Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

C illian’s breath was warm against Enya’s cheeks, fogging the air around them. Heat seemed to emanate from his entire body, and it didn’t take her long to realize just how close they were standing—closer than she had ever been to anyone who wasn’t family and certainly closer than she had ever been to a man. She could almost imagine the brush of his lips against hers, the taste of them on the tip of her tongue.

Will he kiss me? Is that why he’s come so close?

Enya didn’t know what she would prefer. Cillian’s hands were warm on her waist, even through the layers of clothing that separated them, and his grey eyes watched her with what she could only describe as hunger—a hunger that she, too, felt. A desire that coiled deep in her body and dug its hooks in her. If he kissed her now, though, and she gave in, then not only would it ruin her plan, but it would also complicate everything.

She wasn’t the one who was supposed to marry him. She couldn’t forget the reason for her presence in MacDonald Castle or the fact that despite what everyone else was made to think in that castle, they were not betrothed to each other.

Just as fast as he had grabbed her, though, Cillian let go of her, taking a few steps back. Suddenly, it was as though Enya could breathe again, but the rush of air in her lungs almost choked her, leaving her gasping once more.

Or perhaps it wasn’t the air at all. Perhaps it was something else entirely, something she didn’t want to consider.

“Ye’rе an infuriatin’ lass,” Cillian said and just like that, the spell that had been cast over Enya was gone. She frowned, tilting her chin up in defiance as she glared at him, a new wave of anger coursing through her at the insult.

Why had she ever thought Cillian could be anything but a beast?

“But ye fight well,” Cillian added before Enya could protest. “Where did ye learn how tae fight like that? It isnae often that a lass is trained in the arts o’ war.”

“Nae war,” said Enya, shaking her head. She couldn’t claim to be knowledgeable in battle, nor did she see it as an art. She had seen too many wounded soldiers, too many people losing life and limb in battle, and she could never stomach such a thing. “I simply ken how tae use a sword.”

“Is that nae a part o’ war?”

“It isnae if ye dinnae wage a war,” Enya pointed out.

For a few moments, Cillian simply stared at her in silence and it was as though he could peer right through her, searching for something that Enya couldn’t grasp. In the end, he simply smiled and asked, “Well, where did ye learn the art o’ the sword, then?”

Enya couldn’t help but smile a little too, despite still being angry about Cillian’s behavior. She remembered the days she had spent with her brothers and with Thora, the two of them joining the others as they trained even though they were girls. Their brothers had never complained. Not only that, but they welcomed them in their training sessions, showing them how to fight and how to keep themselves safe even when fighting men twice their size.

In Enya’s eyes, after all, she had won the match with Cillian. Even if she hadn’t managed to put him in a vulnerable position, she could have injured him enough to run away.

“Thora an’ I spent our days fightin’ our braithers,” she said. “They were forced tae train from a young age an’ we wished tae spend time with them. We both despised embroidery. So, we trained.”

Enya’s true calling had always been healing; if nothing else, then her powers were enough to prove it. Until she was old enough to be deemed ready to learn about healing, though, her governesses had insisted on embroidery and painting and all the things a lady should be able to do, and she and Thora had done anything in their power to avoid such activities—including roping their brothers into helping them by asking, if not downright begging, their tutors to let them train with their sisters.

“Thora?” Cillian asked, sounding confused, and Enya looked up at him to see a puzzled look in his eyes.

“Aye?” she said, now just as confused as he was.

“Ye said ye an’ Thora,” Cillian said and Enya’s heart came to a sudden halt, skipping beat after beat. In her haste, she had forgotten all about her ploy and had slipped up right in front of him.

Did he suspect her now, Enya wondered? Could he tell she was lying to him?

But how could he? Cillian had no idea what Thora looked like and even if he did, Enya knew he would be incapable of telling them apart. Still, the longer she stalled, trying to figure out how to salvage the situation, the more suspicious he was bound to get, and so she rushed to find something to say, an awkward laugh escaping her.

“Did I?” she asked, her voice too high-pitched even in her own ears. She cleared her throat and tried again, while the entire time her heart thundered in her chest—a big and sudden change from its former stillness. “Ach, I must have gotten confused. Everyone confuses us all the time.”

At that, Cillian’s already suspicious eyes narrowed even further as if in disbelief. “Ye confuse yerselves, too?”

Enya froze for a moment, giving Cillian what she thought must have been a tariffing grimace rather than the smile for which she was aiming.

“Nay,” she said. “That would be… foolish.”

Cillian once again stared at Enya in confusion that she couldn’t blame him for. She had to be more careful. She had to make sure she never slipped like this again, especially not in front of Cillian or any of the men in his council.

In that moment, as Cillian’s gaze bore a hole through her, Enya decided the best defense was an offence.

“Well! Dae ye never get confused?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared up at him defiantly once more. “Are ye so perfect that ye always ken what ye say?”

The sudden attack seemed to have the intended effect, as Cillian parted his lips as if to speak and then sputtered, at a loss for words. When he finally managed to articulate his thoughts, he said, “I never claimed such a thing! See? Ye are such an infuriatin’ lass!”

“Ye’re the one who always acts strangely!” Enya accused, which was true enough, she thought, even if this time she was the one acting strangely. In his exasperation, Cillian threw his hands up in the air with a weary sigh, before turning around and walking a few paces down the path from where they had come. For a short while, Enya thought she had managed to avoid any further confrontation, but then he came to a halt and pinched the bridge of his nose, the breath he took so heavy and long that Enya could hear it from where she stood, still near the wall.

“I didnae mean tae offend ye,” Cillian said as he turned around to face her. “I was merely makin’ an observation.”

Anger—real anger this time—flared within Enya and she scoffed, rolling her eyes at Cillian. “An observation? If this is meant tae be an apology, then ye certainly need more practice.”

“Why, precisely, should I apologize?” Cillian asked as he walked back to Enya, quickly getting worked up as well. “What have I done which warrants an apology?”

“Ye have insulted me time after time,” Enya pointed out, though she didn’t think it needed to be said. If Cillian couldn’t see how rude he was being, then perhaps he was even more of a lost cause than she had originally thought. “An’ yet ye still claim innocence. If me presence here is such a burden tae ye, perhaps I should depart.”

Maybe this was her chance, Enya thought. Could it truly be so easy as to offer to leave and have Cillian accept, ending any plans of this marriage that now, more than ever, seemed like a sham to her? For what seemed like an eternity, Cillian made no sound and Enya was left to hope he would agree and release her—and by extension, Thora—from this terrible duty. He was considering it; he must have if the pensive look he gave her was any indication.

But then, Cillian simply shook his head. “Ye are free tae leave if ye so wish, but I willnae be the one tae disobey the king’s orders.”

Enya had to swallow back a frustrated groan along with a curse. She had been foolish to even consider it could be so easy. Naturally, Cillian wanted to be cautious and a few arguments between them were not enough to force him to reject her. She would have to act so foolishly and so out of line that he would have no other choice but to send her away. But until then, she could do nothing else but put up with him.

“Why should I disobey the king’s orders?” Enya asked. “I will stay, as is me duty.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The two of them stared at each other in silence, neither knowing what to say now that they had come to this dead end in the conversation. As Enya looked at him, she couldn’t help but wonder what it was he was thinking; Cillian seemed like such a difficult man to decipher, though she usually had little problem reading people. Cillian let few people come close and it showed from the shuttered expression that kept everything locked behind his gaze.

At least Enya knew the things that were important to her: Cillian loved order and detested anything that disturbed it in any way. As long as she took advantage of that, sooner or later he wouldn’t care about the king’s orders any more.

Another heavy sigh escaped him as he paced back and forth in front of Enya. Her eyes darted around them, looking for a way out without having to sidestep him, but before she could escape the awkward situation, Cillian spoke again.

“If ye wish tae train, then I can arrange it.”

Enya frowned in confusion at the sudden change in topic before she realized it was his way of offering an olive branch. Though he refused to apologize, he thought perhaps that giving her the opportunity to train while in his castle would be enough to pacify her for the time being.

It wasn’t so much the offer itself, though, as much as the unexpectedness of the situation that had Enya stumbling over her words, not knowing what to say.

“I… that… I dinnae think that will be necessary,” she said in the end, for lack of anything better to say. She didn’t plan on staying there for so long, after all, and she hardly needed the training. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Cillian nodded once, sharply and curtly. Then, he started to walk away, but soon came to a halt again, looking expectantly at Enya, who could only stare at him in confusion once again.

What daes he want? Why is he always lookin’ at me like that?

“Walk with me,” said Cillian, gesturing at Enya to follow him. She did so a little reluctantly, and the two of them walked not back towards the training grounds, but rather deeper into the gardens, where the path was surrounded by shrubbery which, come spring, would suffuse the air with the color and fragrance of their blooms. Now, it was nothing but green and brown, the twigs covered in a thin layer of frost.

Enya walked next to Cillian without saying a word. There was no sound around them save for the whistling of the wind and the crunch of the dead leaves under their shoes, the faint sounds of the men from the training area fading more and more with every step they took.

“I didnae think a lass like ye would be allowed to train, even with her braithers,” said Cillian, breaking the silence between them.

Enya glanced up at him from the corner of her eye, mouth twitching up in amusement. “Why?”

Cillian shrugged a shoulder. “I suppose it isnae the norm in Jura. Or anywhere else, as far as I’m aware.”

“It isnae the norm in me clan, either, but many o’ our women ken how tae fight,” Enya said. “Me faither always said we have Vikin’ blood an’ we should honor it.”

“Dae ye?” Cillian asked, meeting Enya’s gaze with a small smile.

“So it is said in me family,” said Enya. “We are descended from a Jarl, though sometimes I wonder if it’s all a story an’ we’re really descended from just a simple warrior who came here all that time ago.”

“The latter does sound more… romantic,” said Cillian and though for a moment Enya thought he was mocking her, when she looked at him, he seemed entirely serious. “A warrior, a poor one, perhaps, settling there an’ buildin’ an entire clan. He must have been a formidable man.”

Enya couldn’t help but be a little amused by the faraway look in Cillian’s eyes, as though he was imagining this man that may or may not have existed at all vividly, thinking about his life and his battles.

“Is this yer aspiration?” she asked. “Tae build somethin’ that will still exist so many generations later?”

“What more can a man want?” Cillian asked. “Would ye nae like tae be remembered?”

“He isnae remembered,” Enya pointed out. “Nay one who is alive now kens who he was.”

“An’ yet a part o’ him remains, whether he was a Jarl or a poor soldier.”

“Aye,” said Enya. “That much is true.”

She couldn’t blame Cillian for those ambitions, of course. She understood it, even, this desire to make a lasting impact, to build something of his own. It was a trait necessary in a laird, a force that propelled him forward.

“An’ ye?” Cillian asked. “What dae ye want in life if it isnae tae be remembered?”

Enya didn’t need to think about it. She already knew the answer and had always known it, ever since she was a young girl.

“I wish tae help people as much as I can,” she said. “I wish tae take away their pain an’ save as many lives as I can.”

She had sworn to herself that she would do so and she had never broken that promise since. There was no one else with a gift like hers—at least as far as Enya knew—and though all the burden fell on her when it came to the clan and her people, she didn’t mind shouldering it. It had always been her path, what she had been born for.

When she met Cillian’s gaze, she saw, for the first time, something akin to admiration in them.