Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

W hen Enya opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was the chill. The second, the darkness. For several moments, until her eyes adjusted to the low light, she could see nothing of her surroundings, her location remaining a mystery to her.

Then the throbbing in her head made its presence known, a terrible pain radiating from her temple all around her skull. She frowned at the sensation, trying to remember what it was that had brought her to this place in this state, but her mind was foggy and her thoughts sluggish, like fingers running through molasses.

Slowly, she assessed her situation. She was sitting on a chair, one which creaked with every movement she made. Her movements, though, were limited, her hands bound behind her back, and her ankles tied together. The rope was tight around her and as she tested to see if it had any give, it only dug into her skin, chafing it.

Then, there was the matter of the room in which she had been left. There was at least one window to her left, but it had been covered, so that only a few rays of sunlight filtered through. There was an orange glow to the room, but she could spot no torch, which could only mean in was resting on the wall behind her, but its light didn’t reach the farthest reaches of the room.

Hearing footsteps near her, Enya’s head snapped up to see none other than Duncan there, and it was then that she remembered what had happened to her. He had attacked her, she thought, just as she was leaving Cillian’s study, hitting her on the side of the head with the handle of his knife. But where had he taken her? Surely, they couldn’t still be in the castle. Duncan wouldn’t be as foolish as to keep her there.

“Good,” Duncan said as he approached, circling her. “Ye’re awake. Fer a moment, I thought I had hit ye too hard.”

Enya glared at him, bile rising to the back of her throat. She had known something had been strange about Duncan lately, but she would have never guessed he would do something like this. Then again, she didn’t know why he had brought her there at all. Her first instinct was to think he feared her powers and wanted to get rid of her for the sake of the clan and of Cillian, but if that was the case, then he could have simply killed her. Why would he go to all the trouble of making her unconscious and dragging her to another location, risking being seen in the process?

“Ach, dinnae look at me like that,” Duncan said with a small chuckle. “Ye should be glad we can use ye.”

“Use me?” Enya asked, her thoughts still slow and sluggish. It took her a few moments to understand what Duncan was saying. He and whoever else was working with him wanted her powers, and that was why he had been asking her all those questions.

But how had he found out? Had Cillian told him? It wasn’t unlikely; after all, they were friends, or at least so Cillian thought. But she didn’t think Cillian would simply tell people about her gift without asking her first. Surely, he understood the precarious position in which he could put her by advertising the fact that she could heal people with a simple touch.

Just then, the door opened to reveal Laird Malcolm MacNeil. Even in the dim light, Enya recognized him instantly from that day in the woods. There was something striking about him—the narrow face, the thinning grey hair, the leathery skin of his cheeks after so many years in the harshest parts of the Highlands. He reminded Enya of a bird of prey, his beady black eyes tracking every minute movement in the room.

That traitor! He’s been workin’ with MacNeil all this time?

Now everything made sense. Enya wondered just how long Duncan had been helping MacNeil. As far as she knew, he and Cillian had been friends ever since they were boys, the two of them along with Archibald. Seeing him there now, standing by MacNeil’s side, was nothing short of shocking.

How could he betray not only his people, but his childhood friend like that? What could have happened between them to cause such a rift, such a hatred?

“How could ye dae this tae Cillian?” she demanded, voice dripping with venom. “He considers ye a braither.”

“I have me reasons,” said Duncan cryptically. Gone was his easy, casual charm. Though he was still smiling, his smile was now cold and distant, expressing nothing but cruelty. “An’ they are good reasons.”

Enya had nothing to say to that. She couldn’t think of a single thing that could excuse this behavior, but she doubted Duncan would reveal the truth to her. Either way, it didn’t matter; there was nothing he could say that would be enough to convince her he was doing the right thing.

“How dae ye ken about… what I can dae?” Enya asked. She didn’t want to call it her powers or her gift —nothing to suggest that it was helpful, in case Laird MacNeil and Duncan didn’t know the full extent of it.

“I told ye I watched ye,” said Laird MacNeil as he took a few steps towards her, coming to a halt right in front of the chair where she sat. Crouching down, he gripped Enya’s chin in his hand and forced her to look at him in the eye, scrutinizing her expression. “I kent there was somethin’ ye could dae. At first, I thought ye would be useful to make Cillian fall in love with ye, so I could make him suffer when I took ye away from him, threatening to kill ye. But then, it was only a matter o’ time until Duncan found out what, exactly, it is ye dae. That made ye even more useful tae me.”

I should have been more careful. But how could I have left everyone I healed without help?

They had needed her and Enya couldn’t bring herself to regret the decision to help them. She had done the right thing. The only thing she regretted was that she had put her family in danger.

Laird MacNeil had watched her, he said. How much had he seen? How much did he know? Did he suspect her siblings had similar powers?

Enya kept her mouth firmly shut, only glaring at Laird MacNeil. She knew Cillian would care. She knew he loved her, but neither Laird MacNeil nor Duncan seemed to know, and she wanted to keep it that way. As long as they thought they couldn’t hurt him by hurting her, then she was more valuable to them alive than dead.

“But ye have yer talents,” said Laird MacNeil. “An’ it doesnae matter now if the MacDonald forces are stronger than ours. With ye here tae heal our men, we will have an invincible army.”

So, this is what he wants. He thinks he can win this way.

The problem was that he probably could. No matter how strong the MacDonald Clan was, if one side had no losses, then eventually, it would overwhelm the other.

“An’ if I refuse?” Enya spat, her features contorted into a mask of rage.

“If ye refuse… well, it wasnae so difficult tae capture ye,” said Laird MacNeil. “How difficult will it be tae kill yer sister?”

A chill ran down Enya’s spine at the threat, nausea gripping her, but she kept herself calm. It would be more difficult than either Laird MacNeil or Duncan could guess, she thought. Thora would see them coming.

When she said nothing in response, Laird MacNeil chuckled and gave her a pat on the cheek, Enya swiftly recoiling from the patronizing touch. Standing, he made his way to the door, followed by Duncan, who didn’t spare a single glance at her as he shut the door behind them, plunging Enya in a total silence.

The door to Cillian’s study fell open with a bang as it hit the wall, and he and Archibald looked up to see Thora there, panting. By then, Cillian could tell the two of them apart, even though there were only the slightest differences between them—a subtle change in the shade of their hair color, some mannerisms that were unique to each twin. There was no doubt in his mind this was Thora, but the way she entered alarmed him, urging him to stand and walk to her.

“Enya,” Thora said through trembling gasps. Cillian hadn’t known her for a long time, but he had never seen her like this before, so close to breaking. “She’s been taken. I saw it. I saw her, please ye must?—”

Behind Thora, footsteps followed, thundering down the hallway as though she was being chased. Soon, Kai and Ava appeared at the door, the two of them just as pallid and shaken as she was.

“What dae ye mean?” Cillian asked. The terror that gripped him at the thought that something may have happened to Enya was unlike anything he had ever felt before. He tried to keep himself calm, knowing it would be the only way to help her if something had happened, but the room swam around him, his panic overtaking everything else.

“I had a… a vision,” Thora said, and though she didn’t bother to explain, Cillian didn’t need her to. Only a few weeks prior, he would have thought her mad, but after what he had seen Enya do, it wasn’t so surprising to find out her sister could also do miraculous things. “I saw Duncan take her tae a cottage. Laird MacNeil is there, too. The two o’ them are workin’ together.”

“Duncan?”

Archibald took a few stumbling steps forward, his voice filled with such shock that Cillian feared his friend would topple over right then and there. He and Duncan bickered all the time, their personalities clashing more often than not, but they were like brothers—they were all like brothers, the three of them, growing up together under the same roof.

It was difficult to believe it. Cillian didn’t want to believe it, that Duncan could have betrayed him like this. What could Laird MacNeil have possibly given him that was worth betraying his friends, his family, his people?

Gripping Thora by the shoulders, Cillian gave her a gentle shake, trying to pull her out of her panic. “Dae ye ken where the cottage is?”

“I… I saw a loch,” Thora said, frowning as she tried to recall the details of her vision. “An’ a crest. I saw a crest. I think it was mountain peaks or… I dinnae ken. I dinnae ken what it could be.”

“It sounds like the MacNeil Clan crest,” said Archibald, rushing to them. “I’ll see if I can find any records o’ properties or anyone who kens where it might be.”

Cillian nodded, swallowing down the bile that rose up the back of his throat. Even in his panic and grief, Archibald was just as eager to help as always, the first to jump into action while Cillian still had to pull himself together. He had that in common with Enya, Cillian thought; they both rushed to help those around them without a second thought.

And now Enya had been taken by a man Cillian trusted with his life. How could he have been so blind to it? How could he not have seen Duncan for who he truly was? The signs must have been there and he had missed all of them. It was yet another failure on his part, yet another way he had let someone down. First, his sister and now Enya, all because he simply wasn’t enough.

He had had his suspicions in the past, although he had never voiced them to anyone, that MacNeil had had something to do with the raid Eleanor had gotten killed in. But no proof had emerged, so he had never spoken about it, not even to his closest friends. Now he knew with certainty it had been him all along.

Cillian’s gaze fell on the sword Enya had commissioned for him, which rested against the wall, and his only thought was that he didn’t deserve it. How could he ever claim to be like his father when he couldn’t protect the people he loved?

“Cillian.”

Thora’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, now sounding a little calmer. She was still deathly pale, her eyes brimming with tears, but there was strength in her gaze as she looked at him.

“We will find her,” she promised him. “I need ye tae stay calm. Fer her.”

Thora was right. He couldn’t afford to panic, not when Enya was relying on him. With a shaky breath, he walked over to the wall and grabbed the sword, focusing on his rage instead of the panic that threatened to overwhelm him.

He still did not understand why his best friend had turned against him. But of one thing he was certain. If he had to kill Duncan with his own two hands, then so be it.