Page 23 of Kilted Sins

Rather, he was curious.

By the time he and the soldiers had reached Samuel, Thora was cradling his arm and her eyes had fallen shut. Even so, she looked as though she was far away, as if nothing but her physical body was there with them, and Cillian didn’t know what to make of that. It was only when she opened her eyes, her gaze instantly finding his, that she seemed to return, her presence like a gravitational force that pulled him closer.

What an odd lass.

A few moments seemed to stretch into eternity as Cillian gazed at Thora, trying to figure out what it was that had just happened—or rather what, precisely, it was that she had been doing. He was certain she was at the center of this, the driving force behind everything he had experienced, though he couldn’t possibly understand what said experience was or how she could have caused it.

When she broke their eye contact, she also seemed to break the spell.

“Are ye alright, Samuel?” Thora asked, and Samuel raised his arm, looking at it in confusion.

“Me arm…”

“Aye, I think ye bruised it,” said Thora before Samuel could finish his sentence. “But it’s naething some rest an’ some paste willnae fix. Daes it hurt?”

“Only a wee bit,” said Samuel. “But how⁠—”

“An’ yer head?” Thora asked, once again interrupting him. “How is yer head?”

Samuel frowned, one hand reaching behind him to stroke the back of his head. Though his fingers came away coated in blood, it was blood that had already congealed, as though the wound was already several hours old and that was what remained in his salt-and-pepper hair.

“I think me head is fine, too,” he said. “What happened? I thought I hit it.”

“Ye did,” said Thora. “But head wounds are as quick tae heal as they are quick tae bleed. It’s a shallow wound. There’s nae reason tae fash.”

They’re nae so quick tae heal. It couldnae have taken mere minutes.

It was impossible, Cillian was certain of it. No wound had ever healed so quickly, not even a paper cut, and yet he no proof nor even an idea of what had happened.

“Ye should take him tae Skye. She will want tae bind his arm an’ clean the wound,” Thora said. The men rushed to help Samuel up, but for a man who had taken such a serious fall, he was more than sprightly, even going so far as to stand on his own. Still, Cillian had his men support him and half-carry him to the healer’s cottage, just in case this was nothing but an illusion or a short-term fix.

For a while, he watched the soldiers as they took Samuel away, trying to decipher if there was anything different about him or anything that was alarming, but he found nothing. Dissatisfied by his observations, or rather the lack of them, he turned to Thora, who was looking anywhere but at him.

“That was a terrible accident,” Cillian said, testing the waters. “I thought he would have harmed himself much more seriously.”

“Well, the human body is very durable, much more than ye may think,” said Thora, staring off into the distance. “He was lucky tae fall the way he did. He could have injured himself very badly.”

Cillian hummed, not bothering to hide the fact that he was not convinced. “It was lucky that ye were so near,” he said. “Who kens what may have happened tae him if ye werenae here?”

“I didnae dae anythin’,” Thora said, in a way that seemed like an automatic denial to Cillian, as though it was something she had said several times before and was now simply used to it. “I simply asked him if he was alright an’ made sure he wasnae in any immediate danger.”

Cillian was certain, then, that Thora wouldn’t explain any of this to him. Her adamant denial of everything he had experienced, coupled with the hardness of her gaze, made it clear to him that all of his questions would once again go unanswered.

Who is this lass? Are all the MacLeods so strange?

“If that will be all, I think I will visit Skye meself,” said Thora before Cillian could ask her anything else. “I wish tae see if there is anythin’ I can dae tae assist.”

Just like that, she turned around and walked away without offering another word and Cillian was left to stare at her retreating figure with more questions in his mind than ever before.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“We have received word from our accomplice that Cillian MacDonald’s betrothed has reached Jura.”

Laird Malcolm MacNeil continued to stare out of the window in his study, hardly acknowledging his advisor’s presence. He stared out at the lands that stretched under the hill where his castle stood—a sprawling landscape covered by frost and snow from the last storm that had ravaged the area.

Though he couldn’t see it, he was staring right in the direction of the Isle of Jura. Laird MacDonald was somewhere there, undoubtedly unaware of this report and of the fact that someone out there, so far from where he was, was discussing him and his betrothed.

Thora MacLeod… so, the king’s orders are bein’ fulfilled.