Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“ H ow could ye have done this?”

Enya had dreaded this question from the moment she realized she would one day have to tell Cillian the truth. Deep down, she had always known he would be unable to understand or even if he did, he would never forgive her.

She didn’t blame him for it. If their roles were reversed, she would be feeling just as betrayed.

Cillian was hunched over the window in his study, now that they had been left alone, staring out at the festivities that were still going strong, the clansmen and women celebrating around the bonfire. The sound of their laughter filled the room, a stark contrast to the heartbroken look on Cillian’s face, half of it dimly illuminated by the distant flames in the courtyard while the rest was cast in shadow.

“I was scared,” Enya said. It was not an excuse, but rather the simple truth. “I was scared fer Ava an’ fer Thora. An’ then… then it was already too late. I wished tae tell ye, but I could never find the right moment.”

“The right moment?” Cillian asked, craning his neck to look at her. “The right moment would have been at the beginnin’. Ye lied tae me fer weeks! Ye wove this web o’ lies an’… an’ trapped me in it!”

Cillian’s words were like a dagger to the heart, cutting Enya’s breath short. She felt as though there wasn’t enough air in the room, all the oxygen pushed out by the weight of her betrayal. Biting the inside of her cheek, she willed herself to keep her tears from spilling, but they still carved burning paths down her cheeks.

“I came here with the thought o’ savin’ me sister,” she said. She had apologized for her lies, but she would never apologize for trying to save her sister from a marriage she didn’t want or her family from the embarrassment and hostility that would come from disobeying the king’s orders. Everything she had done had been for her family and though it saddened her that Cillian was too hurt by her actions to understand that, she didn’t regret the end—only the means. “Ye must see, Cillian. I never wished tae hurt ye. I never kent I would?—”

I never kent I would love him.

She couldn’t speak those words, though. Simply thinking them was almost too much to bear, the truth of her feelings so startling even to her that she could only remain silent.

What she said instead was, “I never kent it would get so far.”

The look Cillian gave her was scathing, chilling her to the bone. With a sigh, he pushed himself away from the window and began to pace back and forth in front of his desk, restless and twitching. He parted his lips, closed them, then parted them again, but no sound came out. It was as though he was at a total loss for words and no matter how much he tried, his thoughts were too jumbled, too disorganized for him to even argue.

“I can only ask fer yer forgiveness,” Enya said, hoping he would at least listen to her. “I should never have lied tae ye an’ I understand if ye cannae forgive me, but I did it fer me sister, an’ if I had nay other choice, I would dae it again.”

“How can ye claim tae be sorry when ye say ye would dae it again?” Cillian hissed, his head whipping to the side to glare at her.

Enya curled her fingers into fists by her sides, anger rising slowly within her. She didn’t want to show it, though, not when Cillian was already so upset. “Both can be true at the same time,” she said. “I chose tae protect me sister. I will always choose that.”

It was that which seemed to calm Cillian a little. He stopped pacing, coming to a natural stop as he contemplated Enya’s words, memories of his own sister surely coming to his mind. That, at least, he could understand, Enya knew. He had lived for so long with his grief that he knew better than anyone what it meant to fail to protect a loved one.

When he didn’t speak, Enya added, “There is somethin’ else ye must ken. Those men who attacked us in the woods… Malcolm MacNeil was among them. He was the one who tried tae take me away. He kent who I was. He had been watchin’ me an’ me sister back home.”

Cillian stared at Enya in surprise for a few moments, pale as if all the blood had been drained from him. “Are ye certain?”

Enya nodded. “Aye. He told me and then he threatened tae reveal me true identity if I spoke to ye about him.”

“Ye should have told me,” Cillian said and if Enya thought he was angry before, now he was furious, barely managing to contain his rage. His entire body seemed to vibrate with it, fists clenched and jaw tight as he ground his teeth together. “That’s the first thing ye should have told me! Me clan is under attack an’ ye keep a secret like this from me?”

That, more than anything else Enya had done, flooded her with guilt. It was inexcusable, keeping such a terrible secret from him, even if only for a short while. In the time it had taken her to reveal Laird MacNeil’s involvement in the attack, the man could have made terrible progress in his plans—progress that could have been stopped had Cillian known.

There was nothing Enya could say to excuse her actions and so she only stared at the floor, ashamed. This is what she regretted the most. The mere thought that something could happen to Cillian or his clan—the very same people who had shown so much love and warmth to her—rattled her, leaving her with a sense of doom that would not abate.

“I dinnae even recognize ye,” Cillian said, and now all the rage seemed to have drained from him, leaving behind a shell of a man. He shook his head and began to pace once more, before coming to another abrupt halt, pinning Enya with his gaze. “I have nay idea who ye are.”

“I’m nay different than the lass ye ken,” Enya said, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t want Cillian to think that everything she had done and said to him was an act, that nothing she had shown him of herself was real. “Only the name is different.”

“How can ye say that?” Cillian demanded. “How can ye claim tae be the same person when everythin’ ye’ve ever told me is a lie?”

Enya took a few, faltering steps forward, closing the distance between them. “Look at me,” she said. “Look intae me eyes an’ tell me if everythin’ I’ve told ye is truly a lie.”

Cillian looked at her, his gaze so intense that Enya struggled to maintain eye contact. For her, it felt as though time had come to a stop, the two of them suspended in the same, frozen minute. Cillian didn’t look away and so she, too, refused to avert her gaze.

She didn’t know who moved first. They seemed to move in tandem, falling into each other’s arms, their lips meeting with the kind of despair that came with the fear of losing something one had only just managed to find. Cillian’s arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her close, and Enya melted into the embrace with a soft sigh, all her troubles momentarily dissipating.

It wouldn’t last for long, she knew. Sooner or later, she would have to confront reality, but for now, she could pretend there was nothing but desire between them—none of the anger and frustration of their fight.

Her need rapidly growing, Enya clung onto Cillian as he deepened the kiss, the tip of his tongue brushing over the seam of her lips. Enya parted them, letting him lick into her mouth as he guided her backwards until her back hit the edge of his desk. When he lifted her on top of it, she yelped in surprise, the sound drowned out by Cillian’s kiss.

Neither of them bothered to undress or speak another word. There was an understanding between them that transcended speech and their need was too great to part from each other for even a moment. With eager, trembling hands, Cillian pushed Enya’s dress up, the fabric pooling around her waist, before he pulled her to the very edge of the desk, settling between her legs. He wasted no time before he reached between them, the knuckles of his hand brushing over Enya’s thigh in a torturously slow path, until his fingers finally pressed against her opening, drawing a gasp out of her. Enya kissed him deeply, Cillian parting his lips with a moan as she arched against him, silently begging him to give her more.

When Cillian’s fingers breached her, two of them entering her in one smooth thrust, they both groaned in pleasure. Cillian’s head fell onto her shoulder, lips dragging over her skin as he spoke.

“Ye’re so wet fer me already. Open yer legs. Wider.”

Cillian pushed closer as Enya indulged him, spreading her legs wide. His free arm scooped under her knee, holding her where he wanted her as he pumped his fingers into her wet heat, his mouth scattering kisses over her neck. When his teeth clamped down where her neck met her shoulder, Enya cried out, half in surprise and half in pleasure, a rush of desire washing over her.

“Please,” she said, pushing and pulling at Cillian’s shoulders until he brought his head up and she could kiss him again, hips rocking with a mind of their own as her body sought out more pleasure. Each drag of Cillian’s fingers against her sensitive walls ignited a new flame in her core, making her entire body tremble with need.

“Like this,” said Cillian, sounding just as breathless as Enya felt. “I’ll make ye fall apart until everyone in the castle can hear ye screamin’ me name.”

Enya’s cheeks heated almost unbearably at Cillian’s words. Her embarrassment wasn’t enough to overshadow her need, though, not when this new, almost possessive side of Cillian was on display. She surrendered to him, taking all the pleasure he was giving her, letting it all build inside her until she couldn’t help but moan his name again and again.

Her first orgasm washed over her soon after as Cillian massaged a spot deep inside her which had her trembling with need, breath catching in her throat. Her core throbbed with the intensity of her climax, her body collapsing boneless in his arms as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

Cillian gave her no time to recover or even catch her breath before he reached for his manhood, giving himself a few firm tugs and coating his length in her wetness. She was still riding the aftershocks of her orgasm when he entered her, pushing himself to the hilt with a moan, and Enya choked on a breath at the slight edge that came with the overstimulation. It was too much, too soon, but her body was responding to Cillian’s thrusts, her back arching to push her hips closer and take him even deeper into her body.

With a hand on her cheek, Cillian tilted Enya’s head up until they were staring into each other’s eyes. It was that, more than the ceaseless, demanding snap of his hips, which affected her. His grey eyes seemed more alive than ever, illuminated by the same fire which coursed through her veins, and even if she wanted to, she didn’t think she could look away.

“Enya,” Cillian whispered, kissing her, and Enya’s heart stopped, a rush of something she couldn’t name flooding through her. There was a deep joy there, a strange, all-encompassing warmth at finally being called her true name. Enya couldn’t help but be moved by it and by the sweet, almost reverent way he spoke it, like a sacred word.

Though Enya would have thought it impossible, her need began to build once more, Cillian’s thrusts stoking the embers of her desire. The taste of him, sweet like the wine he had been drinking, the heat of his body, the drag of his manhood against her most sensitive part drove her mad with lust, and it seemed that Cillian was in no better condition. Enya had never seen him as frenzied as in that moment, his brow coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his hands clutching desperately at her, his breath hitching with every movement of his hips as though he was overwhelmed by pleasure.

When he reached between them, his fingers tracing her folds and around the place they were joined, Enya shivered, the added stimulation quickly sending her towards another orgasm. She could feel him deep inside her, his manhood filling her to the brim, and she knew she wouldn’t last much longer.

Threading her fingers through Cillian’s hair, Enya pressed their foreheads together, the two of them sharing the same breath. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted more than this—this closeness, this feeling that she belonged to him completely, body and soul. She was his, and it was then that she knew she would continue to be his, no matter what happened between them.

There was no one else for her. Cillian was the only man she could ever love.

It only took a few more thrusts for Enya to reach her climax with a cry, her pleasure so intense that the world seemed to go off-kilter, the rush of blood in her ears the only thing she could hear. Her muscles seized, her limbs locking around Cillian to keep him close, and she could do nothing but give in to that pleasure, riding it out until it slowly faded.

Cillian, too, soon followed her with a few erratic thrusts, his control slipping. With a mumbled curse, he pulled out just enough to take himself in his hand, spilling into his palm, and Enya couldn’t help but be a little resentful for it. She wanted nothing more than to couple with him to the end, to be the one to marry him and have his children, but reality had already crashed down upon her, reminding her of their situation.

She dreaded the moment Cillian would pull back entirely from her and break the spell that had fallen over them, but it had soon come and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Cillian cleared his throat awkwardly, looking uncertain as he grabbed his handkerchief and cleaned himself up as quickly and subtly as he could. Enya pulled down her dress, cheeks heating once more, unable to meet Cillian’s eyes.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Enya didn’t even know what there was to say anymore. Was there anything she could say to fix this? Was there anything that would heal the wounds she had inflicted?

It was ironic, she thought. She was meant to be a healer. It was her gift; the one thing she was born to do. And yet, she had hurt Cillian in a way she could never fix.

“This… this doesnae change anythin’,” Cillian said. He, too, avoided her gaze, looking instead at the floor between his feet.

His words were like a lance to the heart, even though Enya had always known they would come. Hearing them spoken out loud, hurt even more than she had imagined, as they squandered even the last bit of hope she had held onto that things could be resolved between them.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and Enya was glad she was sitting, otherwise she was certain she would have collapsed to the floor. Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of Cillian’s desk, holding on for dear life, and though she said nothing to him, she couldn’t stop a hiccupped sob from escaping her.

“What I mean is,” said Cillian, sounding as though he was trying hard to force the words out, “I need tae think. I need tae think about this.”

Enya couldn’t ask for more. Even that was more than she had thought Cillian would give and it offered her some relief, at least, to hear that he would think about it. It meant that not all hope was lost—unless he was only saying it to calm her now that she was on the verge of tears.

Before she could ask him, she heard his boots thud against the floor and looked up to see him walking to the door, leaving the room without another word. Standing on trembling legs, Enya fixed her dress and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, furiously drying the tears that had fallen.