Page 58 of Kilted Sins

“Then how did ye never see how much I loved Eleanor?”

Duncan sounded like a wounded animal, holding nothing but grief. Even under these circumstances, it was difficult not to feel sympathy for him. He suddenly seemed like a man who had already died many years before and was simply roaming around the living since.

“Eleanor? Me sister,” Cillian asked, in disbelief.

“Aye.” Duncan said. “I loved her! I wanted tae wed her an’ ye… ye let her die. This is me revenge!”

Enya could see the exact moment that something broke in Cillian at the accusation. He had believed for so long that he was to blame for his sister’s death, and now his own friend wanted to kill him for it. Surely, it only served to make him feel that he was to blame after all.

“Why did ye waited all these years?”

“I tried tae talk mesel’ out of it. But then ye were ordered tae get married and… Ye dinnae deserve tae be happy after what ye’ve done!”

“I ken now that Malcom MacNeil is the man who killed Eleanor in that raid,” Cillian said, his voice dripping with hatred.

“Shut yer mouth!” Duncan shouted. “Ye ken naethin’.”

Enya could listen no longer. She wanted Cillian to be safe, and despite her sympathy for Duncan’s pain, she wanted him to know that Cillian was right.

“’Tis true, MacNeil just told me as much…’twas him who raided the castle years ago.”

“I kenned it!” Cillian exclaimed, after turning briefly tae look at Enya. He seemed relieved to see MacNeil dead and Kai standing next to her, protecting her. “An’ she would certainly hate ye if she could see ye now, Duncan,” he said, turning back to his childhood friend. “Ye sided with the man who took her from us.”

That was too much for Duncan. He seemed to vibrate with rage, his entire body shaking as he let out a wordless scream and charged like a bull towards Cillian, their swords meeting with a deafening clang. Enya watched in horror as they attacked each other again and again, trading blow after blow in a vicious fight. This was personal for them both, she knew. They both fought like they wanted to destroy the other, their anger getting the better of them both and leaving nothing behind but destruction.

It wasn’t difficult to see they weren’t evenly matched, though. Duncan was a skilled fighter, but he didn’t have Cillian’s speed or strength, and it didn’t take long for Cillian to dominate the fight. Duncan could do nothing but defend himself, trying to dodge and deflect and run away from Cillian to save his neck, but no matter what he tried, Cillian was right there, dealing yet another attack.

The mention of his sister had turned him vicious, relentless. The man before Enya wasn’t Laird MacDonald, but rather a warrior, someone who was forged in steel and blood.

When Cillian’s blade plunged into Duncan’s stomach, Enya could have sworn she saw a tear run down her beloved’s cheek. With his free hand, he reached for Duncan, holding onto him as he lowered him to the ground, gentle even as Duncan jerked and spasmed, blood spraying out of his mouth as he coughed.

There was no real victory in killing him, Enya knew. By killing him, Cillian had lost a part of himself.

“Ach… ye were always the better fighter,” Duncan said, letting out a wheezing laugh. “But ye were never the smartest.”

As he spoke, Enya saw the glint of a blade in the sun as Duncan pulled out his sgian dubh. There was no time for her to scream, to warn him, to do anything other than watch, wide-eyed, as Duncan plunged the blade right into Cillian’s chest, near his heart.

And Enya, as though she had been the one to be struck, collapsed to the ground, lips splitting in a scream.

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Enya!”

Enya could hardly hear Kai as he screamed her name, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered but Cillian lying on the ground next to Duncan as blood fountained out of the wound in his chest. He was choking on it, his entire body convulsing as he struggled to draw air into his lungs, his eyes glassy and his gaze distant as he looked towards Enya.

But he wasn’t gazing at her, Enya realized. He was simply looking where his gaze had landed upon falling, his eyes betraying only the barest flickers of life.

She didn’t know how her feet carried her to him, how she reached him through all the bodies and the blood. Her legs were numb, and so was the rest of her body, but suddenly, she was on the ground next to him. She couldn’t see through the tears. She couldn’t hear over her roiling panic, her own heartbeat loud and jarring in her ears.

She had to heal him. She couldn’t let him die.

Slamming her hands onto Cillian’s chest, she poured all her energy into him; every bit of it that she could spare, every ounce that flowed through her. This time, there was no warmth, no tingling sensation to the tips of her fingers. Instead, there was searing heat, as though she was on fire, the air around her crackling and hissing. It was as though the very fabric of the universe was unraveling with it, tearing the air apart.

But the blood flow was lessening—whether that was because Enya was healing him faster than he could die or because he had so little blood left, she didn’t know. She simply had to believe she could do it.

Even if it would cost her her own life.

“Enya!” Kai shouted again just as he fell to the ground next to her, trying to wrench her away from Cillian. It didn’t matter how strong Kai was, though. It didn’t matter how furiously he tried to peel her off him. Her powers had taken root and unless she decided to stop, no one else could stop her. “Ye’ll kill yerself! Stop!”