Page 4 of Kilted Sins

It occurred to Cillian, then, that the girl was, in fact, Thora MacLeod and he had been wrong to assume otherwise. Not only that, but she seemed to have plenty to say to him and plenty for which to complain.

“I make this journey tae visit ye in yer home,” she continued. “I brave the seas in this storm an’ then I come tae yer door, drenched an’ weary an’ in need of shelter and warmth, an’ this is how ye receive me? Such arrogance! Never have I met a man like ye in me life an’ fer that, I am glad.”

There was another spike of irritation within Cillian at her accusations, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny he was intrigued by this girl with the fiery character hidden behind deep blue eyes and a face like a doll’s.

“Fergive me, I wasnae aware o’ yer identity, Miss MacLeod,” Cillian said coldly. He was exhausted and if he were honest, he wanted nothing to do with this marriage at all. “Had I kent, I can assure ye I would have arranged a better welcome. But ye were also terribly late.”

“In case ye havenae noticed, there is a storm outside!” Thora said, pointing a furious finger at the castle doors. “O’ course we were delayed!”

Cillian stared at her, unimpressed by her tantrum and the fact that she wasn’t apologetic at all either. “Surely, yer trip could have been planned better.”

Thora seemed to have no response for this. She only stared at him in disbelief, her mouth hanging open as though she could hardly believe her own ears. Perhaps no one had told her of Cillian’s temperament, but he thought that was her family’s mistake. He had a reputation. They should have told her he wasn’t one of those charming princes who only existed in fairytales.

“I suppose ye have arranged fer accommodation,” Thora said as she stomped towards him, trailing water and mud everywhere. “Or have ye forgotten, like ye forgot about yer manners?”

As she approached Cillian, Thora slipped on the stone floor and desperately tried to reach for something, only for her hands to grasp nothing but air. Cillian was right there, though, and grabbed her just in time, holding her upright against him.

For a moment, their gazes met and from up close, Cillian could see the flecks of gold in Thora’s eyes, along with the fury that burned behind them. He could only smirk, though, his amusement with her antics to distract him from everything else.

Behind him, a snort of laughter echoed in the room. Cillian recognized the sound as one belonging to Duncan, and he watched in fascination as Thora’s cheeks turned a bright pink, blood flooding to her face. Before Cillian could say anything, Thora slapped his hands away from her and straightened, smoothing her cloak over her torso in an attempt to calm herself.

“Ye will regret this,” she warned as she made to walk past Cillian once more, this time with slower, more careful steps. “Ye will wish ye had never met me.”

Cillian couldn’t help but watch Thora as she walked out of sight, disappearing behind the nearest corner. He didn’t know where she was going. As far as he knew, she had no idea where she was going either, since the stairs to the upper floor, where her chambers were meant to be, were to the other side.

Ach, well… a servant will help her.

“Seriously,” Archibald mumbled under his breath and Cillian turned to see him as he glared at Duncan. “Was any o’ this truly necessary?”

“It is what it is,” said Duncan. “The lass seems more trouble than she’s worth. Conceited wee thing… she should have shown Cillian more respect.”

Archibald remained silent, but Cillian could see the way his jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as he forced himself to swallow his words. Cillian was glad for it; the last thing he needed was for Archibald and Duncan to get in an argument over this, when he had so much else to worry about.

Now that he had met Thora, his anger had been replaced by curiosity. He couldn’t say he was happy about the arrangement; quite the opposite, in fact, as he still had no desire to marry her and he still knew next to nothing about her. The little he did know, though, told him this was going to be far from a simple betrothal.

It would be war.

CHAPTER THREE

Abrute, a savage, a… a beast!

None of these words were enough to describe Laird MacDonald. The indifference with which he and his men had treated her was shocking to Enya; never before had she been treated so dismissively, the other party ignoring her entirely and even going as far as to be angered by her presence. Laird MacDonald had clearly not realized who she was, but that was no excuse. Was this how he treated those he considered beneath him, she wondered? Was this how he acted around servants?

Enya would not stand for it. Thora could not possibly be forced to wed a man like Laird MacDonald and spend the rest of her life under his cruel gaze and tyrannical ways, and so now she was more determined than ever to ruin any chance of this wedding taking place. She was Thora’s only hope and Enya wouldn’t let down her sister when she needed her the most.

As long as I have a say, this weddin’ willnae happen.

As Enya walked through the corridors of MacDonald Castle being guided to the chambers prepared for her—or rather for Thora—by a young maid who had been hastily procured by the laird’s right-hand man, she looked around, taking in the details of what would be her home for the foreseeable future. MacDonald Castle seemed just as unpleasant as the man to whom it belonged, though Enya didn’t know whether that was because of the miserable weather that had left her soaked and dripping rainwater on the stone floors, her own bias, or simply the fact that it was, indeed, cold and austere. The grey stone of the walls and the floor now seemed impossibly dark, illuminated by nothing other than the torches that burned at short intervals. The few decorations—an old armor, standing sentinel by a door Enya passed, a few faded portraits—gave the place no warmth but instead cast long shadows on their surroundings that moved with every flicker of the flames. Save for the howling of the wind and the relentless drumming of the rain that still battered the castle, there were no other sounds around Enya, as though the castle was emptier than it had seemed at first.

I wonder if the men made it safely.

She had had to leave all the guards save for one behind at the port, so they could bring all their belongings to the castle when the weather improved a little. The one who had accompanied her had been stopped by Laird MacDonald’s guards at the gate and though she had been allowed to continue, under the assumption that as a woman, she posed no threat, but she didn’t know what had happened to him. In her brief conversation with the laird’s closest advisor, Archibald MacCallum, he had assured her he would make sure all her men were safe and had comfortable lodgings for their stay.

Archibald could prove useful, Enya thought. He was certainly much more pleasant than Laird MacDonald.

“These will be yer chambers, me lady,” said the young woman as she opened a door to Enya’s left, into a large room with a sitting area, decorated in rich reds and greens. Beyond it was another, smaller room, one which housed a bed carved in dark wood. The mattress looked so inviting that Enya had half a mind to simply collapse on top of it and sleep the rest of the evening away, but soaked as she was, she supposed she needed a warm bath first. “They belonged tae the late Lady MacDonald. Are they tae yer likin’?”

Brushing her fingers over the surface of a side table and finding it pristine, Enya looked at the maid and smiled. “They are lovely,” she said, though she was certain the mere thought of her occupying the chambers that belonged to his mother would surely anger Laird MacDonald to no end. Let him rage, Enya thought. It would only make her plan easier.