Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

E nya heard of Cillian’s injury before the man had even managed to walk through the main entrance of the castle. News truly spread fast through the servants and within minutes, the entire castle was aware that Cillian had gone into the forest in pursuit of some brigands and had sustained an injury while fighting them.

No one could tell Enya what kind of injury it was, though. Some of the servants claimed it was nothing concerning while others claimed he was on his deathbed and there was little Skye could do to save him.

Rushing out to the courtyard, Enya came face to face with Cillian, who was making his way inside. When she saw him, not only alive but also up and walking, the relief that washed over her was so powerful that she was almost brought to her knees, the cold hand of fear that had tightened around her chest finally releasing her.

I should have kent the servants would exaggerate.

Cillian was hurt; there was no doubt about that. Blood, dark and viscous, covered his left shoulder and trailed a path down his arm, all the way to his fingers, but from where she stood, it seemed like the wound had more or less stopped bleeding and was not so deep as to be a dire emergency. As long as it was kept bandaged and Cillian managed to avoid an infection, he should be fine, she thought.

But what if it gets infected? Then he’ll truly be in danger.

Of course, Enya could deal with any infection if it happened, but then another concern crept up on her from the depths of her mind. What if she left Jura before that happened? What if Cillian was left helpless to fight an infection on his own just because Enya hadn’t healed his wound right away?

But what are the chances o’ that ever happenin’?

The clever thing would be to take him to Skye, so she could apply a salve and bind his shoulder. She was a skilled healer and she was more than capable of dealing with any possible complications, even if Enya wasn’t there to help. There was no real reason for concern. It was riskier to use her powers to heal him, especially since she had seen the way Cillian had looked at her after she had healed Samuel. His curiosity had been almost palpable in the air between them and she had done nothing to quench it, but had rather only avoided his questions.

Surely, he was even more curious now.

Enya knew she should tell his men to take him to Skye. She should not put a single finger on him and try to heal him. It was far too risky and she would be asking for trouble.

“Why are ye lookin’ at me like that?”

Startled, Enya almost jumped out of her skin when she heard Cillian’s voice. Only then did she realize that she had been staring, frozen in the spot where she stood as she contemplated her next move. She swallowed in a dry throat and parted her lips, intending to advise him to visit Skye’s cottage.

What she said, though, was very different.

“Ye’re hurt. Let me see the wound.”

The moment she spoke those words out loud, Enya cursed silently, regretting the moment she decided to speak at all. She had already offered her help now—or rather, she had demanded to see the wound—and so there was no going back.

“Alright,” said Cillian and then swiftly dismissed his men, Duncan included, before he gestured at her to follow him. As he strode through the castle corridors, Enya jogged to keep up with him, the hem of her dress swishing around her feet.

Before long, they were once again in Cillian’s chambers, which had become an oddly familiar place for her, though it was the first time she was seeing the place bathed in daylight. Thus, it was also the first time she had the chance to notice something about her surroundings.

Cillian’s chambers were richly furnished, with a large, wooden bed pushed up against one of the walls and intricate tapestries decorating the walls in dark greens and brilliant gold. The place was large, extending past where Enya had first thought it ended the other two times she had been there, but even so, there was little to suggest that anyone actually lived in that room. Had she been told it had laid empty for years, only maintained by the maids, she would have believed it.

Whether that meant Cillian was particularly meticulous with his belongings or he barely spent any time there, she didn’t know. Either way, it seemed devoid of any warmth and personality and it was nothing like the rooms back home, where each of the siblings had created a space for themselves.

“Well?” Cillian asked, spreading his arms wide as if in invitation. “Ye said ye wished tae look at the wound.”

“Aye,” said Enya, her cheeks heating just slightly at her behavior. She was certain she seemed very odd that day, standing there and simply staring at Cillian without saying a word.

Slowly, she approached him, her hands hovering over his shoulder for a moment before she began to undo his armor with deft fingers. Cillian helped her with his uninjured hand, shedding the armor and letting it fall to the carpeted floor with a soft thud, but then made no other effort to remove the rest of his layers.

Should I try tae heal him like this? Nay, that would be foolish. O’ course he’d ken somethin’ is strange if I dinnae even take his tunic off.

The mere thought of removing Cillian’s tunic was enough to send her heart racing, though, and Enya’s blood rushed to her head, her veins thrumming with it. Never before had the proximity to another person when she was healing them felt so daunting, so utterly indecent when they were hardly even touching. How was she meant to heal him when she could hardly stand to be so close to him?

Before she could do anything else, though, she was once again startled. This time, it was a knock on the door that made her jump and pull back from Cillian, placing several steps’ worth of distance between them just before the door opened to reveal a maid who was carrying a small tray filled with all the supplies Enya could need to patch up the wound and which she didn’t even think of finding before Cillian had dragged her to his chambers, along with a steaming pitcher.

“Forgive me, me laird, me lady… Mr. MacThomas told me tae bring ye this,” she said, as she placed the tray on a side table, bowed, and left just as quickly as she had arrived.

“Ach, that’s right,” said Cillian. “It’s a good thing Duncan remembered.”

Enya nodded silently and then once again hovered near Cillian, not quite touching him. She only moved a little closer, releasing a heavy sigh, when he looked at her expectantly and began to tug at his tunic until she finally decided to help him.

As she did, Enya’s hands brushed over his arms, his chest, feeling the flex of his muscles as he moved under her fingers, the warm, smooth skin, the small, ridged scars that were scattered over it. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply touch, splaying her fingers over his chest, and she could have sworn then that Cillian’s breath hitched, his entire body shuddering under the touch.

But no, it couldn’t be. She was imagining things—and even if she wasn’t, then it was nothing she should encourage.

I am here fer me sister. I am here fer a specific purpose.

She couldn’t allow herself to forget that, not even for a moment. The fact that she had decided to help Cillian, the fact that she was now standing so close to him, the two of them sharing the same breath, was already too much. She had veered off-course. The best thing to do would be to heal him quickly, patch whatever was left of his wound, and then leave and pretend none of that had ever happened.

But when she looked up to Cillian’s face, she found him already staring at her, his lips parted and his eyes clouded with hunger. It was that look which affected her the most; that terrible look that was as appealing as it was terrifying, a promise and a threat at the same time.

Clearing her throat, Enya moved over to the side table and began to pick through the things there. She could only assume Skye had been the one to prepare it, as there were different salves and pastes and several pieces of clean cloth. The pitcher next to the tray held hot water, and Enya began by dipping some cloth in it before returning to Cillian and carefully cleaning the blood off the wound to take a better look at it.

It was, indeed, quite shallow, but not so shallow that it would heal without some attention. Slowly, Enya began to pour just trickles of her power into him, her lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to concentrate and control her powers as much as she could.

It was always a struggle, healing someone so slowly and in such a controlled manner. Her power always wanted to burst out of her like a fountain, altering everything and anything in its path, and it had taken her a long time to learn how to effectively control it, not only so she could remain undetected by those who didn’t know what she could do, but also so that the pain she received in returned would not overwhelm her, becoming unbearable before she had the chance to sever the connection.

As a young girl, her power had gotten out of her control plenty of times. Then, she had woken up hours later, remembering nothing but the phantom pain that would often still linger in her body and continued to do so for days after.

Now, she could hardly feel anything more than a sharp twinge as she passed the cloth over Cillian’s shoulder and her fingers trailed gently over his skin with the movement. She hoped she was exercising enough control for him to feel none of it or at least to feel so little that he could easily confuse it for the pain itself turning into a slight tingling sensation. Still, the one thing she could never control was the change in the air around her. It was something that neither she nor any of her siblings could avoid or control. Whenever one of them used their powers, it was as though the very fabric of reality around them shifted, the air standing utterly still, every part of creation holding its breath.

It was particularly noticeable when they were outside, where the breeze and the wind stopped within the span of a single moment, but even inside, in a room like this, the change was palpable and it didn’t escape Cillian’s notice.

“What are ye doin’ tae me?” he asked, and though he didn’t sound scared, not exactly, Enya still reeled back her powers even more, just short of stopping entirely.

“I’m only cleanin’ yer wound,” she said, in the most soothing tone she could muster. The last thing she needed was for Cillian to start questioning her. How could she avoid his questions? It wasn’t as though she could simply leave her task unfinished when she had been the one to suggest it in the first place.

Though Cillian said nothing more on the matter, Enya could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced by her response. Ignoring him, she focused on the wound and once she was satisfied with all the blood she had removed, she grabbed one of the pastes and began to apply it liberally over Cillian’s skin as her other hand pressed against his chest to steady him. Under her palm, she could feel his heartbeat, so fast and erratic that she could only assume she was somehow hurting him.

“Are ye in pain?” she asked, but Cillian was quick to shake his head.

“I’m fine,” he said through a shuddering breath. “It doesnae hurt. Oddly enough.”

Enya chanced a quick glance at his face and once again, Cillian was staring at her with that strange, curious look in his eyes. He was holding himself entirely still, almost resembling a statue. The only thing that gave him away was the beating of his heart and the searing warmth of his skin where her hand was pressed against him.

Enya didn’t know how much more of this she could take. Her own heart was beating fast, in a syncopated rhythm that made her feel as though she was about to faint at any given moment, simply because of Cillian’s presence. Her entire face burned with embarrassment and she was certain that he had noticed, but at least he had the decency to say nothing about it.

In fact, he wasn’t speaking at all, which was a blessing.

By the time Enya was done with the paste and had healed the worst of the damage, they had both almost ceased to breathe. Enya made quick work of the bindings around his shoulder, making sure the cloth was secured, and the moment she was satisfied with her work, she stepped back to give herself some much needed space.

Cillian blinked a few times as though he was trying to clear his head. He seemed to be in a daze for a few moments, his gaze distant and glazed over, but then his eyes met Enya’s and he frowned just a little, moving his arm experimentally in a circle.

“It doesnae hurt,” he said flatly.

“Well, I am glad,” said Enya as she cleaned up, placing everything back on the tray—eager to leave. “An’ ye are welcome.”

“Why doesnae it hurt?”

Enya swallowed a deep sigh and kept herself composed as she turned to give Cillian a bemused smile. “Because o’ the paste, o’ course,” she said. “It is truly wonderful what Skye can make with the right ingredients.”

“Skye has healed me afore,” said Cillian. “The pain has never magically disappeared.”

Enya had to stop herself from flinching at that word. Magically , Cillian had said, and he probably had no idea just how right he was about that.

“It is a new paste,” Enya was quick to say as she picked up the tray and headed to the door, eager to get out of that room as quickly as possible. “She showed it tae me a few days ago. Well, if ye will excuse me, I must return all this tae her. If ye feel any pain or show any signs o’ infection, ye can tell Skye.”

“Thora—”

But Enya was gone before Cillian could finish his sentence, all but running out of the room. With her heart still in her throat, her stomach churning at the thought of how close she was to being discovered, she hurried down the hallway with no real direction in mind, just so she could get far away from Cillian.

That was too risky. I shouldnae have done it.

And yet it wasn’t just the guilt that had pushed her towards caring for Cillian. It had been mainly her concern for him, the fear that something would happen and she would be unable to stop it.

Just like she had been unable to save the lives that had mattered the most to her all those years ago.

Once she was far enough from Cillian, Enya ducked into the first room she found—the library, which was entirely empty at that time of the day. She was glad for it as she placed the tray down, her shaky hands unable to hold onto it anymore, and then sank to the floor with her back to the door, arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

She wished Thora was there. She wished she had never met Cillian. She wished the king had never given this order that had thrown her head-first into this mess.

Most of all, she wished that she weren’t so weak when it came to Cillian. A part of her was still quick to anger around him, as she had not forgotten the way he had treated her time and time again, showing her little, if any, respect. But there was another, traitorous part of her that craved to be near him and longed to be gazed at with that hunger, that raw and unfiltered desire.

I am hopeless. I must find a way tae leave afore this becomes any worse.