Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

E nya swiftly slid behind the barracks, just in time to avoid Cillian. She peeked around the corner as she tried to remain as hidden as possible, her heartbeat quickening and her breath coming in short pants as she thought about just how close she had come to being seen.

She had managed to successfully avoid him for two whole days, even claiming she was unwell so that she wouldn’t have to be present for the dinners they usually shared. For two days, she had stayed away from him and if the fact that they had not crossed paths once until now was an indication Cillian was avoiding her as well. He hadn’t sought her out at all. He had only asked through the maid who brought her the meals in her chambers if she required any assistance, and once Enya had assured the maid—and in turn, Cillian—that it was nothing but a common cold from the time she had spent outside, he had left her alone.

She didn’t know if she preferred this over the alternative. On the one hand, she didn’t have to face him and acknowledge the awkwardness of their situation. On the other, knowing that he, too, was avoiding her only served to make her wonder whether it had all been more of a mistake than she had originally thought. What if the problem wasn’t simply that the tense moments between them were painfully awkward, but rather that Cillian had truly ended up disliking her—or even hating her—after everything she had done to him?

But is this nae what I wished fer? Was this nae me goal from the beginnin’?

Perhaps she had finally achieved it and she would soon be sent home, any plans of a marriage discarded in favor of Cillian’s sanity. Then, this nightmare would come to an end, and Enya would never have to think about Cillian again for as long as she lived.

This is what I wanted. I should be glad he is avoidin’ me.

I want him tae avoid me.

And yet, no matter how much she tried to convince herself this was what she wanted, something still gnawed at her, digging its teeth and talons into her throat. She had no name for what it was; the feeling was as foreign as it was all-encompassing. She could only describe it as a deep, ever-present longing or perhaps even a strange nostalgia, though for what, she could not say. All she knew was that every time she thought about Cillian, a knot formed in her throat and it cut her breath short.

The moment Cillian was gone from her sight, Enya rushed out of her hiding spot and to Skye’s cottage, right at the edge of the castle grounds. Every now and then, she glanced over her shoulder, but Cillian was nowhere to be seen.

She wasn’t sure if she was more disappointed or relieved.

“Thora!” Skye said upon spotting her, smiling warmly at her. Her green eyes crinkled at the corners with true delight but despite the warm greeting, Enya lingered by the door, her gaze falling on the chair by the large table that dominated that side of the room. It was occupied by none other than Archibald.

“Should I come later?” Enya asked, glancing between the two of them.

“Ach, nay, nay,” said Skye as she beckoned her closer. “I’m almost done here.”

Holding up his hand, Archibald gave Enya a smile that was more of a grimace of pain. When she approached, she saw the gash on his palm, a few drops of blood beading over his skin at the movement.

“How did that happen?” she asked, pulling one of the chairs closer to sit next to him and observe as Skye began to wrap the wound. She didn’t try to heal him; her palms itched, her powers thrumming just under the surface of her skin, asking to be released, but Enya ignored them. Not only had Skye taken care of Archibald already, but Enya had done more than enough healing in the span of a few days, with the result of drawing plenty of unwanted attention to herself. If there were complications, she would use her powers, but as long as it was a simple cut, then it would be best to let Archibald heal on his own.

“Trainin’,” he said. “One o’ the swords wasnae as dull as I thought it would be.”

Enya winced in sympathy. “It’s a good thing it was only yer palm. Ye could have injured yerself badly.”

“I suppose it’ll teach me tae nae grab a sword from its blade, even when trainin’,” said Archibald with a small shrug.

“A terrible habit,” said Enya. Despite telling Cillian not that long ago that she had no desire to train, she had to admit that a part of her missed it now. It had been such a big part of her life growing up and up until she was sent off to Jura, her brothers always let her and Thora join their training sessions. Now that she had gone so long without sparring, save for that disastrous exchange with Cillian, she had to admit she missed it.

Maybe Archibald will train with me.

“I miss workin’ with a sword,” Enya said with a soft sigh. Maybe what she truly missed was being around her siblings and spending time with them, but this was the closest she could come to having them by her side while she was in Jura. “It’s been too long since I last trained with someone.”

“Wasnae the fight with Cillian enough fer ye?” Archibald asked with an amused chuckle and Enya’s cheeks flooded with heat, not only at the memory but also the fact that Archibald had mentioned it at all. Had Cillian told him what had happened afterwards, when he had caught her, she wondered? He must have. Archibald was one of his closest friends, after all.

“That was hardly trainin’,” Enya said with an indignant huff, trying to hide her embarrassment as best as she could. “Ye saw what happened. He mocked me an’ then couldnae accept his defeat. But ye wouldnae dae that, would ye, Archibald? Willnae ye train with me?”

“Me?” Archibald said, as if he was surprised to be asked at all. Before long, though, his surprise morphed into something else; something Enya would almost call sly or conniving. It was an odd look on him, as though his usually gentle and kind appearance was too much at odds with this new and strange expression. “Aye. I’ll train with ye. On the morrow?”

Enya faltered, unsure of what to say now that Archibald was looking at her like this. Still, she had been the one to suggest it. How could she take it back now?

“Alright,” she said. “On the morrow.”

When Archibald smiled at her, Enya couldn’t help but think she was agreeing to something she would regret.

“What are ye doin’ here?”

Enya had woken up that morning, dressed in comfortable clothes she didn’t mind ruining, and gone to the training grounds to find Archibald, only to see that he wasn’t there. Instead, Cillian stood there all alone, idly swinging a sword around in lazy practice.

When she spoke, he looked up and frowned a little, lips pursing into a thin line.

“Archibald isnae feelin’ well,” he said. “He asked me if I could train with ye.”

That connivin’ creature! That was his plan all along!

Archibald had never intended to train with Enya, she now realized. He had been just fine the previous day when Enya had last seen him, showing no signs of any illness or even discomfort from the cut on his palm. From the very start, it had been nothing but a ploy to get her closer to Cillian and he hadn’t even managed to hide his excitement for his schemes.

Enya cursed him under her breath. Archibald had no right to interfere, even if he thought he was doing a good thing. Had he not seen how uncomfortable she and Cillian were around each other? Had he not noticed they had both been avoiding each other for days, never once being in the same room?

He probably had, Enya thought, and that was precisely why he had done it.

Being all alone with Cillian after days of not seeing him was jarring, sending her heartbeat into an erratic, syncopated rhythm. Her chest constricted, as though a terrible weight rested over it, choking her and threatening to crush her completely. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was just as agonizing for him to see her, even if on the surface, he seemed largely unaffected.

If the fact that he could not meet her eyes was any indication, Enya would have to think this nonchalant attitude was nothing more than a carefully constructed act.

“Well, thank ye, but I think I shall wait fer Archibald tae feel better,” Enya said. “I’m sure ye have more important things tae dae than train with me.”

For the first time since Enya stepped foot in the training grounds, Cillian looked at her, staring her right in the eyes with an exasperated expression, as though she was the source of all his troubles, despite her clear attempt to release them both from this torment.

“Ye ken that willnae happen,” he said. “When I saw him this morn, he wasnae ill. Ye asked tae train, so let us train.”

This only confirmed Enya’s suspicions that Archibald was behind all this. Still, Cillian could have pretended to believe him instead of pointing out the lie and insisting to train with Enya. It would have been an easy way out for them both.

Reluctantly, Enya walked over to the box of weapons at the far end of the area and grabbed a few different swords, testing their weight. In the end, she settled for one of the lighter ones and dragged the tip against the ground as she took her position across from Cillian, the sound grating in her ears. She had to make sure her displeasure was known.

Why did he have tae insist? After what happened the last time, how could this go any better?

“Nay stealin’ this time,” Cillian said and for the first time that morning, a hint of amusement colored his tone. Though Enya didn’t know what to make of the changes in his mood, it put her a little more at ease, lifting some of that weight that had settled on her chest.

“Will ye admit defeat if I best ye?” Enya asked, the unspoken challenge clear in her voice.

“Ye willnae best me,” was Cillian’s response, and had not Enya been determined to do her best before, she certainly was now.

For a few moments, the two of them circled each other, gazes locked and hands grasping the hilts of their swords tightly, neither of them willing to make the first move. It was Cillian who finally took the first step, moving closer to Enya and swinging his blade with barely any force behind the movement, just to test what she would do.

Enya was quick to deflect the attack, the first clang of their swords echoing in the training area. Now that they were all alone, with no spectators around, it felt as though she had Cillian’s undivided attention and the feeling was almost suffocating. The way his gaze rested heavy on her, the way she received the full weight of his awareness, it all served to throw her momentarily off her rhythm. Never had another person looked at her like this before. In a way, it felt even more intimate than the quiet, charged moments they had shared with each other.

“Ye told me tae keep me hand higher, but ye dinnae take yer own advice,” Cillian said as he nudged Enya’s blade higher with his. Only then did she notice that her form had shifted, leaving her largely unguarded without her noticing. The effect Cillian was having on her was rather concerning. It was the first time she had ever become this distracted in the middle of a fight, even if the stakes were truly low.

“Dinnae fash,” Enya said, raising her hand higher. “It willnae happen again.”

Cillian chuckled, the sound just loud enough for Enya to hear it. While she was distracted by it, he attacked again, only this time, it wasn’t an attack meant to test, but rather to disarm. At the last moment, Enya sidestepped him, moving out of his reach before he could deliver the blow.

“Ye’re fast,” Cillian said. Already, sweat beaded at his forehead, glistening under the scant morning light. “An’ ye have good technique. But ye need tae work on yer strength.”

“Work on me strength?” Enya asked and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Dae ye think I could ever be as strong as ye or yer men? I cannae beat ye with strength, but I can still beat ye.”

Her certainty that she could defeat Cillian seemed to be what bothered him the most. Enya found that she enjoyed riling him up like this, though, using even the smallest things against him. What had once been a desire to anger him so that he would send her back home and disobey the king’s orders had now turned into a desire for competition—perhaps even a desire to prove herself to him and show him she had the skills to back up her claims.

“I’d like tae see how ye plan on doin’ that,” said Cillian and before he had even finished his sentence, he attacked again, only for Enya to sidestep him once more. She wanted to tire him out, to lower his defenses before she even made an attempt to attack, though that was easier said than done. Maybe her best bet would be to frustrate him instead, she thought, to the point where he would be so desperate to win that he would make a mistake.

When Enya avoided his attack again, Cillian huffed impatiently, already worked up after a few mere exchanges. Enya smirked at him and his eyes narrowed as he regarded her, the first few hints of irritation making their appearance. Still, he said nothing and only began to circle her again, taking his time now as if knowing Enya would continue to avoid him.

He’s clever. I cannae reduce his skills tae mere strength.

There was something about knowing just how good Cillian was with a blade that had heat pooling in Enya’s core. Watching him wield his sword, the flexing of his muscles visible even through the sleeves of his shirt, quickened her breath and forced her to swallow in a dry throat. She couldn’t deny it any longer, this attraction that had been building inside her ever since she had begun to get to know Cillian a little better and saw there was a gentler, kinder side to him than the one he had shown her that first day.

It was a terrible thing. She had to push that attraction deep down into the darkest crevices of her mind from where it would never resurface. She had one job and one job only while she was in Jura: make herself as unlikeable to Cillian as possible.

And yet, despite her best efforts, Cillian didn’t seem to hate her nearly as much as he should. He often reached his breaking point with her, that much was true, but he had neither sent her away nor refused to see her. Even now that he knew of Archibald’s plan to get the two of them together, he hadn’t refused. Enya could not begin to guess what that could mean, though, and so she didn’t attempt to decipher Cillian’s behavior.

After all, he was a strange man. She had known as much from the first moment she had seen him.

At his next attempt, Enya allowed him to get close before she slid to the side to escape. As she moved, though, Cillian’s arm snaked around her waist and pulled her closer, stopping her from escaping his reach. The dull edge of his sword dug right into the flesh under her ribs, that soft, unguarded opening between her bones, and his fingers held tightly onto her to keep her from leaving his grip.

Trapped as she was, she couldn’t even move her weapon.

“Ye shouldnae allow yer opponent tae get so close,” said Cillian, the low, rumbling baritone of his voice soft and quiet in her ear. “Dae ye see? If I were an enemy, I would have killed ye an’ there would have been naethin’ ye could have done about it.”

Enya had nothing to say to that—no clever retort, no complaint, not even an admission of defeat. It was as though she had forgotten all the words she had ever learned, the proximity, the heat of Cillian’s body as it pressed against hers filling her mind with a thick fog through which she could perceive nothing else but him. Cillian seemed to have nothing else to say either, as he stood there in silence, still holding onto Enya’s waist, refusing to let go.

When she gathered the courage to look into his eyes, she saw nothing but desire; a hunger so strong and obvious that it startled her. She couldn’t help but wonder if she, too, was looking at him like that, with the same intensity mirrored in her eyes.

Enya ached to feel Cillian’s lips against hers in a kiss. She ached to feel more of his touch, to press up against him and take in all the warmth she could. Every brush of his chest as it rose and fell with each breath he took, every slight flex of his muscles, every twitch of his fingers was enough to drive her mad with lust and need, beckoning her ever closer and drawing her into Cillian’s inescapable orbit.

She could kiss him. She could bridge the gap between them and finally have what she wanted the most.

Instead, she shoved Cillian back, heart hammering in her chest. For a moment, he looked stunned as he stumbled backwards, but when she grinned and assumed a fighting stance once more, he answered with a grin of his own.

I must remember why I’m here. I cannae forget. This is fer Thora.