Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
"We should stop."
The words left Enya's mouth before she could think better of them, and the instant silence that followed told her she'd made a mistake.
Finley didn’t even turn around.
His shoulders remained rigid beneath his Cameron plaid, his attention fixed on the darkening road ahead. "We're pressin’ on."
"It's nearly dark, Finley." Enya urged her horse closer to his, ignoring the warning glance from one of his men. "The sea cost us hours. We cannae see the—"
"I said we're pressin' on."
Behind her, Amelia's mare whickered nervously, and Enya felt her maid's unease like a physical thing.
The forest pressed close on either side of the narrow road, shadows deepening between the trees. This stretch was known for ambushes. Everyone knew it.
"Ye're bein' reckless," Enya said, and this time she didn’t bother keeping the edge from her voice. "The men are tired, the horses are weak."
"The men will dae as they're told." Finley finally glanced back at her, his storm-grey eyes flat. "As will ye."
Enya's jaw tightened.
Years of her brother's commands, and still every instinct in her wanted to push back.
When they were children, things had been different.
He had been her best friend, he had protected her and had played with her.
But that had all changed when their father had died and he had become laird.
"I'm nae questionin' yer authority, braither. I'm questionin' yer sense."
One of the guards coughed, poorly disguising a laugh. Finley's expression didn’t change, but his knuckles whitened on the reins.
"Yer sense," he said slowly, "has led tae how many broken betrothals now? Six? Seven?"
The blow landed exactly where he'd aimed it. Enya felt the heat rise in her cheeks.
"That's nae fair."
"Fair?" Finley turned his horse to face her fully now, and there was something cold in his gaze that made her throat tight.
"Ye want tae speak of fair, Enya? The MacDonalds called ye cursed.
The MacLeods wouldnae even receive ye. Duncan MacRae took one look at yer eyes and said he'd sooner bed a corpse. "
"Finley." Amelia's voice was soft but firm when she tried to step up. "Please."
He ignored her. "Every clan in the Highlands has refused ye. Every. Single. One. And now ye've the audacity tae question me when I'm deliverin’ ye tae the only man who cannae refuse?"
Enya's hands trembled on the reins, but she forced them still. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. "I ken what I am tae them."
"Dae ye?" Finley leaned forward in his saddle. "Because ye seem tae think ye have choices here, lass. Ye dinnae. This marriage tae Harald Alvsson is happenin' whether ye like it or nae. It's the only alliance left open tae ye, he is the only man that has tae take ye because the king commanded it."
The truth of it sat like stones in her stomach. He wasn’t wrong.
The king's decree was the only reason a Norse laird would accept a bride the Highlands had branded untouchable.
"I never said I wouldnae marry him," Enya said quietly.
"Nay?" Finley's smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Then why are we havin' this conversation?"
"Because I'm nae cattle tae be driven through the night without rest. Because these men deserve better than tae risk their necks on a road kent fer ambush."
"These men follow me, nae ye." Finley turned his horse back to the road. "And if ye're so concerned about necks bein' risked, perhaps ye should remember whose neck depends on this marriage succeedin'."
He spurred his mount forward, effectively ending the argument. The guards fell into line after him, leaving Enya and Amelia to follow or be left behind in the gathering dark.
"He's afraid," Amelia murmured as they urged their horses onward. "That's why he's actin' this way."
"He's a bampot," Enya muttered, but there was no heat in it. Just exhaustion.
They rode in tense silence for a while, the forest growing darker around them. Enya could feel her brother's anger like a living thing ahead of them, could sense the guards' unease. She shouldn’t have pushed him. She knew better.
But she also knew they should've stopped an hour earlier.
"Enya."
Finley's voice cut through the quiet, and this time there was something different in it. Something that made her spine straighten.
"Aye?"
"Ride beside me."
It wasn’t a request. Enya exchanged a glance with Amelia before urging her horse forward, drawing level with her brother. His profile was hard in the fading light, his jaw set.
"Ye need tae understand somethin'," he said without looking at her. "This marriage... it isnae what ye think it is."
Enya's heart skipped. "What dae ye mean?"
"I mean the Hawk of Lewis isnae takin' a Cameron bride out of obedience tae the Crown." Finley's hands tightened on his reins. "He's takin' ye because it puts him one step closer tae our lands."
"The Pact is meant tae bring peace."
"The Pact is a lie." The words were low, vicious. "Faither kent it. I ken it. And soon, ye will too."
Enya stared at him. "Ye cannae ken that."
"I ken the Norse killed our faither. I ken they've raided our coasts fer decades, claimin' tribute and blood.
I ken that nay piece of paper signed by a king will change what they are.
" He finally looked at her, and the fury in his eyes stole her breath.
"Raiders. Conquerors. And now they're bein' handed our daughters like prizes. "
"Then why send me?" The question came out sharper than she intended. "If ye believe this is all a trap, why deliver me straight intae it?"
Finley's smile was cold. "Because ye're goin' tae help me end it."
The forest seemed to close in around them. Somewhere behind her, Amelia's horse stumbled, and a guard cursed softly. But Enya couldn’t look away from her brother's face.
"What are ye sayin'?"
"I'm sayin' ye're goin' tae marry the Hawk of Lewis.
Ye're goin' tae smile and play the dutiful bride.
And ye're goin' tae watch him." Finley's voice dropped lower.
"Every meetin'. Every decision. Every weakness.
Ye're goin' tae learn his plans, his routines, his secrets.
And ye're goin' tae tell me everythin'."
Enya's mouth went dry. "Ye want me tae spy on me own husband?"
"I want ye tae protect our clan." The correction was swift. "I want ye tae give us the advantage when Harald shows his true nature. Because he will, Enya. And when he daes, we'll be ready."
"This is madness."
"This is survival." Finley caught her horse's bridle, forcing her to stop.
The guards halted around them, close enough to hear but pretending they couldn’t. "Ye think I want this? Ye think I want tae send me own sister intae a Norse stronghold? Faither died because of them, and I'll nae lose our lands the same way."
Enya's throat was tight. "And if ye're wrong? If this man isnae plannin' anythin'?"
"Then ye'll have naethin' tae report, and we'll all live happily ever after." The sarcasm was bitter. "But we both ken that's nae goin' tae happen."
"I cannae."
"Ye can." Finley released her bridle, his expression softening just slightly. Just enough to remind her he was still her brother beneath the laird. "Ye're clever, Enya. Cleverer than half the men in our clan. Ye notice things others miss. That's why I need ye tae dae this."
It was the closest thing to a compliment he'd given her in years, and she hated how much she wanted to believe it meant something.
"And if I refuse?"
The softness vanished.
"Ye willnae. Because if this marriage fails, if ye shame our clan or give Harald reason tae break the Pact, ye'll have nowhere left tae go. Nay clan will take ye. Nay man will want ye." He paused. "Ye'll be alone, Enya. Completely and utterly alone."
The threat landed like a blade between her ribs. Because he was right. She knew he was right.
"How?" Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. "How am I supposed tae—"
"We'll arrange meetin' points. Signals." Finley urged his horse forward again, and the conversation shifted from confrontation to strategy.
"There's a clearin' half a mile south of Dun Barra castle.
I'll wait there three days after ye arrive, then once every week.
If ye need me sooner, leave a white ribbon tied tae the east gate at dawn. "
"And if someone sees it?"
"They willnae. Ye're good at movin' unseen when ye want to be." He glanced at her. "Ye've had practice, after all."
The reference to all the times she'd hidden from curious eyes, from whispers and pointed fingers, made something ugly twist in her chest.
"This feels wrong," Enya said quietly.
"Aye. It daes." Just a moment, Finley's voice held something that might've been regret. "But it's necessary. And ye willnae have tae endure it long. Once I have what I need, I'll find a way tae remove ye from the marriage. I'll end Harald properly, and ye can come home."
The promise should've comforted her. Instead, it made her feel hollow.
"Home," she repeated.
"Aye." Finley's jaw set. "Where ye belong."
Behind them, Amelia was silent, but Enya could feel her maid's disapproval like a weight against her back. They'd argued about this already, argued until Amelia's voice went hoarse and Enya's eyes burned.
But in the end, what choice did she have?
Her father was dead. Her brother was all the family she had left. And if he believed the Norse were a threat, if he needed her help to protect their people, how could she refuse?
Even if everything in her screamed that it was wrong.
"I'll dae it," she heard herself say. "But I want yer word, Finley. Yer word that ye'll get me out when the time comes."
"Ye have it." The answer came too quickly, too easily. "I swear it on Faither's grave."
The oath should've been enough.
But as the darkness approached, the road stretched on toward Lewis, toward a marriage built on lies and a husband she was meant to betray, Enya couldn’t shake the feeling that she'd just agreed to something she'd never be able to take back.
The time passed in a blur for Enya, and when Amelia’s whisper brough her back to reality, they were close to the castle. Close enough that she could smell the salt air from the sea, and Finley was veering off the main road like he'd always planned to leave her.
He had told her an hour earlier that she’d continue on her own.
"Ye're certain ye willnae come?"
Enya hated the way her voice sounded—small and uncertain, like a child asking for reassurance she knew she wouldn't receive. But she couldn't help it.
"I told ye already." Finley didn't look at her as he guided his horse toward a dense thicket of trees. "I'll nae set foot in that Norse bastard's keep. But I'll be close enough when ye need me."
"The weddin' is in ten days."
"Aye. And I'll nae be there fer that either." Now he did glance back, and something flickered in his expression. Not quite guilt. "It's better this way, Enya. Safer."
Safer fer whom?
The question burned on her tongue, but she swallowed it. She knew the answer anyway. Safer for him. For his plans. For everything that mattered more than watching his only sister marry a stranger.
The trees swallowed them, and Finley's men began to disperse with practiced efficiency.
"The clearin' is south," Finley said, dismounting. "Half a mile past the castle's wall. Can ye remember that?"
"Aye." Her throat was tight. "Half a mile south."
"Three nights after ye arrive. Then once every week unless ye signal otherwise." He moved closer, and for just a moment, his hand rested on her arm. The closest thing to comfort he'd offered in years. "Ye can dae this, Enya. Ye're stronger than ye think."
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe this was about strength and admiration for her, not just desperation. But when she looked at her brother, all she saw was a man who'd already made peace with using her.
"What if I cannae get away?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. "What if he watches me too closely."
"He's a man, Enya. And ye're..." Finley's gaze flicked to her eyes, then away. "Ye're nae exactly hard tae look at, curse or nae. He'll trust ye eventually. They always dae."
The words were meant to be encouraging. They felt like ash.
"Right," she said quietly. "Of course."
Finley stepped back, already turning toward his men, already moving on to more important things. "Go on, then. Ye're expected at the castle, and it's nae good tae keep the Hawk waitin'."
That was it. No embrace. No blessing. Not even a proper goodbye.
Enya gathered her reins, blinking hard against the sudden sting in her eyes. She wouldn't cry.
She hadn't cried when the MacLeods had sent her away, or when Duncan MacRae had called her a monster to her face, or when her own father had died without ever once telling her he loved her despite what she was.
She certainly wouldn't cry now.
"Me lady?" Amelia's voice was soft beside her. "We should go."
"Aye." Enya didn't look back at the camp, at her brother, at the last piece of her old life disappearing into the trees. "Let's go."