Page 12 of Kilted Sins

But Enya wouldn’t behave. She wasn’t even doing this for herself. She was rather doing it for her sister, she wouldn’t let Thora be dragged into this wedding.

Besides, maybe it was already too late, Enya thought. She had revealed a little too much about herself, and even if she and Thora looked remarkably alike, to the point that very few people could tell them apart, they were not the same person. If all of a sudden, her personality changed drastically, then Cillian was bound to suspect something was wrong.

As she lay in bed, looking up at the wooden ceiling of her bed, she tried to think of ways to anger Cillian even more and to give him a good reason to send her away. She was willing to stoop quite low, even if that ended up besmirching the name of her family, but at the same time, she didn’t want to do something so drastic that it would ruin Thora’s chances of ever marrying a good man.

As much as Enya tried, though, her mind was blank, devoid of ideas. The atmosphere at dinner had cut her appetite short and she had ended up eating little of the food she had been served, which led to her stomach rumbling from hunger now late at night. With a sigh, she stood and dressed hastily, not bothering with her full attire, as she doubted she would encounter anyone but guards roaming the castle in the middle of the night. She just needed to be decent enough for a trip to the kitchens.

If she ran into one of the elders, all the better.

Making her way down to the kitchens through the dark corridors of the castle, Enya entered it, only to come to a sudden halt when she saw that someone else was already there, hunched over a plate piled high with meat and vegetables, next to a small tower of bannocks. When the man looked up at the sudden intrusion, Enya was surprised to see that it was none other than Cillian, his cheeks puffed with food as he devoured what was in front of him in the dim light of the room.

Momentarily, they both froze. Then, Enya laughed, unable to hold back her mirth. Cillian chuckled as well, taking a moment to swallow, and just like that, the tension between them was gone.

“I didnae think there would be someone else here,” Enya said, as she wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders, now suddenly a little self-conscious of her disheveled appearance. “Did ye nae eat at dinner?”

“Dinner was a disaster,” Cillian reminded her as he pushed the bench across from him on the small kitchen table back with his foot so she could take a seat. Far from a formal invitation, Enya took the seat regardless, leaning onto her elbows on the table just as her governess had taught her never to do. “Ye made sure o’ it.”

“I think me presence was the least upsettin’ thing at that table,” Enya said. “Did ye nae hear what yer council said?”

Or dae ye simply nae care?

“If ye’re referrin’ tae the villagers an’ the grain, then aye, I heard,” said Cillian drily, giving Enya a pointed look. “An’ I asked fer the report. Be assured it is a matter o’ immediate concern.”

“So ye can punish them?”

“So I can help them.”

Enya blinked at Cillian in surprise, but he only looked at her for a moment before his gaze fell on his plate and he continued to eat, ignoring her reaction. Perhaps it was unfair of her to think that he would simply ignore the troubles of his people or that he would side with the two elders and seek out those responsible so he could have them hanged, but then again, she truly knew very little about this man sitting before her and the first impression he had made had been far from ideal.

For a while, the two of them sat in silence, Cillian glancing up at Enya every now and then as she picked at a bannock from the plate, bringing small bites to her lips. Then, he picked some food on his fork and held it out towards her.

It took Enya a few seconds to realize what he was doing and she stared at the fork hovering in front of her, too stunned to move. Her heartbeat picked up, thundering through her entire body, and her cheeks heated under Cillian’s gaze as he patiently waited for her to take the bite, but she was at a loss for what to do.

Never had she shared a moment like this with a man. This suddenly seemed too intimate, too strange, and two warring desires emerged within her: on the one hand, she wanted to lean forward and take what she was offered—maybe even see what else Cillian would offer her—and on the other hand, she wanted to flee.

Cillian pushed the fork a little closer to her and that was what did it. Enya took the bite offered, lips twitching up momentarily into a small smile, one that Cillian was quick to mirror. When he stood, Enya followed him with her gaze as he retrieved another fork and returned to the table, handing it to her.

“There’s too much on this plate,” he said. “Eat.”

Once again, Cillian seemed to lack all regard for decorum, but in a way, Enya found it comforting. It was exhausting, having to remember her manners all the time or having to defy them on purpose. For a short while, as the two of them sat in the candlelit kitchen, she could allow herself to relax and feel as though she were back home.

It was only when she had had that first bite that Enya realized just how hungry she was, and now she tucked in, unabashed of her appetite. Whoever the cook was in that castle, Enya wanted to thank them with tears in her eyes; the food was even better than what the cook back home served them, and it was the only good thing about her stay in Jura so far.

“Why dae ye still have those men in yer council?” Enya asked after a long stretch of silence. The question had been bothering her ever since Cillian had told her he wanted to help the villagers and though it was none of her business, she couldn’t stop herself from asking. If Cillian truly wanted to help, as he claimed, then surely, he wouldn’t allow such men in his council.

“They’ve been servin’ the clan ever since me faither was laird,” Cillian said with a small shrug. “An’ I understand they are… conservative in their approaches, but they’re nae bad men.”

“They wished tae let the villagers starve.”

“They wished tae help the clan,” Cillian was quick to say, “in their own way. As much as ye may disagree with them, nae everythin’ they dae is wrong. They are wise men. They ken what is good fer the clan an’ what isnae, an’ when they suggest somethin’ like this, either I or Archibald stop them afore they can act on their plans.”

Enya busied herself with a few bites of food, not knowing how to respond to that. It seemed that she had truly misjudged Cillian, at least when it came to the way he ran the clan, but for all she knew, she had been correct in every other assessment she had made of him.

“Daes all this surprise ye?” Cillian asked, breaking the silence.

“A little,” Enya admitted. “Ye cannae blame me fer thinkin’ ye a brute.”

“Perhaps ye werenae wrong,” said Cillian, though there was a teasing tone behind his words and his lips quirked up in a small smirk. “I may still be a brute.”