Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

E nya had tried telling Cillian the truth—she truly had. A whole day had passed since the night they had shared together, but she had hardly managed to see him at all since then as they were both too busy with the Yule preparations. Cillian had the added burden of figuring out the identity of the men who had attacked them and so Enya had hardly seen him at all.

Nay, the truth is I havenae tried enough.

If she truly wished to speak to him, then she could have tracked him down and given him the identity of her attacker, but she was too much of a coward to do such a thing. The reality was that she didn’t want this to end. She didn’t want Cillian to find out the truth, as then he was bound to be furious and the feelings that had blossomed between them would wilt, at least on his part. Enya didn’t think she could bear it and so she delayed the inevitable as much as she could.

At dinner the previous night she had used the excuse of a headache to retire early to her room and he had obviously not wanted to disturb her sleep during the night.

That morning, however, as she was taking her daily walk around the castle grounds, she passed by the forge and was surprised to find Cillian there, working alongside the blacksmith. For a moment, Enya paused her walk, watching him as he hammered a blade, bare-chested and sweating over the fire. His skin glistened with it, muscles bulging in his chest and arms with every movement, and Enya was mesmerized by it.

She didn’t realize she had been staring until Cillian noticed her, turning to wave at her with a smile. Even in the chill of the morning, her entire face heated uncomfortably when she was caught, and she was about to flee the scene when he beckoned her closer.

Enya weighed her options. She could either pretend she hadn’t seen him, which would seem very unlikely, and be on her way, or she could surrender to her fate and join him for a few moments.

She decided on the second option as she could stay away no longer.

“Good mornin’,” said Cillian when Enya approached. “Ye werenae there tae break yer fast with us today.”

“Nay,” said Enya shaking her head. “I overslept.”

The truth was that the longer she waited to tell Cillian the truth, the harder it was to face him. Even now, she could hardly meet his gaze and was staring instead at the sword he was making, wondering if he always made all his weapons.

“I didnae ken ye could dae this,” she said.

“I learned when I was young,” said Cillian with a shrug. “I saw our old blacksmith workin’ here when I was a wee laddie an’ I asked him tae teach me.”

Enya could imagine it, a young Cillian. The image brought a small smile to her lips in spite of herself, amusing as it was.

Behind Cillian, the blacksmith bowed to her before putting his tools down and rushing out, presumably to get something he needed. Suddenly, she and Cillian were alone and he wasted no time before he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, pressing a heated kiss to her lips.

Guilt bubbled up inside Enya as she allowed the kiss. Guilt, mixed with an inescapable need she could not ignore.

“Come here,” Cillian said as he shifted, guiding Enya to stand in front of him, her back pressed against his chest. Even with the heat of the raging flames right next to them, it was the heat of his body that she felt the most, the solid presence of him right behind her. “Here, hold this.”

As he spoke, Cillian handed her the mallet and then wrapped his hand around hers. The other came to rest on her hip, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

“Hold the handle with yer other hand,” he said and Enya obeyed, steadying the blade. “Now ye hit it like this.”

Slowly, Cillian brought their hands down along with the mallet, showing Enya how to do it. After a few hits, he placed his other hand on her other hip, steadying her as he allowed her to do it on her own a few times.

“Ye’re good at this,” he said. “Maybe I should let ye make me swords.”

“I dinnae think that is a good idea,” Enya said with a soft laugh as she disentangled herself from him, the guilt suddenly becoming too much to bear. Before she could get too far, though, Cillian grabbed her and pulled her close once more, pressing their bodies together.

Enya’s desire was undeniable and inescapable. Even her guilt could do nothing to dampen it, her need for Cillian so strong that even the slightest touch was enough to set her off. Now, in the heat of the forge, after seeing him laboring over the fire with the muscles of his arms and his chest bulging as he moved, his dark hair pushed back and his eyes so focused on his task, she had no choice but to surrender to that need.

The moment she had seen him in there, forging that sword, she had felt a jolt of desire so strong that her core throbbed with it, her heartbeat picking up.

Now, those very same hands that had manipulated the steel were on her, fingers digging into her hips as Cillian pressed his chest against her back, brushing his lips over the side of her neck.

“Where dae ye think ye’re goin’?” he asked in a light, teasing tone, and Enya didn’t know how to tell him that she was trying to flee from him, that she feared what would happen if she stayed.

But stay she did, her lips parting around a moan as Cillian’s hands slid up her torso, cupping her breasts. She arched into the touch, her hips pushing back with the movement to find that Cillian was already hard, his manhood pressing insistently against her rear.

“I want ye,” he whispered to her, his hips rolling once against her. It was a heady feeling and knowing she had such an effect on him only served to intensify her own arousal, wetness gathering between her legs already until she was soaking with need.

“Here?” Enya asked and Cillian chuckled in her ear. She could feel rather than see his nod and when one of his hands moved down her torso to tease her mound over her dress, his fingers caressing her most sensitive spot, she knew she would not refuse.

Besides, there was something intoxicating about letting Cillian bend her over the working bench and pull up her dress, baring her to his gaze in the middle of the forge. Anyone could walk in and see them; she knew that much, and though she hoped they wouldn’t be interrupted, the thrill of it was too good to resist.

“Look at ye,” Cillian said as he then brushed two fingers over her folds, soaking them in her wetness. Enya throbbed at the touch, her body burning with desire, her breath shallow and ragged. She needed Cillian to do something, anything; she couldn’t take the teasing, not when she wanted him so desperately.

“Take me,” she demanded, arching her back and looking at him over her shoulder as she spread her legs a little wider. “Show me how much ye want it.”

That was all Cillian needed to free himself with a groan, quickly lining up his manhood before pushing in to the hilt. As he entered her, they both groaned at the sensation, the slight stretch of the sudden intrusion only adding to Enya’s pleasure.

It was better like this, she thought. She only needed to satiate her lust, to have Cillian bring her to completion once more, to feel that all-encompassing pleasure. Cillian, though, didn’t seem to have the same ideas, as he began to move slowly, barely pulling back before he pushed back inside, careful and considerate.

Once again, Enya looked at him over her shoulder. “I said show me how much ye want it.”

When their gazes met, Cillian’s was glazed with lust. At her demand, he gritted his teeth and grabbed her hips, keeping her still as he began to thrust into her with abandon, this time almost pulling all the way out before he slammed back in.

Only a few thrusts was all it took for Enya to be reduced to a moaning mess, laying boneless on the table. There was sweetness in being taken lovingly, that much was true, but this had its own kind of sweetness, one she hadn’t expected. It was as though Cillian could hardly control himself around her, and yet he always did until she asked him to let go. And now that he had, the pleasure he was giving Enya was unlike anything she had experienced before.

Their position made it so every thrust would push Cillian deep inside her, his manhood rubbing relentlessly against a spot that drove her mad with lust. She could do nothing but hold onto the table as he took her, the slap of their hips loud in the small room, covered only by their moans.

“Is this what ye wanted?” Cillian asked, his voice strained and hoarse already. “Dae ye like it like this?”

“Aye,” said Enya, breathless and quiet. She hated to admit it, but she loved this, the way she could simply surrender to him and think about nothing else but pleasure. “Aye, Cillian… please.”

“Dae ye feel how deep inside ye I am?” Cillian asked, reaching under her to press his hand against her. “Ye take me so well. Such a sweet lass, takin’ everythin’ I give ye.”

Cillian’s words were like the strongest wine, making Enya feel drunk on them. She pressed her forehead against the bench, closing her eyes tightly as wave after wave of pleasure shook her, each thrust more delicious than the last.

“Tell me how much ye like it,” Cillian demanded as his hands closed around her rear, squeezing the ample flesh.

“I like it,” Enya said, cheeks heating when she realized it sounded more like a whine. “I love it, Cillian, I love it. Just like that.”

Behind her, Cillian groaned, sounding like a broken man. When he pulled out of her, though, Enya was left wondering what was wrong, until he grabbed her and flipped her over on the table so that she was on her back, his strong hands pushing her thighs apart.

“I want tae look at ye when ye fall apart fer me,” he said just as he entered her once more, and Enya knew she wouldn’t last like this. It felt as though she was being thoroughly claimed, as though Cillian wanted to consume her whole. With every well-placed thrust, he gazed into her eyes and no matter how much Enya wished she could avert her gaze, the intensity and intimacy of it too much to bear, she could do nothing but stare right back, lips parting in a silent scream.

When she finally managed to tear her gaze away from him, she thought for a moment that this unbearable tension would break, but Cillian was quick to cup her cheek, the gentle gesture a stark contrast to his hard thrusts. Gentle as his hand was, he made her look at him once more, curling over her to make it impossible to look at anything else.

“Eyes on me,” he said. “Let me see ye.”

That was all it took for Enya to reach her peak, the pleasure so intense it was almost blinding. The world around her went white, her orgasm so powerful that it left her shaking on the bench, overwhelmed and overstimulated.

She didn’t know when Cillian pulled out of her, but soon, she felt his release against her thigh. She opened her eyes, not knowing when she had closed them, and saw him hovering right over her, heaving, his brow coated in sweat.

Before he had even managed to catch his breath, he said, “Ye’ll be the death o’ me.”

For a few moments, Enya could do nothing but lay there, still riding the aftershocks of her orgasm. Even as Cillian pulled a handkerchief out and began to clean her thighs, she simply lay there, allowing it until he was done.

“Are ye alright?” he asked her in a tentative voice. Enya supposed she wasn’t as opaque as she would have liked about her feelings, some of her guilt seeping out of her, but she reeled it in before it could ruin the moment.

“Aye,” she said, sitting up on the bench and stretching her arms over her head. “I’m… very good.”

Laughing, Cillian fixed his clothes and then pulled Enya close for a kiss. She allowed that, too; she wasn’t strong enough to refuse it, to push Cillian away from her. She didn’t want to push him away at all, in fact. All she wanted was to hold onto him, and so she did, wrapping both arms around his to keep him close. With a smile, Cillian pressed a kiss to the top of her head, nuzzling her hair for a moment.

“I never thought I would dae this in the forge,” he said, sounding amused. “Though I dae spend plenty o’ time here.”

“Dae ye like it so much?” Enya asked. “Workin’ with steel?”

Cillian gave it some thought, pausing for a moment. It seemed to Enya that even he didn’t really know the answer.

“I like tae make swords an’ I suppose I had a goal in mind if I ever became good enough. I always wanted tae have a sword just like me faither’s,” he said. “Ye may have seen it. He’s holdin’ it in the portrait in the great hall.”

Enya had, indeed, seen the portrait and the impressive sword his father was holding in it. “Why have ye nae made one?”

Cillian shrugged a shoulder, staying silent for a short while. “I dinnae think I am worthy o’ such a weapon.”

It wasn’t the first time Cillian had expressed the belief that he was not worthy of something. First it had been his clan, now this weapon. Enya took a few faltering steps closer to him once more, feeling the need to comfort him, but before she could, a soldier appeared, calling for Cillian.

“Me laird! Mr. MacThomas wishes tae speak with ye,” the man said. Cillian tossed his tools on the large bench by the fire with a sigh and gave Enya an apologetic look, but a part of her was relieved about his departure.

She was on the verge if leaving too, when the blacksmith emerged once more. Upon seeing him, she stopped and turned to face him, a thoughtful expression passing over her face.

“The old laird’s sword… did ye ever see it?”

“Och aye, me lady,” the blacksmith said. “We all have.”

“Dae ye think ye could make it?”

The blacksmith shrugged a shoulder. “I dinnae see why I couldnae.”

“I’d like that,” Enya said. “I’d like that very much.”

“Consider it done, me lady.”

She only hoped Cillian would realize he was worthy of such a gift.

Just outside the main part of the castle, a large bonfire burned under the night sky. It was a clear night and the stars twinkled bright as Enya joined the clansmen and women who were already there, enjoying the celebrations.

The fire mirrored the one that had been burning in the great hall ever since the start of the festivities—the Yule log, which symbolized the return of the sun after the harsh winter. The entire clan seemed to be gathered around it, more people than Enya had ever seen together in the castle, all of them drinking and celebrating. Among them, at the other side of the flickering flames, she spotted Cillian, Archibald, and Duncan, the three of them laughing.

It was the first time she had seen all three of them so carefree. It was usually just Duncan who always made light of any situation, but she was glad that at least for one night, Cillian and Archibald could relax, too.

She was the only one, it seemed, who could not bring herself to relax. Even now, all she could think about was how she would ever manage to tell Cillian the truth.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Cillian suddenly materialized next to her while she wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings. When his hand found her arm, fingers curling loosely around it, she jumped, releasing a short breath when she realized it was only him.

“Are ye alright?” Cillian asked, his words an echo of that night they had spent together. Genuine concern tinted his tone and Enya had to swallow around the knot in her throat before she responded.

“Aye,” she said, forcing a smile on her lips. “What are they doin’?”

She pointed at a line of men who were standing by the flames, as if they were waiting for something. Cillian laughed and pulled Enya a little closer, making sure her view of them was not obstructed.

“Watch,” he said.

Only moments later, the first man in line jumped over the flames as the crowd cheered for him. Enya gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. For a moment, she worried the man was burned and she took a faltering step forward, her first instinct being to heal him, but then he walked off as if he was completely fine.

“Doesnae that hurt?” she asked.

“Nay,” Cillian said. “Well, it doesnae hurt if ye jump high enough. Dinnae ye have this where ye’re from?”

Enya shook her head. She didn’t really understand the point of it in the first place, but both the men and the people around them seemed to be enjoying the show.

“I dare ye tae jump.”

Enya turned to glare at Cillian, who was looking at her with a smug grin on his lips. She rolled her eyes at him and made to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her, pulling her close once more.

“What?” he asked. “Are ye afraid?”

He was baiting her, that much Enya knew, but the fact that she knew what he was doing didn’t lessen her desire to prove him wrong. It felt as though they were going back to their old habits, only now the challenge was less frustrating and more exciting.

“O’ course nae,” she said. “Why would I be afraid?”

“Come, then,” Cillian said and before she could respond, he began to drag her close to the flames, all the way to the back of the line. “We’ll dae it together.”

Enya reluctantly followed Cillian, knowing this was probably a bad idea. Just as Cillian had predicted, though, she wasn’t going to refuse, and so she stayed in line, waiting for her turn. Cillian went first, to the cheers of his people, his long legs helping him clear the flames with ease. Once he had jumped over, he stood at the other side, looking at Enya expectantly.

Still, she hesitated.

“Afraid?” he called over the fire.

Enya’s eyes narrowed as she stared at him through the flames and she scoffed, taking half a step back to gather momentum. Then, she told herself that she simply had to jump. She had no other choice.

Taking a deep breath, she rushed towards the flames and leaped above them, the hem of her dress barely brushing them. As she landed on the other side, the crowd that had gathered around them turned raucous, celebrating her success, and Enya couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear, warmth spilling out of her at the thought that these people who had only known her for a few short weeks were so happy to see her take part in their tradition.

Cillian seemed happy, too. He tipped his head in recognition of her skill and then offered her his hand, which she took with some reluctance.

Dinnae get too close.

But it was already too late for that.

Her traitorous legs followed Cillian as he dragged her away from the crowd. They didn’t get too far, just by the shadow of a towering evergreen, but the voices of the people were dampened there and the light of the fire didn’t quite reach them. In the dark, it was easier to pretend nothing was wrong. As long as Cillian couldn’t clearly see her face, Enya could pretend.

But for how long? She had already hidden the truth from him for too long. What would happen if she told him now? Could Cillian ever forgive her?

“Ye truly are a feisty lass,” he said as he wrapped an arm around her waist, twirling her once. Enya rested her hands on his shoulders, smiling despite herself.

“Ye dared me,” she reminded him. “I couldnae refuse a dare.”

“Ach, o’ course nae,” he said. “How could ye possibly live with yerself if ye didnae have the last word?”

Chuckling at Cillian’s teasing, Enya let him lean close, his lips hovering just over her own. She was desperate for a kiss. She desired it so terribly that not even her guilt could stop her from getting it.

Just as she was about to kiss him, though, the castle gates opened with a loud, jarring screech and a soldier’s voice called over the silence that followed.

“Clan MacLeod has arrived!”

There, at the gates, Enya saw her sister, her brother Kai, and Ava, and her heart stood still.