Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

A good night’s sleep did nothing to help Enya’s mind clear of all those infernal thoughts. Then again, she could hardly call the sleep she had good , considering how many dreams had plagued her and how many times Cillian visited her in them. By the time the sun had broken through the horizon and she decided to get out of bed, she had hardly rested at all and the last thing she wanted was to face Cillian again.

What if it was too awkward to meet his gaze? Or even worse, what if there was a continuation of the previous night and they ended up once again locked in a trance, the two of them staring at each other until she had to flee once more?

Enya shook those thoughts out of her mind as she stood and dressed for the day. She couldn’t let her fear dictate her behavior, nor could she stay in her chambers all day if she truly wanted to continue with her plan, so she simply took a deep breath, steeled herself, and then headed to breakfast, hoping Cillian wouldn’t be there.

She hadn’t gotten too far when a familiar figure appeared in her path—Duncan, who was wearing a partial armor, a sword swinging carelessly in his hand. When he spotted her, he sheathed it with a smile and then offered Enya a bow in greeting.

“Lady MacLeod,” he said, in that bright tone that seemed so contrasting to his rugged appearance. “Good mornin’.”

“Good mornin’,” said Enya. “I think it’s quite alright fer ye tae call me by me name now. Yer laird already does.”

“Aye, but me laird will be yer husband,” said Duncan.

“I insist.”

“Well, then I shall call ye by yer name if ye dae the same with me,” Duncan said. “Are ye headin’ tae the great hall?”

“Aye,” said Enya. “Have ye already broken yer fast? It’s so early tae be dressed in armor.”

“Nay such thing as too early. Cillian likes tae train early in the mornin’, so we all dae.”

It sounded brutal, training right at dawn, but Enya thought it would be yet another opportunity to anger Cillian. Surely, there would be something for her to do there that would distract him or that would anger him, and she wasn’t going to miss such a good chance.

“I think I will come an’ watch ye, then,” she said, all thoughts of breakfast quickly forgotten. “Is that alright?”

“I’m afraid it will be quite dull fer ye,” said Duncan. “It is even dull fer us. It’s naething like a real battle.”

“Ach, I dinnae wish tae see a battle at all,” said Enya. It was the last thing she wanted, witnessing something so brutal. A training session, on the other hand, sounded perfectly harmless and Enya was willing to do much to be there—though she doubted she would need more than a few sweet words. “But trainin’… I grew up with brothers, and I enjoy watching.”

Duncan gave her a long, curious look, as if to say that he already knew what she was trying to do, but he didn’t refuse. Instead, he only gestured with his arm for Enya to follow him, and once her heart had settled back in her chest, she did as she was told, the two of them descending the stairs and going out into the courtyard.

That time of the day seemed the busiest for the servants, who were running back and forth , doing their chores, but she and Duncan quickly passed them by and headed to the training grounds. This was one of the places Enya hadn’t yet seen after arriving in Jura, and now she could only imagine that Cillian took his training and that of his men very seriously.

A large area had been cleared, fenced in by a low wooden structure. On the ground, the earth seemed compact and solid after so many years of men stepping on it—the perfect place to train, if not the most realistic. The training grounds were surrounded by trees and bushes, and come spring, Enya knew the place would be brimming with the scent of flowers.

As it were, everything was barren. The bushes held no flowers and the leaves had turned brown and fallen around the roots, leaving the trees bare and grey like the sky above, where clouds were gathering as a signal of the oncoming storm.

Enya was tired of those storms, though she knew there would be plenty more as they were in the middle of December. She hoped it would at least snow instead of rain this time; with snow, Jura would look beautiful. With rain, it was simply all mud through which Enya and everyone else had to trudge if they wanted to get anywhere that wasn’t inside the castle’s walls.

As she and Duncan approached the training grounds, Enya saw that Cillian was already there, standing in the middle along with Archibald and several other men who were warming up before their sparring sessions. He, too, was wearing a partial armor, though he looked much more imposing than any other man who stood near him, what with his large frame and intimidating manner.

Though he always seemed to tower over everyone around him, he usually looked a little rough and rugged, especially for a laird, but the armor and the sword gave him a new air, one she had never seen on him before. It was as though he had been transformed into a true warrior, and for the first time, Enya saw why someone could fear him.

As she stepped closer to the training area, many of the soldiers turned to look at her, abandoning their tasks. For a while, Cillian remained engaged in the slow exchange of blows with Archibald, before he finally realized that the ruckus of swords around him had died down and he turned to search for the reason, his gaze instantly finding her and Duncan.

“What are ye doin’ here?” he asked and then turned to Duncan. “What is she doin’ here?”

“She wished tae watch,” Duncan said with a small shrug as he stepped into the large area. “Daes it matter if she’s here?”

Though Cillian said nothing, his eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked at Enya, who simply took a seat on a log that had been lodged into the dirt near the edge of the training area and which seemed to serve as a bench. The dress she had chosen for the day was simple, a soft blue trimmed with lace and white thread, but mud had already gathered at the bottom hem after her short walk outside.

Surely, Cillian suspected the reason for her presence, even if he didn’t protest it. He didn’t need to say a thing for Enya to know he didn’t want her there, not when his gaze was enough to say everything his lips didn’t.

But even as she sat there, he quickly focused back on his opponent, Archibald, who seemed as patient as ever. Even with the sword in his hand, Archibald looked refined, as though it was more of a sport for him rather than a necessity to fight. The two of them quickly began to exchange blows once more, but this time, there was intent behind their movements.

Cillian and Archibald moved fluidly, as if they had done this hundreds of times before—and they probably had, perhaps ever since they were children.

“Is this what ye call fightin’?” Enya asked and though Archibald didn’t falter at all as he met Cillian’s sword, Cillian hesitated at the most critical moment, allowing Archibald to get too close. In his surprise, he still managed to parry Archibald’s blow, though he was anything but happy about the interruption. “This is hardly anythin’ more than a dance.”

As he delivered a blow that Archibald quickly blocked, Cillian took the time to glare at Enya over his shoulder. It was all he did, though, before he returned to his task, attacking and counterattacking, he and Archibald moving around each other with practiced steps. Enya had to commend his focus, at least; even when he was irritated, he still concentrated on the fight.

She would have to change that. Irritating him was not enough; she had to infuriate him until he had no choice but to falter or at least acknowledge her.

“Raise yer sword higher when blockin’,” Enya called and this time, Archibald and Cillian both lost their rhythm, falling into each other instead of managing to attack. Cillian pushed Archibald back with a growl as though he was the one at fault and then quickly attacked again, only to have Archibald side-step him and respond with an attack of his own, one that Cillian only narrowly avoided.

Archibald seemed irritated, too, Enya thought, though perhaps not so much because of her, but because of Cillian’s response to her taunts. Even so, it hardly showed in his expression, which remained almost serene as sweat dripped down his forehead and his nose, and his cheeks reddened with exertion.

Physically, Cillian was in no better shape. He, too, had turned red, his breath coming in quick, short puffs. Despite that, he was still fast, still putting just as much strength behind his attacks as he did when they had started.

Cillian didn’t take Enya’s advice and instead continued to hold his sword too low, making his defense more difficult for himself. Enya watched him in silence for a short while, trying to decipher his fighting style and analyze it until she could find something to critique, while at the same time giving him a false sense of security that the commentary had stopped. In that time, he and Archibald fell back into what seemed like familiar rhythms, dancing ceaselessly around each other with no one to interrupt them.

At least until Enya spoke again.

“Guard yer left side!” she said, pointing exasperatedly at Cillian. “Ye’re too used tae Archibald’s attacks! Yer nae guardin’ yerself!”

With a frustrated huff, Cillian put an abrupt end to the fight with Archibald, furiously wiping the sweat off his forehead as he glared at Enya. For a few moments, neither of them spoke, but then Cillian tossed his sword at her feet and then held out his hand, silently asking for another.

“If ye ken about swordfightin’ that well, why dinnae ye fight me yerself?”

Enya glanced between Cillian and the sword before her, weighing her options. Though she was trained with a sword, it had never been her weapon of choice—in fact, she had never enjoyed fighting and the harm it could cause, and had only learned enough to defend herself should the need arise.

She couldn’t back down from this challenge, though. Even if she couldn’t beat Cillian, now she had to at least try.

Cillian smirked to himself when he saw Thora grab the sword, he had tossed at her. He had known there was no way she would back down from this challenge and she proved him right the moment her fingers wrapped around the hilt and she stood to join him within the bounds of the training grounds.

Everyone else around them had stopped fighting to watch as she approached him, testing the weight of the sword in her hand. A part of him was glad for the audience; perhaps if he defeated her in front of everyone, she would stop challenging him like this.

Fer such a small lass, she can certainly wield a sword, though.

She held that sword with the ease and confidence of someone who knew their way around blades and that surprised Cillian. He had never seen a noble girl pick up a sword as nonchalantly as her or hold it with such trained skill. Did she know how to fight, he wondered? Did she know how to use a sword better than he would have guessed?

For a while, the two of them simply circled each other. Cillian didn’t want to be the first to attack, not when he didn’t know just how much strength Thora could put behind a blow. Though the swords they were using were dull, meant for practice, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t hurt her if he forgot to keep himself in check and despite all their differences, the last thing he wanted to do was to harm her because of a silly challenge like this. He’d rather gauge her strength first; let her deal the first blow so he knew what, precisely, it was he was dealing with.

That first attack didn’t take long. Thora rushed towards him and though she seemed to be holding back as well, Cillian only had time to deflect her blade because he was expecting it. She was fast, he thought, even faster than her small size suggested, and that could make her a dangerous opponent—at least for anyone who wasn’t as seasoned a fighter as he was. The one thing she lacked, though, was strength, and she was using her speed to make up for it.

With every movement Thora made, it became clearer and clearer to Cillian that apart from speed, she also had impeccable technique, a technique that was perhaps even better than his. His own fighting style was almost brutish, using most force to defeat an opponent, and whatever technique he had learned throughout the years, he had learned it through fighting with Archibald, who prided himself on being a technical fighter. Ever since they were children, their tutors had made a point of telling Cillian he could be undefeated if only he tried to match Archibald’s technique.

What they hadn’t realized was that Cillian would still grow up to be undefeated.

Sweat gathered over Cillian’s brow, dripping into his eyes as he circled Thora again. Her watchful gaze never once slid off him, even as she made no effort to move. She was conserving her energy, Cillian thought, making sure she had enough stamina to try and outlast him. The fight with Archibald had already tired Cillian out, though, and now Thora refused to let him get an easy win. If he wanted to defeat her, then he would have to truly fight for it.

“Keep yer sword up,” Thora repeated, and the reminder only served to anger Cillian more, the blood in his veins boiling as it rushed to his head. He didn’t need the reminder and he certainly didn’t need any instruction from her. He had won countless battles. He had fought and he had survived and it was a disgrace to have someone who had never even seen a battlefield tell him what to do.

He did not keep his sword up, even as Thora attacked him once more. Their swords met with a clang and Cillian parried the blow, taking a step back. Thora, though, didn’t give him a moment to breathe before she attacked again and again, fast and relentless, until Cillian had no choice but to take several steps back so he wouldn’t end up shoving her away.

He had been aware of Archibald’s and Duncan’s stares on him ever since he and Thora had stepped into the training area, but now Cillian was also aware of the whispers around them—the men talking quietly amongst themselves, no doubt commenting on the fight. He had half a mind to yell at them, to order them to go back to their own training, but he knew it would be no good. The men were invested now. They wanted to see how this would play out.

Cillian had to admit that he, too, was curious. There was no doubt he could win this fight, but he would have to do so without hurting his opponent and without leaving any room for dispute, knowing she would take any chance she could get to discredit his victory. He would have to be fast and subdue her, maybe press her against the ground and place the blade against her throat, demanding surrender.

When Thora attacked next, she did so with blinding speed and before Cillian knew it, one of the gold tassels of his half-armor went flying in the air, landing close to her feet. He had no time to react before she grabbed it in her hand, triumphant, a smile stretching over her lips.

“I could have harmed ye if this was a real fight,” she said. “I told ye tae keep yer sword up.”

“Ye couldnae have hurt anythin’ that matters,” said Cillian stubbornly, while at the same time wondering how she could have possibly been so fast. “It’s only a tassel. Ye would have hit the metal on me shoulder. That is the purpose o’ the armor.”

“I hit yer armor because I was aimin’ fer yer armor,” said Thora smugly. “Had I aimed fer yer throat, I would have had yer head.”

“Ye could have tried,” said Cillian, as he held out his free hand. “Hand me the tassel.”

“Nay.”

“Lady MacLeod, hand me the tassel.”

“Nay.”

Cillian’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Thora, that familiar-by-then anger simmering just under the surface of his skin. It was such a silly thing, fighting over a tassel, but Cillian simply couldn’t let it go. Thora had infuriated him enough for a day and all he wanted to do was take his tassel back and then have a cup or two of wine and forget any of this ever happened.

But naturally, Thora wouldn’t make it so easy for him. Cillian weighed his options then. He could either walk away with his dignity intact and declare that the match had no winner, while everyone would know that he could have defeated her, or he could do the irrational thing and take the tassel back by force.

Naturally, he chose the second option.

Tossing his sword aside, he charged at Thora, who was quick to discard her own sword and step back as Cillian tried to grab the tassel.

“It’s mine now,” she said, giving him an infuriating grin, her blue eyes so bright in the light of the day that they reminded Cillian of the sea in a sunny summer. “Ye cannae have it.”

“Give it back,” Cillian repeated for what seemed the hundredth time to him, this time enunciating every single word clearly and distinctly. “I willnae play this game.”

Despite his warning, Cillian reached for the tassel once more, only for Thora to pull it out of his grasp again. When he made a third attempt, she gave him a devious look and broke into a sprint, rushing away from the training grounds and farther into the gardens, weaving through the trees and the bushes. Cursing under his breath, Cillian followed, running right after her, much to the amusement of the men behind him.

“Ye can catch her!” Duncan called behind his back, and that only served to infuriate Cillian more. He didn’t need anyone’s encouragement, and he certainly didn’t need any of his men—even his closest friends—to watch him chase Thora like this around the castle. It didn’t become a man of his rank. “Go on, run!”

Cillian did, indeed, run, going after her as fast as he could. She was not only fast with a sword, though, but also a fast runner, and small enough to duck through the bushes and the tree branches where he had to push through them, obliterating everything in his path.

And then he heard it; her laughter, like clear bells in the air around him. He would have thought the sound of her laughter would have angered him beyond any limit, bringing him close to his breaking point, but Cillian suddenly found himself chuckling, too, the chase turning from something meant to enrage him and get him one step closer to refusing this marriage into a game he was quite happy to play.

It didn’t even really matter to him why she was enjoying it so much. Whether it was the rush of the sudden, childish game or the fact that she had managed to not only take something from Cillian but also outrun him, what truly mattered to him was that she was enjoying herself for the first time since she had stepped foot on Jura. After the events of the previous night, when she had been so eager to flee after Cillian had thought they had made a little bit of progress, this was a pleasant development.

Feet thudding against the ground, Cillian gave the chase his full effort and eventually, he began to catch up with her. Once she was within his grasp, he reached for her, his fingers closing around her waist, and he pinned her against the nearest wall so she couldn’t escape him.

Suddenly, they were so close that they were sharing the same air, staring into each other’s eyes. Their laughter died down, silence taking its place, and Cillian was suddenly very aware of how close they were standing, with his hands on Thora’s waist and their bodies brushing with every breath they took.

If he leaned a little closer, if he closed that gap between them, it would be all it would take to kiss her.