunting. It followed her through the trees, a low, masculine vibration that settled in the marrow of her bones.
She didn't stop until the lake was out of sight, but it didn't matter. The image was already seared into her mind: the gold flecks in his eyes, the way his skin looked like hammered bronze in the sun, and the devastating sight of the water sliding down the hard planes of his back.
She knew, with a terrifying, soul-deep certainty, that she was ruined.