Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The hall was too loud. It was filled with the heavy, easy comfort of men who had fought and bled together. Their voices rose and fell like a tide, familiar and rhythmic, demanding nothing.
This should have been easy. Harald was used to the noise of his men. Yet, his focus kept slipping to Enya. She held herself with a grace that mimicked peace. But Harald saw the way her fingers gripped her cup until her knuckles turned white, only for her to force them to loosen a second later.
“Ye’ve gone quiet,” Magnus murmured from across the table. His voice was laced with a dry, knowing amusement. “That’s usually me warning sign.”
Harald did not look at him. “I’m listenin’.”
“Aye,” Magnus said lightly. “That’s what worries me.”
Harald ignored him. His mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile, but it didn't last.
What was wrong with her?
He wondered if the noise was too much. Maybe his friends and their wives made her uneasy. But that didn't make sense. He had seen her with Claricia and Ada; they had seemed like sisters. Something else was eating at her.
A cold thought settled in his gut. The wedding was approaching. Was she regretting it? Did she look at the life he offered and realize she didn't want him after all?
Harald reached for his cup. He wrapped his fingers around the wood and gripped it hard. He needed the weight to anchor him.
“Did Barra’s birlinn anchor farther out than usual?” Magnus asked from across the table, tone idle. “I noticed her sail sat wider in the channel.”
Harald drew a breath, already forming the answer. “Aye. The tide’s been—”
He stopped.
The air in his lungs suddenly felt like lead. Something shifted. His gaze lifted, snapping away from Magnus. He swept the benches, the shadows in the rafters, the heavy oak doors.
Harald set his cup down with care. The wood hit the table with a dull thud that felt like a heartbeat stopping.
Magnus leaned in, his amusement fading. “Harald? What is it?”
Harald did not answer him. He was listening past the crackle of the fire and the clink of silverware.
A second later, the doors swung open.
A guard entered. The urgency in his stride was worse than a sprint. His face was a mask of pale sweat, and his eyes locked onto Harald as if the rest of the room had been swallowed by shadow.
Harald watched the man approach, the world narrowing down to the space between them.
The guard bowed, breath hitching. “Me jarl.”
“What’s happenin’?” Harald asked. His voice was a low, dangerous rasp.
“A patrol ship hasnae returned,” the guard said. The words carried through the silent hall like a death sentence. “They were meant tae signal by dusk. There’s nae sign o’ them, me laird. Nay sign at all.”
The shock of it hit Harald like a physical blow. A patrol ship didn't just vanish in calm waters. His mind raced—was it an accident, or was the silence a scream of warning? For a terrifying second, he didn't know which direction the blow was coming from.
“How long overdue?” Harald’s voice was a low, jagged rasp. It felt like his throat was closing.
“Near two hours,” the guard replied, voice trembling. “And there’s more. Signal fires along the coast… they’re burning at odd hours. Brief flashes, then gone. Like someone’s testin’ us, me laird.”
Harald’s jaw flexed so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. His mind was screaming. Two hours was enough time for a crew to be slaughtered and a ship to be scuttled.
“Where?”
“North ridge first, then two along the eastern cliff paths,” the guard said. “And Rory swears he saw marks near the supply route. Fresh scrapes in the earth. Stones moved. Like someone’s been mapin’ the ground.”
He pushed back from the table, the heavy oak legs shrieking against the stone. The sound tore through the sudden silence of the hall, jagged and raw, echoing the scream Harald was holding behind his teeth.
“Leo,” Harald barked.
Leo was already standing. “Aye.”
“Send two riders tae the northern track. Nay torches,” Harald ordered, fighting himself to keep his voice from trembling. “If that ship’s been taken, I want the shore searched fer wreckage and the water watched fer drift. Send word tae the harbor master. Double the lantern watch. Now!”
“Aye,” Leo said at once.
“Wait.”
The voice was deep, and calm. Ragnar rose slowly. His massive frame seemed to dwarf the table. “If they are testing our response times, sending riders is exactly what they want. Ye’re showing them yer hand, Harald.”
“He’s right,” Ivar added, his dark, calculating eyes flitting between Harald and the door. He leaned back, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the hilt of his dagger.
Harald felt the walls closing in. The absurdity of it all was a cold weight in his gut. His brothers-in-arms were here, his bride was beside him, and yet he felt utterly alone in a trap he couldn't see.
“I willnae sit here while me men vanish,” Harald growled. He looked back to the guard. “Get Rory and the coast men tae the map room. Now.”
Erik and Ragnar fell into step behind him. Ivar followed a second later, his movements silent and predatory.
He felt Enya behind him before he heard her. He didn't turn. He couldn't. If he looked at her—if he saw any trace of guilt in those mismatched eyes—he would break.
He stopped in the corridor, the stone muffling the chaos of the hall. He turned just enough to catch her silhouette.
“Stay in the hall,” he ordered. His voice was flat, dead.
“I’m nae a child, Harald,” she snapped, her voice sharp with a desperation that made him want to pull her into his arms and scream.
“Nay,” Harald said, turning to face her fully. “I ken. Again, I’m just askin’ ye tae be safe. If the world burns taenight, I need tae ken where ye are.”
Enya’s nostrils flared. She looked as if she wanted to scream back at him. He could already feel the heat of it rising in her, that stubborn fire she kept banked until it lashed out.
Then she whispered, almost defeated, “Aye.”
Harald did not let himself react. He gave a single, measured nod and turned away, already taking the stairs two at a time.
For a moment, Enya stayed perfectly still. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her expression calm. But inside, her mind was a screaming wreck.
Finley.
The certainty settled in her gut like a stone dropped into a well. She had known his urgency would sharpen as the wedding drew closer, but this? This was a shadow of war.
Harald’s face flashed before her. He’d looked like he had been struck in the heart.
The guilt was a physical weight, crushing the air from her lungs. She felt like a murderer standing over a body that hadn't fallen yet.
She looked down at her cup. The wine trembled faintly near the rim, and she tightened her fingers until the trembling ceased. She finally rose, with the quiet grace of a woman seeking rest.
Claricia reached out, her hand warm against Enya’s cold skin. “Get some sleep,” she said gently. “Ye’ll need it.”
Enya managed a smile, though it felt like it would crack her face. “I’ll try.”
She made it to her room on sheer, brutal discipline. The moment the door clicked shut, the mask shattered. She pressed her palm against the heavy wood, leaning her forehead against the grain, breathing in slow, jagged pulls.
She was drowning.
The thought of the midnight meeting was a nightmare now. She didn't want to go. She hated Finley for the child he had used, for the ship that was missing, for the trap he was weaving around her. But if she didn't go, she would never know the truth. If she didn't go, she couldn't stop him.
Amelia knocked a moment later. She slipped inside, her eyes wide.
“He’s wi’ the lairds,” Amelia whispered, voice trembling. “They shut the door. There’s guards posted every ten paces, Enya.”
Enya didn't answer immediately. A wave of intense, sickening shame washed over her.
She was preparing to slink through the shadows like a common thief in the house of a man who had offered her a place at his hearth.
Sneaking out now, while the island was on the verge of fire, felt like a second betrayal—one that left a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth.
But she looked at the window, at the dark, oppressive tree line waiting for her, and the shame turned into a cold, hard necessity. If she stayed, the secret would fester until it killed them all. If she stayed, Finley would keep using her as a pawn. She had no choice.
She drew a long, shaky breath and looked at Amelia. Her jaw locked so tight the bone ached. “Then we have time.”
Amelia’s mouth parted, a plea dying on her lips. “Enya, dinnae. Please. If they catch us taenight after—”
“If I dinnae go, Amelia, what then?” Enya asked, her voice a low, fierce hiss. “He sent a child. A child. If I stay here, Finley will keep pulling threads until the whole keep uncurls. He’ll dae something even worse tae get me attention.”
Amelia’s hand found Enya’s arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Ye’re scared. Ye’re shaking.”
Enya let out a short, humorless breath that almost looked like a sob. “Aye. I’m terrified. Now help me.”
They stood there for a heartbeat, two women bound by a lifetime of secrets, leaning into each other in the gloom. Enya felt the heat of Amelia’s hand and realized with a pang that if she fell, she was taking this girl down with her.
They waited until the keep settled into the deeper stillness of night. The corridors grew quiet, the guards’ heavy boots falling into predictable, rhythmic thuds.
Amelia moved first. She cracked the door a handspan, her whole body taut as a bowstring as she listened to the shadows.
“Clear,” Amelia breathed.
Enya pulled her dark cloak tight, the hood a shroud for her face. She stepped into the darkness, leaving the only safety she had ever known behind.
They moved along the back passages the servants used, keeping to the darkness. Amelia led her through a narrow stairwell and out through a side door that opened onto the lee of the wall where the wind was quieter.