Page 51 of Kilted Sins

There was no one else for her. Cillian was the only man she could ever love.

It only took a few more thrusts for Enya to reach her climax with a cry, her pleasure so intense that the world seemed to go off-kilter, the rush of blood in her ears the only thing she could hear. Her muscles seized, her limbs locking around Cillian to keep him close, and she could do nothing but give in to that pleasure, riding it out until it slowly faded.

Cillian, too, soon followed her with a few erratic thrusts, his control slipping. With a mumbled curse, he pulled out just enough to take himself in his hand, spilling into his palm, and Enya couldn’t help but be a little resentful for it. She wanted nothing more than to couple with him to the end, to be the one to marry him and have his children, but reality had already crashed down upon her, reminding her of their situation.

She dreaded the moment Cillian would pull back entirely from her and break the spell that had fallen over them, but it had soon come and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Cillian cleared his throat awkwardly, looking uncertain as he grabbed his handkerchief and cleaned himself up as quickly and subtly as he could. Enya pulled down her dress, cheeks heating once more, unable to meet Cillian’s eyes.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Enya didn’t even know what there was to say anymore. Was there anything she could say to fix this? Was there anything that would heal the wounds she had inflicted?

It was ironic, she thought. She was meant to be a healer. It was her gift; the one thing she was born to do. And yet, she had hurt Cillian in a way she could never fix.

“This… this doesnae change anythin’,” Cillian said. He, too, avoided her gaze, looking instead at the floor between his feet.

His words were like a lance to the heart, even though Enya had always known they would come. Hearing them spoken out loud, hurt even more than she had imagined, as they squandered even the last bit of hope she had held onto that things could be resolved between them.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and Enya was glad she was sitting, otherwise she was certain she would have collapsed to the floor. Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of Cillian’s desk, holding on for dear life, and though she said nothing to him, she couldn’t stop a hiccupped sob from escaping her.

“What I mean is,” said Cillian, sounding as though he was trying hard to force the words out, “I need tae think. I need tae think about this.”

Enya couldn’t ask for more. Even that was more than she had thought Cillian would give and it offered her some relief, at least, to hear that he would think about it. It meant that not all hope was lost—unless he was only saying it to calm her now that she was on the verge of tears.

Before she could ask him, she heard his boots thud against the floor and looked up to see him walking to the door, leaving the room without another word. Standing on trembling legs, Enya fixed her dress and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, furiously drying the tears that had fallen.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

It had been days since Enya had last seen Cillian. Despite the presence of guests, he had withdrawn from everything and everyone, dealing only with clan matters while Duncan and Archibald took care of everything else. On the one hand, Enya felt relief in his absence. She didn’t know how she could possibly look him in the eye, let alone speak to him, if their paths crossed. On the other hand, not only did she miss him, but she was also quickly becoming wary of Duncan.

“Miraculous things have been happenin’ lately in this clan,” he said casually, as he sauntered over to where Enya, her siblings, and Ava were sitting under the shade of a large oak on an old stone bench. He leaned against the trunk of the tree with the same relaxed air he always seemed to carry, and with his sudden presence followed a silence, all four of them tense as they waited to hear what else he would say.

It wasn’t the first time he had brought up the matter. Only a couple of days prior, he had asked Enya for her assistance with a minor wound and the entire time she was cleaning and wrapping it in cloth, he had been pestering her to make it go away faster, even as Enya assured him there was nothing she could do.

“What sort o’ things?” Kai asked and in his tone, Enya detected the first signs of confrontation. She shot him a warning look from the corner of her eye. The last thing they needed was for Duncan to take offence.

Could he have found out somehow? Perhaps he did an’ now he is merely curious.

Enya had been careful, though, even as she had used her powers. Only when Cillian was wounded badly did she take a major risk, healing him so much and so fast that it may have attracted some attention.

But who in their right mind would think she had healing powers? Enya could hardly believe it herself and she had spent her whole life with them.

“Well, it seems that some people who are injured heal very fast,” said Duncan. “Cillian, fer example. There was that battle recently in which he was badly wounded, an’ yet look at him now. There’s naethin’ wrong with him.”

“He is resilient,” said Enya. “An’ he is healthy an’ strong. Surely, that helped him heal faster.”

“Perhaps,” said Duncan and then fell silent. Enya avoided looking at her siblings then, not wanting to give anything away, but her distant stare was bound to be just as incriminating and suspicious.

There was only one way out of this awkward situation and that was to remove herself from it, so she stood, smoothing her hands over her dress.

“If ye’ll excuse me, there is somethin’ I must dae,” she said, and it was only a half-lie. She had already spoken to the smith that morning and he had told her the weapon she had asked him to make was ready, and she wanted to bring it to Cillian. It was bound to be an awkward situation, that much was true, but she hoped the gesture would at least alleviate some of that awkwardness and perhaps even some of the tension between them. Enya didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

After excusing herself, she made her way to the workshop at the other side of the castle grounds. There, on a table that had been cleared of all other items, lay a magnificent sword, a perfect copy of the one Cillian’s father wielded in his day, glinting in the sun.

“Me lady,” said the smith, bowing to her when he spotted her. “Shall I take the blade tae the laird?”

“Nay,” said Enya, shaking her head. “I will take it tae him.”

“It’s quite heavy, me lady.”

“Ach, dinnae fash. I can carry it meself.”