Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
The first attacker didn't even have time to scream.
One moment he was standing, blade raised. The next he was on the ground, a spreading pool of darkness beneath him.
Enya's mind struggled to process what she'd just seen, the speed of it, the brutal efficiency.
Another man turned to face the riders and went down just as quickly.
"Fall back!" someone was shouting. "Fall back, ye all."
The two riders moved through the ambush like wolves through sheep—precise, lethal, unstoppable.
Enya couldn't look away from the pale-haired one. He was terrifying in a way that had nothing to do with rage or chaos. Every movement was controlled. Deliberate. Like he'd done it a thousand times before and found it barely worth his attention.
The sword in his hand caught the dying light as he cut down another attacker. Blood sprayed across his face, his neck, his chest. He didn't even flinch.
Handsome. The most terrifying, dangerous, beautiful thing I've ever seen.
The thought was so absurd—so completely inappropriate given that she was standing in the middle of a massacre—that it almost made her laugh.
Or maybe it was hysteria.
"Me lady!" Amelia's voice cut through the haze. "Me lady, we need tae move."
But Enya couldn't move. Could only stand there watching as the pale-haired rider dispatched the last of the attackers with the same cold efficiency he'd shown the others.
One man managed to break away, fleeing into the trees. The rider let him go, his attention already shifting to the clearing.
To the bodies.
To her.
Their eyes met, and Enya's breath caught.
Up close, he was even more overwhelming. Tall—easily a head taller than her—with sharp features that might have been handsome if they weren't currently splattered with other men's blood. His hair was pale, almost white in the fading light, and his eyes...
She couldn't tell what color they were from this distance, but she felt the weight of his stare like a physical thing.
"Check the guards," he said without looking away from her. His voice was low, controlled. Not Highland. Definitely Norse. "See who can be saved."
The dark-haired rider—broader, older—dismounted immediately. "Aye, Harald."
Harald?
Oh God.
Enya's heart was suddenly hammering for an entirely different reason. That was him. That was the Hawk of Lewis. Her future husband. The man her brother wanted her to spy on, to betray, to—
He took a step toward her, and panic overtook reason.
Enya bolted.
She had no plan, no destination. Just blind animal instinct that said run, get away, don't let him touch you.
Her boots slipped on the blood-slicked ground, and she nearly went down before she caught herself. Behind her, she heard him curse softly.
"Wait."
She didn't wait. Couldn't wait. The trees were right there, just a few more steps.
Her foot caught on something. A root, maybe, or a stone. She didn't have time to see which before she was falling, tumbling sideways off the road toward…
Water. Damn it!
The pond wasn't deep but it was cold. So cold it drove the air from her lungs in a shocked gasp.
Enya surfaced spluttering, her skirts already dragging her down, her hair plastered to her face.
Mud squelched beneath her feet as she tried to find purchase, and the humiliation of it—the sheer mortifying absurdity of fleeing a rescue only to end up soaked and filthy in a pond—made her want to sink back under and never resurface.
"Are ye hurt?"
The voice came from directly beside the pond. Enya shoved her hair out of her eyes and looked up to find Harald standing there, one hand extended. He'd wiped most of the blood from his face, but his expression was... she couldn't read it.
"I'm fine," she managed through chattering teeth. "I'm perfectly fine"
Her foot slipped again. She went under with an undignified splash, came up coughing, and that time, when Harald reached for her, she was too cold and miserable to fight.
His grip was firm but careful as he hauled her out of the pond.
Water streamed off her in rivers, and she was pretty sure there was pond weed in her hair.
Excellent. Wonderful. This was exactly how she'd wanted to meet her future husband.
"Easy," Harald said, steadying her when she swayed. "Ye hit yer head?"
"Nay." Enya tried to step back and nearly slipped again. His hand shot out, catching her elbow. "I'm fine. Just—ye can let go now."
"Can I?" There was something in his voice that might have been amusement. "Because ye seem determined tae drown yerself the moment I dae."
Enya's eyes snapped up to his face, and for the first time she saw him clearly. Saw the sharp angles of his jaw, the pale grey of his eyes, the way his mouth was—saints preserve her—almost smiling.
"I wasnae drownin'," she said with as much dignity as she could muster while dripping mud and pond water. "I was... strategically retreatin'."
"Intae a pond."
"It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Did it." Now he was definitely almost smiling. "And now?"
"Now I'm reconsiderin’ me strategic choices." Enya looked down at herself—at the ruined traveling dress, the mud coating her from chest to hem, the sorry state of her boots. "Among other things."
"Ye're shakin'."
"It's freezin’."
"Aye." Harald released her elbow but didn't step back. "Ye should get warm. There's spare cloaks on the horses."
"I dinnae need yer cloak." The words came out sharper than she intended, years of rejection making her defensive even when someone was trying to help. "I need tae check on me maid. Where's Amelia?"
"She's fine. Leo's seein' tae her and the guards." Harald's gaze flicked past her, then back. "Two of yer men are dead. One's badly injured but might survive. The fourth ran when the fight started."
Guilt hit her hard and fast. Those men had died trying to protect her. Had died because Finley insisted on pressing forward, on not stopping.
"Where is Laird Cameron, by the way? I was told he'd be escortin' ye tae Lewis personally."
And there it was. The first test. The first lie she'd have to tell.
"He had tae establish camp before dark," Enya said, surprised by how steady her voice sounded. "The journey took longer than expected, and he thought it safer tae—"
"Tae send ye on alone?" Harald's eyes narrowed. "Through the most dangerous stretch of road on the island?"
"He left me with guards."
"Who are now mostly dead." Harald's voice was still calm, but something sharp had entered it. "Fergive me, Lady Cameron, but yer braither's idea of safety seems... questionable."
"He's nae here tae defend himself."
"Nay. He's nae." Harald held her gaze for a long moment, and Enya had the uncomfortable feeling he could see right through her.
See the lie, the fear, everything Finley had asked her to hide.
"But ye are. So perhaps ye can tell me why the Laird of Clan Cameron would send his only sister—his unmarried sister, who's meant tae seal a royal alliance—through hostile territory with a guard of four men. "
Because he's using me.
"Perhaps," Enya said carefully, "ye should ask him yerself when ye see him. If ye see him."
"Oh, I'll see him." Something dark flickered in Harald's expression. "I'll make certain of it."
The threat, because it was definitely a threat, should have frightened her. Should have sent her running back to her brother with warnings about the dangerous Norse laird who'd seen through their plan in the first five minutes.
Instead, she felt something uncomfortably close to relief.
"Ye're bleedin'."
Harald's observation jerked her back to the present. "What?"
"Yer face." He raised one hand slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted. When she didn't, his fingers brushed the side of her jaw—feather-light, barely there. "Ye've a cut. Did someone hit ye?"
The memory rushed back—the ambusher's fist, the explosion of pain, the taste of blood. "It's naethin'."
"It's nae naethin'." Harald's voice had gone very quiet. "Someone struck ye hard enough tae split the skin. Who? And why?"
Enya stared at him, at that man she'd been sent tae betray and felt something in her chest twist painfully.
It was so unexpected she didn't know what to do with it.
"The one ye killed first," she heard herself say. "The one who grabbed me when... when he saw me eyes."
Harald's expression didn't change, but his hand fell away from her face. "I see."
And just like that, the moment shattered. Of course. Of course, that's what changed things. Everyone always—
"Good," Harald said.
Enya blinked. "What?"
"I'm glad it was him." Harald's gaze was steady on hers. Steady and completely unafraid. "He deserved worse than a quick death fer puttin' his hands on ye."
The world tilted slightly.
"Ye're nae afraid," she whispered.
"Of what?"
"Of me. Of me eyes. Everyone—they always—" The words were tumbling out before she could stop them, exhaustion and fear and too many years of rejection loosening her tongue. "They say I'm cursed. Touched by the devil. They willnae even look at me properly because—"
"Because they're fools." Harald cut her off, his voice matter-of-fact. "Yer eyes are unusual, aye. But that daesnae mean cursed."
"Ye dinnae understand."
"I understand that ye're freezin', covered in mud, and probably in shock.
I understand that we need tae get ye tae the castle afore ye catch yer death.
And I understand—" He paused, and something flickered in his expression.
Something she couldn't quite name. "—that whatever I expected when the king commanded this marriage, it wasnae ye. "
Enya's breath caught. "Is that... good or bad?"
"I havenae decided yet." But the corner of his mouth quirked, just slightly. "Ask me again when ye're nae drippin' pond water on me boots."
"Yer boots will survive, I think."
"Will they? They're quite dear tae me."
"Dearer than yer future wife?"
Harald's eyes glinted with something that might have been humor. "The boots, at least, have never fled into a pond."
"I didnae—" Enya stopped, seeing the trap. "Ye're makin' fun of me."
"Am I?"
"Aye. Ye are." She crossed her arms, which was difficult while shivering. "And it's very rude to mock a lady ye've just rescued."
"Is it also rude tae point out that said lady fled from her rescuer?"
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because ye're..." Enya gestured vaguely at him. At all of him. "Ye're covered in blood and carryin' a sword, and ye're—ye're—"
"Norse?" Harald supplied.
"I was goin' tae say terrifyin’, but aye, that too."
"Terrifyin’." He said it like he was testing the word. "Should I be flattered or insulted?"
"I havenae decided yet," Enya threw his own words back at him. "Ask me again when I'm nae freezin' tae death."
This time Harald definitely smiled. It transformed his face entirely—softened the hard edges, made him look younger, almost approachable. Almost.
"Fair enough," he said. "Come on, then. Let's get ye warm."
“Me laird.”
The dark-haired rider, Leo, was jogging toward them. "We should go. That bastard who ran might come back with friends."
"Aye." Harald's expression shifted back to something harder, more controlled. He looked at Enya. "Can ye ride?"
"Of course I can ride."
"I mean, will ye try tae fling yerself off me horse the moment we start movin'?"
Enya's cheeks heated. "I'm nae a child."
"That's nae an answer."
"I'll behave," she said through gritted teeth. "As long as ye promise nae tae murder me on the way tae the castle."
"I promise nae tae murder ye." Harald's mouth quirked again. "Today, at least."
"How reassurin'."
"I thought so." He turned toward the horses, then paused. Looked back at her. "Lady Cameron?"
"Aye?"
"Yer eyes." Harald's gaze held hers, steady and unflinching.
Here it comes.
"They are beautiful, I've never seen anythin' like them." Harald said quietly.
Then he walked away before she could respond, leaving Enya standing there dripping and confused and utterly off-balance.
"Me lady?" Amelia appeared at her elbow, looking rumpled but blessedly unharmed. "Are ye alright? Did he hurt ye?"
"Nay." Enya was still staring after Harald's retreating back. "Nay, he... he didnae."
"Then why dae ye look so strange?"
Because he looked at me eyes and didn't flinch. Because he called them unusual like it was something tae be curious about instead of afraid of. Because he said they were beautiful.
Because nothing about him matches what Finley warned me about.
"I'm fine," Enya said. "Just cold."
"Aye, ye look half-drowned." Amelia's expression turned sly despite the circumstances. "Though the Hawk daesnae seem tae mind. Did ye see the way he was lookin' at ye?"
"He wasnae."
"He was. Like ye were a puzzle he couldnae quite solve." Amelia squeezed her arm. "This might nae be as terrible as ye feared, me lady."
Enya wanted to agree. Wanted to let herself hope that maybe that marriage wouldn't be the nightmare she'd been expecting.
But as Harald returned leading his horse—as she saw the blood still staining his hands, remembered the cold efficiency with which he'd killed—she couldn't quite silence her brother's voice in her head.
They're raiders. Conquerors. Never ferget what they are.
"Come on," Harald said, offering his hand to help her mount. "Ye'll ride with me. Yer maid can ride with Leo."
"I have me own horse."
"Which bolted durin’ the fight. We'll find it later." His eyes met hers, and this time there was no humor in them. Just something intense and unreadable. "Unless ye'd prefer tae walk?"
Enya looked at his outstretched hand. At the blood under his fingernails and the strength in his scarred knuckles. At the promise of safety and the threat of something she didn't understand.
She took his hand.
And tried not to think about how right it felt when his fingers closed around hers.