Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I n the previous three days, Cillian had woken up without experiencing any pain. He had then gone about his days without experiencing any pain. He had even pushed himself, doing strenuous work just to see if he could provoke some sort of reaction from his body and once again, he had gone to bed without any pain.

It baffled him. An injury like the one he had sustained was normally not only painful but also debilitating for several days, if not weeks, and yet there he was, moving his arm as though nothing at all had happened. When he had unwrapped his bandaging the second day, curious to see the wound that lay beneath, he had found nothing but a shallow cut that was slightly tender to the touch. There was no blood, no redness, not even a proper gash like there should have been.

It couldn’t simply be the paste, he thought. There had to be something else, something Thora wasn’t telling him, though he couldn’t possibly begin to guess what that was. Surely, no one could magically heal any wound. Did she have some sort of trick? Had she found out a way to promote healing and didn’t want anyone else to know about it?

It sounded so far-fetched, but it was the only explanation Cillian could provide himself. From Skye, he had learned there were herbs and pastes and salves for any and all ailments, so perhaps the thought that there was a plant out there that could help a wound heal so quickly was not so outrageous after all. Maybe it just so happened that Thora had discovered its properties first. Maybe it was something simple, something that existed everywhere around them but no one had thought to use on a wound before.

However, it didn’t explain the strange feeling he had gotten from her touch. It was the same sensation as when he had approached her while she was working on Samuel’s injuries, the same indescribable feeling.

Whatever it was, it had worked. His range of motion was unaltered and he felt no pain, nothing that would hinder his everyday activities.

After dressing that morning, Cillian made his way to the great hall only to find Thora already there, along with Mrs. Selkirk and a dozen servants, all of them working on the decorations for the Yule celebrations. Thora was smiling as she helped one of the servant girls hang a garland of holly over the door and for a moment, Cillian caught himself staring, unable to take a single step farther into the room.

He had always been aware of Thora’s beauty, of course. From the first moment he had seen her, her good looks had been undeniable, even though he had been quick to judge her for everything else. There was something different about her that day, though, or at least so it seemed to Cillian. He didn’t think he had ever seen her smile like that before. He didn’t think he had ever seen her so pleased and radiant, lighting up the entire room with her smile.

Naturally, that smile faltered when she spotted him.

It shouldn’t have surprised him, this less than favorable reaction. From the first moment they had met, they had both been antagonizing each other as though they had nothing better to do, and now Cillian feared it was too late to start over. It wasn’t just the first impression of each other; it was everything that had followed, every petty argument, every insult they had traded during Thora’s stay.

“Good mornin’,” said Cillian, in an attempt to appear friendly and avoid any further arguments, at least for the day. The servants bowed to him and Thora gave him a curtsy, finishing her task before she approached him, her haze glued to his shoulder.

“Good mornin’,” she said. “How are ye feelin’?”

“I am well,” said Cillian. For a brief moment, he considered questioning Thora again on the matter of his injury, but in the end, he decided against it. Not only did he not think he would ever get an answer to his questions, but he also feared that asking them in the first place would only end up causing another rift between them, to add in the long list of arguments that had brought them to this strange point in their acquaintance. “The paste certainly helped.”

“I am glad,” said Thora and then for a while, the two of them stared at each other in silence, neither knowing what to say next.

Instead of speaking, Thora grabbed a sprig of holly and draped it over Cillian’s head, the stiff leaves tangling into his hair. Cillian stared at her, half surprised and half incredulous, not knowing what to make of the gesture.

“Ye must help us with the decorations,” she said as she grabbed a few more sprigs and pushed them into Cillian’s hands. “I’ll show ye how tae weave them into a wreath.”

Cillian hesitated, looking at the clump of sprigs in his hands. “I dinnae think that is a good idea. I have never done anythin’ like this afore.”

“There is a first time fer everythin’,” Thora said, stubborn as ever. “Come, help. Ye may find that ye enjoy it.”

Cillian very much doubted that. All his life, he had done his best to avoid putting up decorations or dealing with the preparations for any holiday as much as he could, and it was no different now. He was good at other things—anything that required a sword, anything that required a degree of persuasion, anything that had to do with running a clan, as long as it wasn’t this. Thora had a hand on his arm, though, and she was pulling him insistently aside, towards a table where they could work on the wreaths and the garlands.

With a sigh, he took a seat next to her, gingerly placing the sprigs on the table. He doubted he had the dexterity needed for this. Thora’s hands were small and her fingers long and nimble, practically made for delicate tasks like this. His, on the other hand, only knew how to handle a fork, a pen, and a sword.

“Ye must weave them like this,” said Thora as she grabbed a few twigs and a length of twine, and began to demonstrate the technique. “Over an’ under. This thread will keep them secure.”

As she spoke, she showed Cillian how to tie the white thread around the wreath and how to add more and more holly, until it could hold its shape. Then, it was his turn to make one and just as he had expected, it was far from an easy task. His fingers kept slipping, the twigs kept falling from his hands, and the twine ended up tangled all around the holly until he had what he thought was an abomination of a wreath, something that not even a child would make.

Thora laughed and the sound startled him for a moment. That, too, was a first. Cillian thought he may have heard her laugh around someone else, but only from a distance, only when he wasn’t around. Now, though, they were sitting close and her hands came to grab his, guiding him slowly and gently, and though she was laughing at his expense, he found that it didn’t matter to him at all.

He just wanted to hear that laugh again. He just wanted to know that he could make her laugh.

What am I thinkin’? I must have lost me mind.

It wasn’t the first time Cillian had acknowledged his attraction towards Thora. After all, when she had tended to his injury, it had been difficult to ignore the way his heart had raced in his chest, every touch of her hands causing him to shiver. The proximity had been torturous, almost unbearable, and it was no different now. The only thing that kept him a little saner was the distraction of his task and the frustration when he saw the result of his efforts.

Just because it wasn’t the first time, though, it didn’t mean that he was comfortable with it. From the very first moment that he had learned he was to be betrothed to Thora, he had been searching for ways to get out of the arrangement without offending her family or the king. When he had met her, he had decided it was the best thing he could do, getting rid of her quietly and efficiently. And yet now she plagued his thoughts, always lingering in his mind. There was nothing he could do to stop thinking about her, nothing that could save him from this torture and lead him to salvation.

It must have been nothing more than a temporary insanity, he told himself. There was no other explanation for it.

“Ye’re very bad at this,” Thora said. Cillian turned an unimpressed look towards her but there was no real malice behind it.

“I told ye I cannae dae this,” he reminded her. “It is ye who insisted I should.”

“How would ye learn if ye didnae try?” Thora asked, as though he needed to know how to do this at all. “Besides, are ye nae enjoyin’ yerself?”

Cillian didn’t know how to answer that question. He supposed he was enjoying parts of it—specifically the part where he was close to her, the two of them working together—but he wasn’t enjoying the fact that he seemed to be the only one there incapable of making a wreath.

“I cannae say that I am,” he grumbled, but something in his tone must have given him away, as Thora only chuckled and shook her head. For a moment, Cillian was mesmerized by the movement of her long, dark hair, the way it caught the soft light of the morning. “Must I really dae this?”

“Me lady,” one of the maids called and Cillian twitched, surprised by the sudden intrusion. “We need more evergreens. Should Caitriona an’ I fetch some more?”

At the maid’s words, Thora’s eyes lit up in a way that Cillian didn’t like one bit. “Nay, nay, the laird an’ I will go an’ fetch them,” she said, as she sprang up from her seat and looked at Cillian expectantly, as if he was meant to follow.

“We will?” he asked, frowning at her. “I can have someone else bring it. We dinnae have tae?—”

“Ye claim this is too difficult,” Thora said. “Surely, it isnae difficult tae gather some holly. Come now. There is too much tae be done an’ we must help as much as we can.”

Cillian wanted to point out that the reason why there was so much to be done was that Thora had demanded all of it. Had she been more reasonable, had she not tried to antagonize him while they were discussing decorations, then there would have been plenty of time for everything to be done without either of them lifting a finger.

But he also suspected that Thora enjoyed this, and wanted to help. What kind of laird would he be if he refused to help with the preparations for his own castle?

Pushing himself to his feet, Cillian followed Thora outside to the courtyard. The moment they stepped outside, though, they both froze, the chill instantly seeping into their bones.

Neither of them had thought of bringing a cloak or gloves or anything, really, that could protect them from the cold. Cillian was about to suggest they head back and give the task to someone else instead, but before he could, Thora was already walking away and he was forced to follow, his boots crunching against the frosty ground.

Sometime in the night, it had snowed enough for there to be a thick layer of snow wherever the servants had not swept the paths. Though the snowfall had stopped, thick clouds still hung above their heads, the sky almost a brilliant white.

“Ach, there’s quite a chill today!” said Thora as she rushed through the courtyard, surely as eager to return to the warmth of the castle as Cillian was. “Well, it’s a good thing we have so many firs an’ pines here.”

There was, indeed, both a large fir and a large pine in the gardens, and that was precisely where Thora headed as Cillian rushed after her, trying to catch up. Even with his long legs, he had to jog to do so, Thora’s enthusiasm propelling her forward in a hurry. When they reached the pine, she eagerly grabbed one of the branches and produced a small knife seemingly out of nowhere before she began to saw at the thin branch.

“Dae ye always carry that with ye?” he asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

For a moment, Thora turned to frown at him before she focused back on her task. “O’ course,” she said. “Dae ye nae have a blade?”

“I dae,” Cillian said. “I simply dinnae see why ye have one.”

“Well, why dae ye?”

“In case I dinnae have me sword,” he said. “Or if there is an emergency.”

“That’s why I have it, as well,” Thora said. “Are ye surprised because I am a lass?”

“Aye.”

Laughing, Thora shook her head again but said no more on the matter. Instead, she gestured at him impatiently to start cutting as well, and Cillian approached reluctantly, getting to work.

He had hardly managed to cut through the first branch when Thora shook the one she was holding violently, causing a heap of snow to fall right onto Cillian’s head. Some of it slid into his clothes and he cursed loudly as he jumped back, dropping his blade in favor of getting as much snow off him as possible.

All the while, Thora laughed as though his torment was the most amusing thing she had seen. She didn’t stop laughing, not even when Cillian pinned her with a murderous gaze, shivering from head to toe after the sudden attack.

There was only one way to make her stop laughing, he realized, and that was to grab a handful of snow and throw it right in her face. Thora shrieked as the powdery ball erupted all over her, surely most of it falling under the neckline of her dress until she, too, was shivering.

It was her turn to glare at him now but Cillian only smirked smugly and reached for another handful of snow. If there was one thing, he was good at, it was a fight, whether that fight involved blades or snowballs.

It didn’t take long for realization to settle in and Cillian watched as Thora saw what he was about to do. With another shriek, this one louder and shriller than the last one, she turned on her heel and ran, but that was not enough to deter Cillian. He simply held onto the snow tightly and rushed after her, breaking into a sprint, and when he threw it at Thora, it hit her square in the middle of her back.

“Cillian!” she shouted, her hands frantically trying to reach behind her so she could brush off the worst of it. “Stop! It’s cold!”

“Ye should have thought about that afore ye shook that branch!” Cillian countered as he reached for another scoop of snow. The momentum he had gathered, though, was too much and before he could come to a stop, he slid on the frosty ground, hands shooting out to grab onto something that could keep him upright.

Unfortunately, the thing he grabbed was Thora.

Cillian barely had time to react, grabbing her just before she hit the ground and pulling her closer, shielding her from a rough tumble to the ground with his own body. He took the worst of the impact, his back colliding with solid earth, and he cursed the moment he decided to step off the snow and onto the path. At least falling on the snow would have provided him with a soft cushion, something to break his fall.

For a few moments, they were both panting, trying to catch their breath. Then, Thora looked over her shoulder at him a small chuckle escaping her.

“Are ye alright?”

“Aye,” said Cillian. “Are ye?”

“Aye.”

They were alone in the gardens; alone and so close together that Cillian could feel every part of Thora’s body pressed up against his own. She felt warm in his arms, the contrast with the air that surrounded them so shocking that it only added to the sensation. Time seemed to stand still, then, as if it, too, was frozen.

Cillian couldn’t look away from Thora’s eyes, their startling blue color burning into his mind. He wanted nothing more than to lean in and claim her lips in a searing kiss. He was certain she would let him. He could see it in her eyes, in the way that her lips parted, in the fact that she hadn’t yet pulled away, that she also wanted this.

I cannae go back from such a thing. Everythin’ will change.

A moment’s hesitation was enough for Cillian to think better of it. Abruptly, he pulled himself away and stood, dusting the snow off his clothes awkwardly. When he offered his hand to Thora so he could help her up, he couldn’t even look at her, and when she didn’t react, he thought she wouldn’t accept his help. But then, her hand clasped around his and Cillian pulled her to her feet, putting some respectful distance between them.

“Let us head back inside,” he said. “Ye’ll catch yer death here.”

Even as he spoke, he didn’t move. It was Thora who moved first, pushing past him without another word.