Chapter 11 #2
The words were formal, but the edge beneath them cut Harald to the quick. It was pride, yes, but it was also a withdrawal that left him feeling strangely abandoned. It irritated him—no, it enraged him—that Henry had managed to make her feel like a trespasser in a home that was supposed to be hers.
She was to be his wife. The thought settled in his chest, made heavier by the fact that everything else felt slightly off its balance.
Harald did not contradict her but didn’t agree either.
Instead, he turned his head at last and looked at her fully. “Remember what I said,” he murmured, low enough that only she would hear.
Her eyes met his, searching his face for something he could not have named even if pressed. For a heartbeat, the noise of the keep seemed to fall away, leaving only that look between them, weighted with things neither of them was ready to say.
Then she inclined her head once, the smallest acknowledgment, and stepped back.
“I’ll be nearby,” she said quietly, and turned toward the inner corridor without waiting for permission.
Harald watched her go, the sway of her skirts disappearing into shadow. The space she left behind felt abruptly colder as the echo of her steps faded deeper into the keep.
Harald’s boots struck the stone with a rhythmic, violent finality. He didn't look back at Henry, but he could feel the man's presence—a cold, calculating shadow that smelled of old parchment and hidden agendas.
Under his ribs, the irritation was a living thing, clawing at his lungs.
It wasn't just the threat at the coast; it was the way Enya had looked at him before she had left—the way she’d looked at the horizon.
Anticipation. The word tasted like poison.
Was she afraid for her life, or was she waiting for a rescue he hadn't seen coming?
He pushed the heavy oak doors of the council chamber open. The groan of the hinges sounded like a warning.
The room was still half-empty, the long table waiting beneath the low light of the torches, chairs standing ready like sentinels.
Harald crossed to the high-backed seat at its head and remained standing, hands braced briefly against the worn wood as if grounding himself before the weight of command settled fully into place.
One by one, the councilmen arrived.
Cloaks were shrugged off, low greetings exchanged, chairs scraping against stone as the last of the Council took their places around the table. The murmur lingered only a moment longer before Harald lifted his hand and the sound died immediately.
He remained standing at the head of the table, gaze sweeping the room once before settling on the two men who waited near the wall, cloaks still on, boots dusted with sand and grit.
“Tell me everything,” he said. His voice carried easily, steady and unhurried. “Start from the coast.”
One of the scouts stepped forward, helmet tucked under his arm. “We spotted them at first light, me jarl. Westward side, just past the bend o’ the cliffs.”
Harald’s gaze went to the man first, brief but attentive. “Ye’re all right?”
“Aye,” the scout replied at once. “We kept our distance.”
Nay blood.
“Good,” Harald inclined his head slightly. “How many were they?”
“Hard tae say exactly. At least eight. Possibly further inland.”
Harald nodded slowly, absorbing it. “On foot or mounted?”
“On foot,” the man replied. “They moved careful. Kept tae the rock where the land dips. Kent how tae keep out o’ sight.”
A second scout spoke then, younger, eyes still sharp with the memory of it. “They didnae linger where they could be seen.”
Harald’s fingers rested against the back of the chair as he considered that, his gaze moving between the two men. “That suggests discipline,” he said, more thoughtful than sharp. “Or purpose.” He looked back to the first scout. “What’s yer sense o’ it? Were they watching us, or something else?”
The man hesitated only a moment. “Felt like testing, me jarl. Nae rush. Like they wanted tae learn the ground before being noticed.”
A dark, heavy murmur moved through the table.
Harald’s fingers curled lightly against the back of the chair. “They were armed, aye?”
“Aye,” the first man said. “Swords at least. Carried close, nae fer show.”
A murmur moved through the table.
Harald felt the air in the room turn cold. He pictured the shoreline—the very rocks where Enya had been standing. Had they seen her? Had she been the signal they were waiting for? The thought made his stomach churn with a mixture of possessiveness and a terrifying, dawning suspicion.
“What routes did they take?” Harald prompted, trying to keep his voice steady.
“They followed the shoreline north, then cut back,” the second scout answered. “Like they were testing the ground. Watching how often the patrols passed.”
A sharp, violent tightening seized Harald’s chest. They were testing his home, observing where he slept, where his people lived, and where Enya was currently hiding.
“How close did they come?” someone asked.
Harald did not answer immediately. He looked to the first scout instead. “In yer judgement?”
The man drew a breath. “Close enough tae see the stonework, me jarl.”
A tightening settled beneath Harald’s ribs, brief but unmistakable. “Dae ye believe they marked the keep?”
The first man hesitated, then nodded. “Once. Brief-like. One o’ them looked back before they disappeared.”
Harald absorbed that in silence, his gaze dropping briefly to the table as he fitted the details together. When he looked up again, Henry had leaned forward, fingers steepled, his expression sharpened with interest.
"Are there enemies who would risk this?" Henry persisted, leaning forward, his fingers steepled in a way that made Harald want to break them. "Old feuds, Harald? Or perhaps... a provocation we havenae discussed?"
Harald’s jaw tightened until it felt like it might crack. He knew what Henry was implying. The wedding.
"Lewis has never lacked fer enemies, Henry," Harald countered, his voice turning to iron. "And I dinnae need a history lesson while me borders are being walked by strangers."
“And yet,” Henry persisted, “such movement suggests provocation.”
Harald stood up straight, his shadow stretching long and menacing across the council table.
"Nay one moves on this island without me kenning," he said, the words falling like hammer blows. "And nay threat goes unanswered. If they want tae test the depth o' the water, I’ll be happy tae drown them in it."
Henry inclined his head, but there was something dissatisfied in the motion. “Naturally. Still, it may be prudent tae consider whether certain alliances—”
“That’s enough.” Harald’s voice cut cleanly through the chamber, the edge in it sharper than Henry had anticipated.
Henry’s jaw tightened. “I only meant—”
“I ken precisely what ye meant.” Harald leaned forward then, forearms braced against the table, the movement unhurried but unmistakable in its intent. His gaze fixed on Henry and did not waver. “And I’ll remind ye that Lewis answers tae nay one beyond this hall.”
The words left no space for argument.
Henry inclined his head, stiff and restrained, but something displeased lingered in his eyes before he looked away. Harald held the silence a moment longer, ensuring the point had landed where it needed to.
He looked around the table, his gaze a challenge to any man who doubted him. But inside, his thoughts were a riot. Enya. The anticipation in her eyes. The scouts at the wall. He had to get back to her. He had to know what she was hiding.
“That will be all,” he said at last. “Increase the watches along the coast. Double patrols at dusk and dawn. I want eyes on every approach. If they return, I want tae ken before they take a second step on me land.”
Chairs scraped back as the Council rose. Orders were repeated, cloaks gathered, voices kept low as the men filed out in ones and twos. Harald remained where he was, hands still on the table, until the chamber emptied and the door closed behind the last of them.
Only then did he straighten.
The quiet that followed was a physical weight, thick with the iron-scent of the scouts' fear and the sour underlying note of Henry’s words.
Harald crossed to the narrow slit of the window, his boots heavy on the stone.
He pressed a hand against the freezing masonry, the rough texture biting into his palm, but his gaze didn't settle on the yard below.
Henry spoke as if the secrets of Lewis were his to hoard, as if the power was already shifting away from the head of the table.
A complication he didn't have the patience to solve with diplomacy.
His thoughts betrayed him then, slipping back to the shadows of the corridor. To Enya.
He couldn't shake the way she had yielded.
A woman who looked at a naked laird without flinching shouldn't have bowed so easily to a man like Henry.
Her retreat felt calculated, a tactical withdrawal that left him feeling exposed.
And that look—that sharp, electric flash of anticipation when the threat was mentioned—it sat in his gut like a swallowed stone.
Was she looking fer a rescue? Or was she the one who called them here?
The heat he had felt at the lake had soured into a cold, hard knot of suspicion. Harald drew a slow, jagged breath, the damp air of the keep filling his lungs. He pushed himself away from the wall, his jaw set so tight it ached.