Page 17 of Kilted Sins

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?”