Page 38 of Kilted Sins

“Tell me!”

“I cannae sleep with ye so close tae me!” Cillian shouted before he could stop himself. The moment the words were out of his mouth, his cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he and Thora stared at each other in shock, neither of them able—or even willing—to believe he had made that admission.

She pushed me! What other choice did I have?

“Ach,” said Thora rather unhelpfully. Her own cheeks were a bright red, seemingly glowing in the dim light. She parted her lips as if to speak again, but no words came out, and in the end, they ended up simply staring at each other in an embarrassed silence, until Cillian couldn’t take it anymore.

Not knowing what else to do, he lay back down in bed, turned his back to Thora once more, and drew the covers all the way up to his chin. At least all the embarrassment and the frustration had served to dampen his excitement, and though he wished he would disappear off the face of the Earth, at least he was no longer aroused.

He knew that even so; sleep would not come.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Enya woke up with a start, sitting upright on a bed that wasn’t hers, in a room that was only vaguely familiar. At first, disoriented and still in the haze of sleep, she didn’t know what had woken her, but it quickly became clear to her that the source of her sudden awakening was Cillian.

Cillian, who was screaming in his sleep, tossing and turning so violently next to her that all the covers were bunched and wound tightly around him.

Before Enya could do anything about it, Cillian woke up, too, springing up from the bed. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled for air, and his forehead was drenched in sweat, strands of hair sticking to the skin. His grey eyes were wide and fearful as they took in his surroundings, and he only began to calm down when he realized where he was, falling back onto the bed with a weary sigh.

Enya said nothing. She had witnessed his terror and she didn’t think words could offer him any comfort. Instead of speaking, she slowly reached for him and took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. At first, she thought he might pull away, but before long, Cillian tightened his grip on her hand, holding onto her for dear life.

For a long time, they stayed like that, in silence. It was near dawn, the very first of the day’s light just peeking in through the window and as Enya waited for him to calm his breathing, the room turned brighter and brighter until she could see the haunted look in his gaze. When Cillian spoke again, his voice was rough and quiet, barely audible over the crackle of the last remnants of the fire.

“I didnae mean tae startle ye,” he said.

“I’m nae concerned about that,” Enya assured him. “Dae ye wish tae tell me what is wrong?”

Once again, Cillian fell silent and Enya thought he wouldn’t tell her what he had seen. This time too, though, he proved her wrong.

“Me sister,” he said. “I had… I had a sister. Isabella. She is long gone, though.”

A pang of pain pierced through Enya’s heart as she looked at Cillian struggle to speak, swelling as though he was trying to push down his grief. She moved a little closer to him, still holding onto his hand, wishing her powers could also fix this kind of pain.

“What happened tae her?”

“She was killed in a raid,” Cillian said. “An’ I… I couldnae save her. I couldnae dae anythin’ fer her. I tried tae but the truth is I failed her, Thora. I failed her an’ there is naethin’ I can dae tae bring her back.”

As he spoke, Enya could see the glint of tears in his eyes, but Cillian was quick to close them and clench his teeth, trying to will them away. His grief was palpable, almost contagious. It seeped into the air around them, weighing down on them both.

Enya was certain there was nothing Cillian could have done to save his sister, otherwise she would be alive. However, the regret was eating him up from the inside, that much was obvious, and she didn’t think reassuring him that he had done his best would be enough or even what he needed at all. She understood him, though. She, too, felt like she had let someone down.

“Some wounds take a long time tae heal,” she said. “Some may never heal completely. We all carry regret with us over the people we have loved and lost.”

Cillian opened his eyes then and looked at her, his gaze so piercing that Enya felt as though she was being flayed wide open. In that moment, she could have sworn that he knew; he knew how she had failed her mother, how she couldn’t save her, how all the siblings had failed to save their parents, though logically, he couldn’t have possibly known. She could have sworn they understood each other perfectly, even without sharing any other words.

“Will it always hurt, then?” Cillian asked.

“It might,” said Enya. “But wounds hurt less every day.”

Nodding, Cillian buried himself deeper under the covers and Enya joined him, lying back down onto the mattress. She watched him for a while, Cillian with his eyes closed, until his breathing evened out. Only then did she close her own eyes, letting sleep claim her once more.

The entire time, neither of them let go of the other’s hand.

When Enya woke a short while later, Cillian was already gone, the bed cold and empty next to her. The storm had passed, though, and though the sky was still cloudy, the day was bright, with no threat of another snowfall. Pushing herself out of bed, she was glad to find that even though it was still a little chilly, the draft that had ravaged the castle the previous day was now gone. She was also surprised to see that someone—most likely Cillian himself—had tossed some wood into the fire so that it still burned, and Enya walked over to the fireplace, her hands rubbing up and down her arms as she traced a short path back and forth.

Through the window, she could hear laughter and shouts, and it was then that it occurred to her that the hunt was meant to take place that very day. It was still early in the morning, just an hour or so past the first light of the day, but Enya dressed quickly and headed out to the courtyard where everyone else was already gathering.

She had already agreed to join the hunt. The thought of killing any living thing for fun was against everything she stood for, but the hunt was a great tradition of the MacDonald Clan. Not only were they famous for their hunters, but they were also proud of them and their skills. If Enya refused to participate, it would be frowned upon by everyone in the clan, not just Cillian.