Page 34 of Kilted Sins

It was a terrible thing. She had to push that attraction deep down into the darkest crevices of her mind from where it would never resurface. She had one job and one job only while she was in Jura: make herself as unlikeable to Cillian as possible.

And yet, despite her best efforts, Cillian didn’t seem to hate her nearly as much as he should. He often reached his breaking point with her, that much was true, but he had neither sent her away nor refused to see her. Even now that he knew of Archibald’s plan to get the two of them together, he hadn’t refused. Enya could not begin to guess what that could mean, though, and so she didn’t attempt to decipher Cillian’s behavior.

After all, he was a strange man. She had known as much from the first moment she had seen him.

At his next attempt, Enya allowed him to get close before she slid to the side to escape. As she moved, though, Cillian’s arm snaked around her waist and pulled her closer, stopping her from escaping his reach. The dull edge of his sword dug right into the flesh under her ribs, that soft, unguarded opening between her bones, and his fingers held tightly onto her to keep her from leaving his grip.

Trapped as she was, she couldn’t even move her weapon.

“Ye shouldnae allow yer opponent tae get so close,” said Cillian, the low, rumbling baritone of his voice soft and quiet in her ear. “Dae ye see? If I were an enemy, I would have killed ye an’ there would have been naethin’ ye could have done about it.”

Enya had nothing to say to that—no clever retort, no complaint, not even an admission of defeat. It was as though she had forgotten all the words she had ever learned, the proximity, the heat of Cillian’s body as it pressed against hers filling her mind with a thick fog through which she could perceive nothing else but him. Cillian seemed to have nothing else to say either, as he stood there in silence, still holding onto Enya’s waist, refusing to let go.

When she gathered the courage to look into his eyes, she saw nothing but desire; a hunger so strong and obvious that it startled her. She couldn’t help but wonder if she, too, was looking at him like that, with the same intensity mirrored in her eyes.

Enya ached to feel Cillian’s lips against hers in a kiss. She ached to feel more of his touch, to press up against him and take in all the warmth she could. Every brush of his chest as it rose and fell with each breath he took, every slight flex of his muscles, every twitch of his fingers was enough to drive her mad with lust and need, beckoning her ever closer and drawing her into Cillian’s inescapable orbit.

She could kiss him. She could bridge the gap between them and finally have what she wanted the most.

Instead, she shoved Cillian back, heart hammering in her chest. For a moment, he looked stunned as he stumbled backwards, but when she grinned and assumed a fighting stance once more, he answered with a grin of his own.

I must remember why I’m here. I cannae forget. This is fer Thora.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Hold!”

Cillian held up his hand as he and his party of a dozen men approached what looked like the remains of a camp. The evidence was still fresh—fresh tracks, traces of a fire that had only recently been put out, and even a torn scrap of fabric that could have been from someone’s clothes or from a tent. Whatever it was, people had been there recently.

He cursed under his breath. Just that morning, he had received a report that claimed there were unknown soldiers in the woods near the castle, and so he had gathered some of his men to patrol for any signs of their presence. The entire time, he had hoped the report was false and that his scouts had simply mistaken some travelers for soldiers, but this deep into the woods, there could be no travelers.

Why would anyone come so deep intae the forest if they are travellin’? They would stay near the path.

“So, they were right,” said Archibald as he brought his horse to a stop next to Cillian. “What will we dae?”

“We keep lookin’,” said Cillian. “They cannae be too far.”

With a nod, Archibald gathered the men and they all resumed their search, weaving through the trees, bringing their horses through bushes and branches, and over thick, twisting roots. It was a laborious trek, one that took them a long time as they navigated the faint paths, but after an hour of searching, the trees began to thin out and in the far distance, beyond the edges of the forest, Cillian could see a group of men riding away from them.

“There,” he said, pointing at them. “There they are.”

Catching up to them seemed impossible, though, and the weather had already begun to turn. Thick, dark clouds gathered above them and the air was charged as if a terrible storm was approaching. If they kept pursuing that group, they could easily be stuck in the middle of it.

“Shall we continue?” Archibald asked, but Cillian shook his head. Now that they had stopped in a less dense part of the woods and the wind blew furiously through the trees, he was chilled to the bone and he was certain the same was true for his men. There was no avoiding getting caught in the storm, but at least they could be making their way back to avoid the worst of it.

“Nay,” he said. “Let us return tae the castle. We shouldnae be out in this weather.”

Just as their party turned around to head back to the castle, the first drops of rain began to fall, splashing against the leaves of the evergreen trees and against the frozen ground. For a while, as they headed deeper into the woods, the storm seemed to weaken—until they made it through to the other side, where there were no trees to shelter them from any of it. Rain and hail battered them as they rode as fast as they could over the sleet-covered path, the chill seeping into their skin and bones until they were all shivering. Even with the torches carried by the men who led the group, the sky was so dark, the sun having set a while ago and the moon making no appearance through the thick clouds, that Cillian felt as though he was riding through the deeper, darkest ink, seeing nothing past the two flames they used as a guide.

By the time they made it back to the castle, it was late at night and they were all wet to the skin, their clothes soaked with rain. Cillian had the kind of exhaustion that settled into every part of the body, his muscles sore and protesting as he climbed off his horse.

All he wanted was a warm bath and his bed. He couldn’t even bring himself to eat anything, not when he was so cold and exhausted.

It’s very late… I shouldnae ask the servants fer a bath.

He could, but he figured it was too much of a chore when he could simply use the baths and bother no one so late at night. It wouldn’t be the first time he had used them, after all, and he was more than capable of heating the water himself.

Before he headed to the baths, Cillian grabbed a cloth to dry himself, along with a change of clothes from his chambers. Then, he made his way to the small, squat building at the back of the castle, surprised to find it filled with steam when he stepped inside.