Page 27 of Kilted Sins

Cillian nodded. It was unfortunate, but there were other ways to find out who those men were and how they had travelled so far into his lands. For now, all he wanted to do was head back and rest, as the weariness settled heavy on his shoulders, his exhaustion catching up to him.

An’ maybe now I can find out what it is Thora did tae Samuel.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Enya heard of Cillian’s injury before the man had even managed to walk through the main entrance of the castle. News truly spread fast through the servants and within minutes, the entire castle was aware that Cillian had gone into the forest in pursuit of some brigands and had sustained an injury while fighting them.

No one could tell Enya what kind of injury it was, though. Some of the servants claimed it was nothing concerning while others claimed he was on his deathbed and there was little Skye could do to save him.

Rushing out to the courtyard, Enya came face to face with Cillian, who was making his way inside. When she saw him, not only alive but also up and walking, the relief that washed over her was so powerful that she was almost brought to her knees, the cold hand of fear that had tightened around her chest finally releasing her.

I should have kent the servants would exaggerate.

Cillian was hurt; there was no doubt about that. Blood, dark and viscous, covered his left shoulder and trailed a path down his arm, all the way to his fingers, but from where she stood, it seemed like the wound had more or less stopped bleeding and was not so deep as to be a dire emergency. As long as it was kept bandaged and Cillian managed to avoid an infection, he should be fine, she thought.

But what if it gets infected? Then he’ll truly be in danger.

Of course, Enya could deal with any infection if it happened, but then another concern crept up on her from the depths of her mind. What if she left Jura before that happened? What if Cillian was left helpless to fight an infection on his own just because Enya hadn’t healed his wound right away?

But what are the chances o’ that ever happenin’?

The clever thing would be to take him to Skye, so she could apply a salve and bind his shoulder. She was a skilled healer and she was more than capable of dealing with any possible complications, even if Enya wasn’t there to help. There was no real reason for concern. It was riskier to use her powers to heal him, especially since she had seen the way Cillian had looked at her after she had healed Samuel. His curiosity had been almost palpable in the air between them and she had done nothing to quench it, but had rather only avoided his questions.

Surely, he was even more curious now.

Enya knew she should tell his men to take him to Skye. She should not put a single finger on him and try to heal him. It was far too risky and she would be asking for trouble.

“Why are ye lookin’ at me like that?”

Startled, Enya almost jumped out of her skin when she heard Cillian’s voice. Only then did she realize that she had been staring, frozen in the spot where she stood as she contemplated her next move. She swallowed in a dry throat and parted her lips, intending to advise him to visit Skye’s cottage.

What she said, though, was very different.

“Ye’re hurt. Let me see the wound.”

The moment she spoke those words out loud, Enya cursed silently, regretting the moment she decided to speak at all. She had already offered her help now—or rather, she had demanded to see the wound—and so there was no going back.

“Alright,” said Cillian and then swiftly dismissed his men, Duncan included, before he gestured at her to follow him. As he strode through the castle corridors, Enya jogged to keep up with him, the hem of her dress swishing around her feet.

Before long, they were once again in Cillian’s chambers, which had become an oddly familiar place for her, though it was the first time she was seeing the place bathed in daylight. Thus, it was also the first time she had the chance to notice something about her surroundings.

Cillian’s chambers were richly furnished, with a large, wooden bed pushed up against one of the walls and intricate tapestries decorating the walls in dark greens and brilliant gold. The place was large, extending past where Enya had first thought it ended the other two times she had been there, but even so, there was little to suggest that anyone actually lived in that room. Had she been told it had laid empty for years, only maintained by the maids, she would have believed it.

Whether that meant Cillian was particularly meticulous with his belongings or he barely spent any time there, she didn’t know. Either way, it seemed devoid of any warmth and personality and it was nothing like the rooms back home, where each of the siblings had created a space for themselves.

“Well?” Cillian asked, spreading his arms wide as if in invitation. “Ye said ye wished tae look at the wound.”

“Aye,” said Enya, her cheeks heating just slightly at her behavior. She was certain she seemed very odd that day, standing there and simply staring at Cillian without saying a word.

Slowly, she approached him, her hands hovering over his shoulder for a moment before she began to undo his armor with deft fingers. Cillian helped her with his uninjured hand, shedding the armor and letting it fall to the carpeted floor with a soft thud, but then made no other effort to remove the rest of his layers.

Should I try tae heal him like this? Nay, that would be foolish. O’ course he’d ken somethin’ is strange if I dinnae even take his tunic off.

The mere thought of removing Cillian’s tunic was enough to send her heart racing, though, and Enya’s blood rushed to her head, her veins thrumming with it. Never before had the proximity to another person when she was healing them felt so daunting, so utterly indecent when they were hardly even touching. How was she meant to heal him when she could hardly stand to be so close to him?

Before she could do anything else, though, she was once again startled. This time, it was a knock on the door that made her jump and pull back from Cillian, placing several steps’ worth of distance between them just before the door opened to reveal a maid who was carrying a small tray filled with all the supplies Enya could need to patch up the wound and which she didn’t even think of finding before Cillian had dragged her to his chambers, along with a steaming pitcher.

“Forgive me, me laird, me lady… Mr. MacThomas told me tae bring ye this,” she said, as she placed the tray on a side table, bowed, and left just as quickly as she had arrived.