Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“ H old!”

Cillian held up his hand as he and his party of a dozen men approached what looked like the remains of a camp. The evidence was still fresh—fresh tracks, traces of a fire that had only recently been put out, and even a torn scrap of fabric that could have been from someone’s clothes or from a tent. Whatever it was, people had been there recently.

He cursed under his breath. Just that morning, he had received a report that claimed there were unknown soldiers in the woods near the castle, and so he had gathered some of his men to patrol for any signs of their presence. The entire time, he had hoped the report was false and that his scouts had simply mistaken some travelers for soldiers, but this deep into the woods, there could be no travelers.

Why would anyone come so deep intae the forest if they are travellin’? They would stay near the path.

“So, they were right,” said Archibald as he brought his horse to a stop next to Cillian. “What will we dae?”

“We keep lookin’,” said Cillian. “They cannae be too far.”

With a nod, Archibald gathered the men and they all resumed their search, weaving through the trees, bringing their horses through bushes and branches, and over thick, twisting roots. It was a laborious trek, one that took them a long time as they navigated the faint paths, but after an hour of searching, the trees began to thin out and in the far distance, beyond the edges of the forest, Cillian could see a group of men riding away from them.

“There,” he said, pointing at them. “There they are.”

Catching up to them seemed impossible, though, and the weather had already begun to turn. Thick, dark clouds gathered above them and the air was charged as if a terrible storm was approaching. If they kept pursuing that group, they could easily be stuck in the middle of it.

“Shall we continue?” Archibald asked, but Cillian shook his head. Now that they had stopped in a less dense part of the woods and the wind blew furiously through the trees, he was chilled to the bone and he was certain the same was true for his men. There was no avoiding getting caught in the storm, but at least they could be making their way back to avoid the worst of it.

“Nay,” he said. “Let us return tae the castle. We shouldnae be out in this weather.”

Just as their party turned around to head back to the castle, the first drops of rain began to fall, splashing against the leaves of the evergreen trees and against the frozen ground. For a while, as they headed deeper into the woods, the storm seemed to weaken—until they made it through to the other side, where there were no trees to shelter them from any of it. Rain and hail battered them as they rode as fast as they could over the sleet-covered path, the chill seeping into their skin and bones until they were all shivering. Even with the torches carried by the men who led the group, the sky was so dark, the sun having set a while ago and the moon making no appearance through the thick clouds, that Cillian felt as though he was riding through the deeper, darkest ink, seeing nothing past the two flames they used as a guide.

By the time they made it back to the castle, it was late at night and they were all wet to the skin, their clothes soaked with rain. Cillian had the kind of exhaustion that settled into every part of the body, his muscles sore and protesting as he climbed off his horse.

All he wanted was a warm bath and his bed. He couldn’t even bring himself to eat anything, not when he was so cold and exhausted.

It’s very late… I shouldnae ask the servants fer a bath.

He could, but he figured it was too much of a chore when he could simply use the baths and bother no one so late at night. It wouldn’t be the first time he had used them, after all, and he was more than capable of heating the water himself.

Before he headed to the baths, Cillian grabbed a cloth to dry himself, along with a change of clothes from his chambers. Then, he made his way to the small, squat building at the back of the castle, surprised to find it filled with steam when he stepped inside.

Maybe Archibald is here.

The other men would be using the baths meant for the soldiers, after all, the ones closer to their barracks. This room was rarely used by Cillian or anyone else, and unless one of his advisors felt the need to take a bath in the middle of the night, he couldn’t imagine who else it could be.

The mystery solved itself when he heard a loud, familiar and—perhaps most importantly—distinctly feminine screech. His gaze was drawn to the source of it and Cillian found Thora there, in a tub, her cheeks a bright red as she drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around them in a panicked attempt to cover herself.

Cillian couldn’t claim a calmer reaction. He, too, screamed when he saw her, his hand flying up to cover his eyes as he stumbled backwards, tripping over his own two feet in his haste. The drying cloth and all of his garments flew out of his hands, scattering all around him on the damp floor of the baths, and before he could steady himself, he joined them, landing on his rear with a pained huff.

“What are ye doin’ here?” Thora demanded, though Cillian thought she was the one who had no reason to be there in the middle of the night. “Get out!”

“I’m tryin’!” Cillian said, trying to stand up and gather his items without looking at Thora. It was easier said than done, though. His traitorous gaze kept returning to her, pulled back to her form again and again despite his best efforts to keep her out of his field of vision. “Why are ye even here? Why would ye bathe in the baths?”

“They’re called baths because people bathe in them!” Thora said. Cillian heard the splash of water as it hit the ground and though his eyes were solidly glued to the wall for once, he knew Thora was out of the water now. He could hear the soft pattering of her feet on the floor as she rushed to grab her drying cloth and when Cillian dared to glance at her once more, she was already draped in it, holding tightly around her.

“Ye could be bathin’ in yer chambers,” Cillian pointed out. “This room is public.”

“I didnae think anyone else would be here at this time o’ the night,” said Thora indignantly. “An’ I didnae wish tae bother the servants.”

Cillian couldn’t hold back a chuckle at that, shaking his head. It shouldn’t surprise him, he supposed. Thora always seemed to only want to be an inconvenience to him and no one else.

“Why are ye laughin’?” she asked, tone dripping with venom.

“Because I didnae wish tae bother the servants, either,” Cillian said and it was then that Thora softened a little, her gaze losing its sharp edge. “So I came here.”

“Why did ye even come tae bathe so late at night?” Thora asked, but then she seemed to notice the state of him for the first time. Cillian had caught a glimpse of himself in the looking-glass in his room and had been repulsed by his own appearance—his hair sticking to his forehead, wet and stringy, his skin and clothes covered in mud, his lips a faint blue from the cold. “Where have ye been?”

“We were chasin’ a group o’ men,” Cillian said with a heavy sigh as he combed his fingers through his hair to push it back. “Soldiers. We dinnae ken who they are, but their presence in our lands cannae be good.”

Thora blinked in surprise and took a few steps towards Cillian, though a large space still separated them. “Are there any… concerns?”

“Several,” Cillian admitted. With another weary sigh, he flipped a bucket that rested against the wall and took a seat, his exhaustion catching up to him now that the shock of seeing Thora in the bath had dissipated. He was tired; not only physically, but mentally as well. This worry, this fear that had gripped him ever since the first reports of strange men had reached him were now ever-present, always in his mind and impossible to escape.

In the quiet of the night, that fear only grew, creeping up on him before he could realize it. It was like a vice around his chest, like talons ripping into his guts and his throat, choking him until he could draw no more air.

“I’m sure it’ll be alright,” said Thora softly, in a gentle, comforting voice which helped Cillian pull himself out of his thoughts. “Dinnae fash. Whoever they are, ye will find them.”

Cillian couldn’t stop a short, humorless laugh from bubbling out of him. For a moment, he buried his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a deep breath to calm himself. Maybe Thora was right. Maybe they would soon find the men and get the truth out of them.

Or maybe Cillian’s worst fears would become reality.

“Sometimes I fear all I dae is disappoint me people,” he admitted quietly. It was easier to speak those words out loud now, in the dark of the night and the silence of the room, where no one but Thora would hear him. Though he didn’t know how she would react to it, he knew he couldn’t tell Archibald or even Duncan about these fears without them starting a riot and questioning him daily about his feelings. Even if Thora tried to comfort him by denying it, Cillian doubted she would ever mention it again. “First the supply issues an’ now this… it’s been a rough winter an’ there are still plenty o’ difficult days ahead o’ us. This isnae the time tae have our enemies movin’ against us.”

“I dinnae think anyone is disappointed by ye, Cillian,” Thora said and she sounded so earnest that Cillian had a hard time thinking she was lying to him just to make him feel better. Besides, she hadn’t shown any desire to comfort him before—quite the opposite, in fact. “Ye wish tae help yer people. Ye care about them. Ye even agreed tae that ridiculous request tae give all the meat from the hunts tae them an’ I ken ye didnae dae it tae please me. I think ye might actually be the best laird I have ever met… well, after me brother, o’ course.”

Despite himself, Cillian laughed, nodding a few times. It was easy to believe Thora. It was easy to allow himself to be comforted by her words, even if a part of him still couldn’t think of himself as worthy of his position in the clan. His father had been a great man. Every single day, Cillian wondered if he could ever become even half the man he had been.

“Dae ye truly think so?” Cillian asked, glancing up at Thora.

“I dae,” she said. A small, yet genuine smile graced her lips. “Ye should begin tae think so too.”

In that moment, Cillian almost could.