Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Enya obeyed, her legs too weak to argue.
Her skin prickled with a mixture of cold and a deep, agonizing embarrassment.
She had betrayed this man, and yet there he was, tending to her.
It would have been easier if he had just locked her in a cell; at least then she wouldn’t have had to face the devastating proximity of his body.
Harald moved toward her. His movements were still sharp with lingering anger, but as he reached for the ties of her shift, his fingers slowed. He began to undress her, his large hands working the sodden fabric with a terrifying, controlled focus.
He was so close she could smell the sea on him—the salt, the cold, and the underlying scent of cedar and iron. Enya kept her eyes fixed on the pulse thrumming in his throat, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
As his knuckles brushed against the sensitive skin of her collarbone, the rhythm changed. It wasn't just guilt anymore. A low, traitorous thrum began to stir in her lower belly, a sudden heat that defied the icy chill of her limbs.
When he reached for the hem of her shift, her breath hitched. He peeled the wet fabric away, and she felt a flare of acute, stinging vulnerability. Being naked before him now didn't feel like the soft, mutual surrender of the night before. She felt painfully exposed.
Every bruise from the rocks, every shudder of her skin was laid bare to the man who had every right to despise her. And yet, the way his eyes darkened as they swept over her body made her skin tingle with a desperate, shameful electricity.
The air in the room was cold, but where his gaze lingered, she felt scorched. Her nipples peaked, reacting to the draft and the intensity of his stare, and a sharp, sweet ache blossomed between her thighs.
She wanted to cover herself, but more than that, she wanted to be pulled against the damp, hard heat of his chest.
The air hit her skin for a fleeting second, making her feel fragile and dangerously needy under his heavy, dark gaze, before he lifted her carefully and lowered her into the steaming water.
The heat was an assault. Enya let out a small, choked gasp as the warmth bit into her frozen skin, a sensation so sharp it bordered on pain.
She immediately wrapped her arms around her chest, pulling her knees up and sinking as deep as the copper tub would allow. She wanted to hide, to disappear beneath the surface, away from the way her body was traitorously waking up under his gaze.
Harald took up a cloth and a bowl of soap, kneeling beside the tub with a heavy thud of his knees and began to wash the salt and grit from her shoulders.
His touch was a confusing contradiction.
His hands were rough and calloused, moving with a forceful, rhythmic friction that spoke of his lingering fury, yet he was careful not to hurt her.
He didn't miss a single patch of salt-crusted skin.
The friction of the cloth against her damp, sensitized skin sent a jolt of heat straight to her core.
Enya watched his hands, her throat tight.
"I can wash meself, Harald," she whispered, her voice trembling as she looked at the water. "Ye dinnae have tae... ye dinnae have tae touch me."
"Be quiet, Enya," he growled, though the edge of his voice had softened into something closer to exhaustion than rage.
He moved the cloth to the nape of her neck, his thumb brushing against her skin in a way that made her whole body ache.
When his knuckles grazed the slope of her shoulder, her breath hitched, and she felt a heavy, honeyed thrumming start between her thighs.
It was agonizing, being this close to him while the air was still thick with his resentment.
"Ye are a stubborn, foolish woman," he muttered, his voice less of a roar now and more of a pained growl. "Ye think if ye die, it pays some debt?"
Enya looked at him then, warmth flaring in her chest as she saw the way his hands were shaking. The vulnerability in him was more intoxicating than any wine.
"I didnae dae it fer a debt, Harald," she said softly, her voice regaining its steady, sharp clarity despite the steam curling around them. "I did it because it was a child. I may be a liar in yer eyes... but I’m nae a monster."
Harald stopped. The cloth stayed pressed against the curve of her shoulder, the heat of it seeping into her skin.
He finally looked at her, his dark eyes searching hers with a raw, bleeding intensity that made her heart pound. The mask of fury he had been clinging to since he had pulled her out suddenly began to crack.
"I thought ye were gone," he whispered, the anger finally breaking. "I saw that cloak on the rocks and I... I thought the sea had taken the only thing that made this keep feel like a home."
He dropped the cloth. It hit the water with a soft splash, forgotten. His hand moved instead to the side of her neck, his large, calloused palm cupping the damp skin of her throat. His thumb brushed the hollow where her pulse jumped like a trapped bird, a frantic rhythm that mirrored his own.
The air between them thickened, charged with the scent of salt, iron, and the sudden, electric pull of their bodies.
Enya leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut.
The water lapped against her breasts, the surface shimmering in the firelight, and she felt a sharp, liquid heat blossom inside her.
She wanted him to stop talking. She wanted him to stop being the laird and start being the man who had claimed her the night before.
His gaze dropped to her lips, and the sheer weight of his stare felt like a physical touch. He looked at her as a man starving, and Enya felt her own hunger rise to meet it, fierce and unyielding.
He leaned in closer, his shadow looming over the tub, his face just inches from hers.
She could feel the heat radiating from him, a stark contrast to the water that was starting to cool.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, then tracked lower, to where the water lapped against the tops of her breasts, shimmering in the firelight.
"Dae ye have any idea?" he asked, his voice breaking into a low, carnal growl. He was vibrating with a tension that was no longer just about the cold or the rescue. "Dae ye have any idea what it’s like tae hate what ye’ve done, and still want ye more than me next breath?”
Harald let out a ragged, guttural sound—half-sob, half-growl—and his fingers tangled in the wet, salt-crusted hair at the nape of her neck.
He pulled her forward with a blunt force that spoke of an internal war finally lost. Their breaths mingled in the heavy, humid steam, tasting of salt and desperation.
"Ye drive me mad, Enya," he rasped against her lips, his voice thick with a dark, terrifying heat. "Mad."
He stood up, not looking away from her eyes for a second as he stripped. He moved in a blur of violent motion—fingers fumbling with laces, leather hitting the floorboards with a wet thud. He stepped into the copper tub, the water surging over the rim as his massive frame displaced it.
The tub was small for two, forcing them into a brutal, beautiful proximity. Harald cupped her face, his large hands framing her jaw, and then his mouth was on hers.
It was forceful and hot, his mouth a desperate demand. Enya’s let out a muffled whimper from the sheer, overwhelming relief of his weight against her.
Her hands trailed frantically over the wet muscles of his chest, her palms stinging from the friction of his damp skin. The hair there was dark and soaked, clinging to him like a second skin, and the scent of him filled her lungs, making her head spin.
She was vibrating at the frequency of his touch.
Enya kissed him back with a ferocity that surprised even herself, her tongue tangling with his, her teeth grazing his lower lip with a hunger that bordered on feral. She wanted to be devoured by him.
His hands moved from her face to her throat, his thumb pressing against the pulse point. He tilted her head back, exposing the line of her neck. A low, ragged moan broke from her lips as his mouth left hers to mark a path downward, his stubble grazing her skin with a delicious, stinging friction.
Enya’s fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.
"I dinnae care about what ye did, Enya, as long as ye promise me it will never happen again," he muttered against her skin, his teeth nipping at the sensitive cord of her neck. "I cannae hate ye, I cannae."
"I promise," she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her nails scratching the wet skin. “Ye’re all I want.”
His hands slid down, slick with soap and water, catching her waist and hauling her toward him until there wasn't a whisper of air between them. The friction of his chest against her peaked nipples sent a jolt of electricity straight to the heavy, liquid ache between her thighs.
He groaned, a deep, vibrating sound that she felt in her core, and then dipped his head.
His tongue traveled down, tracing the line of her collarbone before swirling around the curve of her breast. When he took one nipple into his mouth—licking, then biting with a controlled, possessive hunger—Enya’s back arched out of the water.
"Harald!" she cried out, her eyes fluttering shut as the steam and the pleasure turned the world into a blur of gold and shadow.
Her body felt like a bowstring drawn too tight.
He didn't stop. He moved to the other side, his hands kneading her hips, his fingers bruising her soft skin. His lips were a scorching contrast to the cooling water, grazing her nipples with a devastating mix of velvet softness and the sharp, demanding scrape of his teeth.
Harald suddenly shifted, sitting back against the far rim. His muscles bunched as he gripped her thighs and pulled her on top of him, her wet skin sliding against his. The sensation of his hard, swollen length pressing against her was almost too much to bear.
He guided her down, his eyes locked on hers, dark and fathomless.
He entered her with a sudden, stretching fullness that made Enya gasp and bury her face in the crook of his neck.
The water provided a slick, effortless friction as he began to move, his hips thrusting upward with a rhythmic, punishing intensity.
"Enya," he groaned, the name a prayer and a curse all in one.
She moved with him, her hands locked behind his head, her body responding to every thrust with a desperate, climbing need. The copper tub rang with the sound of the water splashing against the sides, a rhythmic accompaniment to their labored breaths and the soft, wet sounds of their joining.
The pleasure was a rising tide, cold at the edges but burning in the center. She felt the sensitive, raw core of herself shattering under the weight of his stare and the power of his body. She felt the tension coil tight in her belly, a spiraling, golden heat that made her vision go white.
Harald let out a loud, ragged shout, his fingers digging into her hips as he thrust one last time, deep and final.
Enya followed him over the edge, her body shuddering. They shattered together, the silence of the room returning slowly, broken only by the sound of their gasping breaths.
Harald immediately pulled her against his chest, his arms wrapping around her with a fierce, protective strength. He buried his face in her wet hair, his chest heaving.
They stayed quiet for a long time. The only sound was the crackle of the dying fire and the drip of water onto the rug. Enya wanted to hide her face, but she forced herself to stay still, her head resting on his shoulder.
"I didnae go after ye because ye are me wife," Harald said finally, his voice low and raspy, devoid of the earlier fury.
“I went after ye, because ye are Enya.” He reached out, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip.
"I love ye, Enya. Nae as a fate I was handed, and certainly nae as a duty I owe. I love ye as a choice. Me choice."
Enya felt a sob catch in her throat. Being a choice was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard.
"I feel the same," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I think I chose ye the moment ye played chess wi' me instead o' throwin' me in a dungeon. Even when I was lookin' fer those maps... I was hopin' I’d find a reason tae stay."
Harald let out a long, tired breath and leaned his head back against the tub. He stayed silent for a moment.
"Well," she said, a trace of her dry humor returning to steady her voice. "Ye’ve gone and ruined yer reputation now, Harald Alvsson. Savin' spies and admittin' tae feelin's? The bards will have a field day."
Harald let out a short, dry chuckle and squeezed her tighter. "Let them sing. I have me wife. Even if she is a fox."
"A fox that’s catchin' a chill," she reminded him, shivering slightly as the water turned lukewarm.
He stood up, liftin' her with him, and stepped out of the tub. He grabbed a pile of thick, dry towels and began to wrap her in them, his movements slow and reverent.
"Let’s get ye tae bed," he whispered.