Page 57 of Kilted Sins

Enya’s gaze was glued to the door, the shadows in the room and her own fear giving it an almost monstrous, menacing appearance. Closing her eyes firmly, she prayed and prayed, mumbling under her breath as her ears buzzed with the chaos outside.

And then the door was thrown open and Enya opened her eyes to see Cillian there, haloed by the light in the hallway as he heaved, his clothes and skin stained with blood. In his hand, he was holding the sword Enya had given him and that, too, was bloody, dripping crimson all over the floor.

With a wordless cry, Cillian ran to her and fell to his knees, the sword dropping from his hand as he reached for her face. Enya could feel the blood smeared on her cheeks, wet and tacky and warm, but she didn’t try to pull away from him, not when he looked so desperate.

“Ye’re alive,” he said. “Ye’re alive.”

Enya nodded, craning her neck to lean a little closer to him, as much as her bonds would allow. “I’m alright,” she assured him. “Dinnae fash, I’m nae hurt.”

For a few more moments, Cillian sat there, staring at Enya and brushing the hair off her face, seemingly overwhelmed and not knowing what to do. But then, he took a deep breath and composed himself, reaching for a small blade to cut the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles. The moment she was free, Enya sprung up off the chair and fell into Cillian’s arms, giving herself a moment to hold onto him tightly.

“Duncan is⁠—”

“I ken,” Cillian said, as he picked up his sword off the ground. “I ken. Thora told me. She saw it. But I dinnae understand why…”

There was only one other time Enya had seen Cillian so heartbroken before: when he had talked to her about his sister, whom he had not managed to save. It was no wonder, though, that he was devastated by Duncan’s betrayal

Taking a deep breath, Cillian grabbed Enya’s hand and began to pull her out of the room. “We must leave,” he said. “Hurry.”

Enya trailed after him, rushing to keep up with his pace, the two of them running through dim corridors. Enya tried to keep her gaze ahead—everything was covered in blood, bodies lying dead on the ground, and her stomach churned at the stench of blood that seemed to permeate everything. So many men had lost their lives, all because Laird MacNeil wanted to wage war on Cillian and his clan for reasons Enya didn’t even know.

So many people dead… so many I cannae heal.

She could only hope Cillian’s side didn’t have too many losses and that she could quickly heal all the injured. In the dark, she couldn’t tell which man belonged to which faction. They all looked the same, most of them young, all of them gone too soon.

When they stepped out into the morning light, Enya squinted at the sudden brightness, her head throbbing once more with the headache that, up until then, seemed to have subsided. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the scene before her, and she saw Cillian pull back from her just in time to block an attack from one of Laird MacNeil’s men.

The battle was still raging around them, Cillian’s and Laird MacNeil’s soldiers throwing themselves at each other with abandon, their swords meeting again and again. Enya, both hands now free, reached for the blade of one of the fallen soldiers but didn’t immediately attack any of them.

She had never seen a real battle and now it was difficult to bring herself to attack when she knew she could kill someone.

How could she take a life, even one that belonged to an enemy? How could she cause pain when her very existence dictated that she heal it?

“Ye!”

Enya turned at the sound of Laird MacNeil’s surprised voice at finding her there. She watched him march towards her with a finger pointing accusingly right at her. She took a few steps back, trying to maintain the distance between them, but Laird MacNeil looked crazed, his eyes wide and his face splattered with blood, his hair and beard a matted mess.

“Where dae ye think ye are goin’? Heal me men,” he demanded. “Why are ye standin’ there, useless? Go! Heal them!”

Enya told herself there was nothing with which he could threaten her now. She would not help him, for now that her family was safe, there was nothing he could say to force her hand. Even if he killed her, it would be preferable to her healing his men

“Did ye hear me?” Laird MacNeil asked, still advancing towards her. When Enya refused, he marched up to her with a furious cry, raising his sword to attack.

“If ye will nae help me,” he shouted, spittle flying from his lips, “there is nay reason fer me tae keep ye alive. Ye have served yer purpose and brought me Laird Cillian on a platter. I tried tae get rid of him once already, years ago, and it didnae work. But I kenned he would fall fer ye,” he cackled. On pure instinct, Enya raised her own blade in response, blocking the attack just as she heard Kai call her name. Looking up, Enya saw her brother running to her, despair contorting his features as he swung his blade, plunging it through Laird MacNeil’s back, the tip of it almost grazing her.

Time seemed to stretch and slow, the three of them panting—Enya and Laird MacNeil looking at each other in shock while Kai let out a roar and pulled the sword out of him, letting him collapse onto the ground. Enya did not move, she could only stare at the body, ears buzzing, unable to hear anything around her until Kai screamed her name. Snapping her head up, she found him reaching for her, drawing her into a tight embrace.

“Ye’re alright,” he told her. “I’ve got ye. I’ve got ye.”

“Where’s Cillian?” Enya asked pulled away after an instant, still clutching onto Kai’s shirt even as she searched for him, her panicked gaze scanning the crowd. “Where is he?”

She had hardly managed to finish her sentence when she heard him nearby, his voice filled with so much rage that it shook her to the bone. He and Duncan were circling each other, both covered in sweat and blood and grime, snarling like wild animals.

“Why?” Cillian said. “Ye were me friend! Ye were me braither! How could ye dae this tae me? Tae our people?”

“How can ye nae ken after all this time? Ye say ye care about me,” Duncan shouted and for a moment, he was so enraged that he seemed to forget he was in the middle of a fight. “How? Did ye never notice?”

“What are ye talkin’ about?” Cillian asked. “And o’ course I cared! I was yer friend!”