Page 28 of Kilted Sins

“Ach, that’s right,” said Cillian. “It’s a good thing Duncan remembered.”

Enya nodded silently and then once again hovered near Cillian, not quite touching him. She only moved a little closer, releasing a heavy sigh, when he looked at her expectantly and began to tug at his tunic until she finally decided to help him.

As she did, Enya’s hands brushed over his arms, his chest, feeling the flex of his muscles as he moved under her fingers, the warm, smooth skin, the small, ridged scars that were scattered over it. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply touch, splaying her fingers over his chest, and she could have sworn then that Cillian’s breath hitched, his entire body shuddering under the touch.

But no, it couldn’t be. She was imagining things—and even if she wasn’t, then it was nothing she should encourage.

I am here fer me sister. I am here fer a specific purpose.

She couldn’t allow herself to forget that, not even for a moment. The fact that she had decided to help Cillian, the fact that she was now standing so close to him, the two of them sharing the same breath, was already too much. She had veered off-course. The best thing to do would be to heal him quickly, patch whatever was left of his wound, and then leave and pretend none of that had ever happened.

But when she looked up to Cillian’s face, she found him already staring at her, his lips parted and his eyes clouded with hunger. It was that look which affected her the most; that terrible look that was as appealing as it was terrifying, a promise and a threat at the same time.

Clearing her throat, Enya moved over to the side table and began to pick through the things there. She could only assume Skye had been the one to prepare it, as there were different salves and pastes and several pieces of clean cloth. The pitcher next to the tray held hot water, and Enya began by dipping some cloth in it before returning to Cillian and carefully cleaning the blood off the wound to take a better look at it.

It was, indeed, quite shallow, but not so shallow that it would heal without some attention. Slowly, Enya began to pour just trickles of her power into him, her lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to concentrate and control her powers as much as she could.

It was always a struggle, healing someone so slowly and in such a controlled manner. Her power always wanted to burst out of her like a fountain, altering everything and anything in its path, and it had taken her a long time to learn how to effectively control it, not only so she could remain undetected by those who didn’t know what she could do, but also so that the pain she received in returned would not overwhelm her, becoming unbearable before she had the chance to sever the connection.

As a young girl, her power had gotten out of her control plenty of times. Then, she had woken up hours later, remembering nothing but the phantom pain that would often still linger in her body and continued to do so for days after.

Now, she could hardly feel anything more than a sharp twinge as she passed the cloth over Cillian’s shoulder and her fingers trailed gently over his skin with the movement. She hoped she was exercising enough control for him to feel none of it or at least to feel so little that he could easily confuse it for the pain itself turning into a slight tingling sensation. Still, the one thing she could never control was the change in the air around her. It was something that neither she nor any of her siblings could avoid or control. Whenever one of them used their powers, it was as though the very fabric of reality around them shifted, the air standing utterly still, every part of creation holding its breath.

It was particularly noticeable when they were outside, where the breeze and the wind stopped within the span of a single moment, but even inside, in a room like this, the change was palpable and it didn’t escape Cillian’s notice.

“What are ye doin’ tae me?” he asked, and though he didn’t sound scared, not exactly, Enya still reeled back her powers even more, just short of stopping entirely.

“I’m only cleanin’ yer wound,” she said, in the most soothing tone she could muster. The last thing she needed was for Cillian to start questioning her. How could she avoid his questions? It wasn’t as though she could simply leave her task unfinished when she had been the one to suggest it in the first place.

Though Cillian said nothing more on the matter, Enya could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced by her response. Ignoring him, she focused on the wound and once she was satisfied with all the blood she had removed, she grabbed one of the pastes and began to apply it liberally over Cillian’s skin as her other hand pressed against his chest to steady him. Under her palm, she could feel his heartbeat, so fast and erratic that she could only assume she was somehow hurting him.

“Are ye in pain?” she asked, but Cillian was quick to shake his head.

“I’m fine,” he said through a shuddering breath. “It doesnae hurt. Oddly enough.”

Enya chanced a quick glance at his face and once again, Cillian was staring at her with that strange, curious look in his eyes. He was holding himself entirely still, almost resembling a statue. The only thing that gave him away was the beating of his heart and the searing warmth of his skin where her hand was pressed against him.

Enya didn’t know how much more of this she could take. Her own heart was beating fast, in a syncopated rhythm that made her feel as though she was about to faint at any given moment, simply because of Cillian’s presence. Her entire face burned with embarrassment and she was certain that he had noticed, but at least he had the decency to say nothing about it.

In fact, he wasn’t speaking at all, which was a blessing.

By the time Enya was done with the paste and had healed the worst of the damage, they had both almost ceased to breathe. Enya made quick work of the bindings around his shoulder, making sure the cloth was secured, and the moment she was satisfied with her work, she stepped back to give herself some much needed space.

Cillian blinked a few times as though he was trying to clear his head. He seemed to be in a daze for a few moments, his gaze distant and glazed over, but then his eyes met Enya’s and he frowned just a little, moving his arm experimentally in a circle.

“It doesnae hurt,” he said flatly.

“Well, I am glad,” said Enya as she cleaned up, placing everything back on the tray—eager to leave. “An’ ye are welcome.”

“Why doesnae it hurt?”

Enya swallowed a deep sigh and kept herself composed as she turned to give Cillian a bemused smile. “Because o’ the paste, o’ course,” she said. “It is truly wonderful what Skye can make with the right ingredients.”

“Skye has healed me afore,” said Cillian. “The pain has never magically disappeared.”

Enya had to stop herself from flinching at that word. Magically, Cillian had said, and he probably had no idea just how right he was about that.

“It is a new paste,” Enya was quick to say as she picked up the tray and headed to the door, eager to get out of that room as quickly as possible. “She showed it tae me a few days ago. Well, if ye will excuse me, I must return all this tae her. If ye feel any pain or show any signs o’ infection, ye can tell Skye.”