Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I t had been days since Enya had last seen Cillian. Despite the presence of guests, he had withdrawn from everything and everyone, dealing only with clan matters while Duncan and Archibald took care of everything else. On the one hand, Enya felt relief in his absence. She didn’t know how she could possibly look him in the eye, let alone speak to him, if their paths crossed. On the other hand, not only did she miss him, but she was also quickly becoming wary of Duncan.

“Miraculous things have been happenin’ lately in this clan,” he said casually, as he sauntered over to where Enya, her siblings, and Ava were sitting under the shade of a large oak on an old stone bench. He leaned against the trunk of the tree with the same relaxed air he always seemed to carry, and with his sudden presence followed a silence, all four of them tense as they waited to hear what else he would say.

It wasn’t the first time he had brought up the matter. Only a couple of days prior, he had asked Enya for her assistance with a minor wound and the entire time she was cleaning and wrapping it in cloth, he had been pestering her to make it go away faster, even as Enya assured him there was nothing she could do.

“What sort o’ things?” Kai asked and in his tone, Enya detected the first signs of confrontation. She shot him a warning look from the corner of her eye. The last thing they needed was for Duncan to take offence.

Could he have found out somehow? Perhaps he did an’ now he is merely curious.

Enya had been careful, though, even as she had used her powers. Only when Cillian was wounded badly did she take a major risk, healing him so much and so fast that it may have attracted some attention.

But who in their right mind would think she had healing powers? Enya could hardly believe it herself and she had spent her whole life with them.

“Well, it seems that some people who are injured heal very fast,” said Duncan. “Cillian, fer example. There was that battle recently in which he was badly wounded, an’ yet look at him now. There’s naethin’ wrong with him.”

“He is resilient,” said Enya. “An’ he is healthy an’ strong. Surely, that helped him heal faster.”

“Perhaps,” said Duncan and then fell silent. Enya avoided looking at her siblings then, not wanting to give anything away, but her distant stare was bound to be just as incriminating and suspicious.

There was only one way out of this awkward situation and that was to remove herself from it, so she stood, smoothing her hands over her dress.

“If ye’ll excuse me, there is somethin’ I must dae,” she said, and it was only a half-lie. She had already spoken to the smith that morning and he had told her the weapon she had asked him to make was ready, and she wanted to bring it to Cillian. It was bound to be an awkward situation, that much was true, but she hoped the gesture would at least alleviate some of that awkwardness and perhaps even some of the tension between them. Enya didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

After excusing herself, she made her way to the workshop at the other side of the castle grounds. There, on a table that had been cleared of all other items, lay a magnificent sword, a perfect copy of the one Cillian’s father wielded in his day, glinting in the sun.

“Me lady,” said the smith, bowing to her when he spotted her. “Shall I take the blade tae the laird?”

“Nay,” said Enya, shaking her head. “I will take it tae him.”

“It’s quite heavy, me lady.”

“Ach, dinnae fash. I can carry it meself.”

When the smith wrapped the sword in cloth and handed it to her, Enya almost regretted saying she would take it to Cillian on her own. It was, indeed, a heavy blade, much heavier than what she was used to, but she held it in both hands and made her way to Cillian’s study, knocking and entering once he called her in.

The moment their eyes met, Enya froze and so did Cillian. Thankfully, he was the only one in the room, hunched over a stack of papers that he had been perusing.

“Come in,” said Cillian rather stiffly, sitting in his chair with his back straight. In the pale sun of the morning, the scant sunlight shining in through the window, he looked more handsome than ever, the light carving the lines and curves of his face. But he also seemed exhausted to Enya. Dark, heavy circles dragged down his eyes and even as he sat stiffly, there was a downward slope to his shoulders that betrayed his fatigue.

“Am I interruptin’ yer work?” Enya asked tentatively for lack of anything better to say.

“Nay,” said Cillian, gesturing at her to take a seat across from him. Enya approach but didn’t sit down. Instead, she gingerly placed the sword on top of all the paper stacks on Cillian’s desk and took a step back, looking at him expectantly. “What is this?”

“I had it made fer ye,” she said. “I… I thought ye might like it. It was before…”

Cillian looked at her with a small, confused frown as he reached for the package, unwrapping it. When he saw the sword, his eyes widened, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“Ye’re a good laird, Cillian,” she said earnestly, pouring everything she felt for him in those few words. “I ken that ye doubt yerself, but I’ve seen everythin’ ye dae fer yer clan, an’ I ken yer faither would be very proud o’ ye. Ye shouldnae doubt yerself. Ye’re a good laird an’ a good man. They couldnae have asked fer anyone better.”

Cillian’s eyes shone in the sunlight. He sniffed, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck as the other traced the contours of the sword. When his hand closed around the hilt and he stood, he wielded it with such easy confidence that it only proved everything Enya had told him.

“I ken what I did was wrong an’ I will regret it every day o’ me life,” Enya said. It was difficult to get the words out, as though there was a knot in her throat which hardly allowed her to speak, but she needed Cillian to know how she felt. “An’ if ye hate me, I cannae blame ye. I did it because I was too afraid tae lose ye… fer I have fallen fer ye.”

The confession took a lot more out of Enya than she had thought it would. Her bottom lip trembled with emotion and the effort it took to keep herself from crying, but she was determined to make this as easy for Cillian as possible. If he was going to reject her, then she didn’t want him to feel any guilt over it just because she couldn’t control her own emotions, and at the same time, if he was going to forgive her, she wanted him to forgive her not because he felt sorry for her, but rather because he truly wanted to.

For a moment, Cillian said nothing. He only stared at the sword, lips pursed into a thin line, and then placed it gently on the desk once more before he came to stand in front of Enya, shaking his head.

“I dinnae hate ye,” he said. “I could never hate ye.”

Cillian cupped Enya’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking small circles on her cheeks. The two of them stared at each other, lost in each other’s gaze, and all Enya wanted was to curl into him, extending that moment forever.

When Cillian’s lips pressed against hers, Enya gasped in surprise. She had spent so many days thinking she would never get to have this again, but there Cillian was, kissing her like her betrayal had never come to pass.

When they parted, Cillian didn’t pull back from her. He only held her close, hands sliding down to her waist as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about all this,” he said. “I was angry, that much is true, but I always came back tae the same thing.”

Pulling back just enough to look at him, Enya asked, “What?”

Cillian took a deep breath, held it, then gave her a small smile. “That I love ye. I kept tryin’ tae convince meself I dinnae, but I dae, Enya. I love ye an’ there is naethin’ that can change that.”

It was then that Enya couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, but this time, they were tears of happiness. She kissed Cillian again, unable to be away from him for even a moment. She needed him like she needed air, as though she would stop breathing if they parted at all.

Still, there was the shadow of his betrothal to Thora hanging over their heads, and Enya knew Cillian was as well aware of this as she was. It had already been arranged and sanctioned. Even though Enya and Thora were from the same clan and even though Thora would surely agree, there was always the matter of the two councils, who could refuse. Enya doubted her bother or the elders of her clan would try to come between them, but she couldn’t say the same for Cillian’s council. Save for Archibald and Duncan, she didn’t know any of them well.

“We should speak tae the council,” said Cillian, echoing Enya’s thoughts. He grabbed her hand and began to pull her towards the door, much to Enya’s surprise.

“Right the now?” she asked, wide-eyed, her heart picking up its rhythm.

“Och, aye. The sooner, the better.”

Enya didn’t know if she quite agreed with that, but she supposed it was something that needed to be done. She couldn’t avoid it forever, and no matter what the response would be, she would have to be strong—if not for herself, then for Cillian, who had already gone through so much.

“Archibald!” Cillian shouted as he marched down the hallways, dragging Enya along behind him. “Archibald!”

On the ground floor, Archibald emerged from the drawing room, his concern written plainly on his face. He had paled as if all the blood had been drained from him and Enya couldn’t help but feel sorry for how much Cillian had upset him with his shouting.

“What is it?” Archibald asked. “Are ye alright? Did somethin’ happen?”

“I need ye tae call the council,” said Cillian.

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Will ye tell me what happened?” Archibald asked. “Is it serious?”

Glancing at Enya with a smile, his entire expression seemed to soften. “We have tae speak about a marriage.”