Page 48 of A Highland Bride Disciplined (Scottish Daddies #2)

F eya turned in the overstuffed bed and threw her fist into the pillow. The bed was too soft, far more luxurious than the pallet she had slept on at home. She found it impractical, an extravagance that made her blood boil as she thought of how many children slept on the floor back in her hometown.

But it wasn’t only this ostentatious four-poster that kept the twenty-two-year-old awake. Thoughts of her older sister, Morgana, kept floating into her mind, making it impossible to sleep.

Tonight was her sister’s wedding night, but it was far from a happy occasion.

Feya threw the covers aside and dropped her bare feet to the floor, careful not to wake her younger sister.

Eloise was eleven years old, the baby of the family, though barely. She had a twin sister, Poppy, who slept in the room next door, where her brothers, Ronnie and Tormond, were probably tossing and turning just as she was.

Why did she have to marry him?

They were in McKenzie Castle, the intimidating home of their Laird. For so long, the place had only been a shadow in their lives, a building on the hill that reminded them who they served.

Feya had never imagined she would find herself spending the night in the place, let alone celebrating Morgana’s wedding there.

“Feya?”

Eloise sat up in bed and peered through the darkness, her auburn hair sticking up at odd angles as she rubbed her eyes.

“Go to sleep, wee one,” Feya said. “I’m only closing the window.”

She waited until Eloise obeyed and then stepped onto the balcony, feeling the cool breeze of the evening through her nightgown.

How could she lie in bed, knowing where Morgana was right now? Knowing that she had to share a bed with that cruel, ill-mannered man?

She curled her hands around the cool iron railing and imagined she was squeezing Laird McKenzie’s neck.

If only the old man hadn’t seen Morgana in town on that fateful day. If only she hadn’t been so beautiful.

McKenzie had claimed Morgana as his bride, refusing to take no for an answer. Of course, Morgana’s selflessness had taken over, immediately willing to sacrifice herself for the sake of her siblings, just as she had always done.

Feya’s breath came fast as she remembered the old man’s behavior at the wedding feast, the way he’d wrapped his hand around Morgana’s wrist and pulled her from one spot to the next. She remembered the way he’d leered at her, so eager to claim her.

“I cannae stay here,” she whispered to the wind, before turning on her heel.

She made sure Eloise was fast asleep, and then she grabbed her shawl and pushed her way into the hallway. She needed to check on Morgana, make sure this horrible night would be as bearable as possible.

I willnae let him be rough with her. There are limits to what she should endure.

Of course, she knew it was a foolish mission. She wasn’t about to burst into a laird’s bedchamber and supervise his wedding night. She was liable to get herself killed with that sort of behavior.

But Feya needed to check, even if it meant just walking by his room to make sure she didn’t hear anything alarming.

A flash of movement caught her eye, and she froze, looking down the candlelit hallway.

Nothing.

She took a breath and put one foot in front of the other. She would walk by Laird McKenzie’s chamber and then turn back. Just so her sister wouldn’t be alone…

Or so ye willnae feel alone.

The sound of a door slamming made her jump, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Such an ordinary sound shouldn’t make her nervous, but she walked faster, the hair on the back of her neck standing up.

Muffled voices drifted to her, a grunt that sounded dangerous.

“Leave her alone,” Feya said under her breath.

She took off at a run, the stone floor cold under her bare feet.

Laird McKenzie’s door was open, and there was no mistaking the sound of a struggle. The old man was breathing hard, grunting. Feya could picture Morgana in front of him, her small frame no match for the man.

“I’ll kill ye!” McKenzie screamed, hatred lacing his voice. And then there was a slam, as if he had thrown Morgana into the wall.

Feya’s blood boiled, and she moved without thinking, without any regard for her own safety.

“Leave her alone!” she cried as she shoved the door open and rushed into the room.

But she didn’t see her older sister in front of her. Instead, she saw the outline of two men through the sheer curtains of the balcony, blowing so gently in the breeze. Moonlight glinted off a dagger just before it plunged into Laird McKenzie’s abdomen.

McKenzie cried out, a sound of anguish and the recognition of defeat, before he crumpled to the floor. Then, the scowling, red-headed man glared at her, hatred in his eyes.

He had seen her.

Move. Run. Get out of here.

But she was frozen. Her brain couldn’t make sense of what was in front of her. Her eyes were fixed on the blood pooling beneath her sister’s new husband.

Ex-husband.

The realization hit her like a hard fall from a horse—Laird McKenzie was dead, and Feya had just witnessed his murder.

“Bad timing, lass,” the man growled, his voice low and gravelly.

He reached down and pulled his dirk from the Laird’s stomach, turning to point it at Feya.

“I didnae see anything,” she said, but her voice was practically a whisper, wavering with terror.

The man began a slow march toward her, but she couldn’t register what was happening. Instead, she found herself strangely distracted by the smattering of freckles across the man’s face.

“I’ve seen ye before,” she said, her mind flashing to the wedding feast.

She pictured Laird McKenzie’s table, the people who surrounded him earlier in the night.

“Ye’re her sister,” the man said. There was a glint in his eyes, an intrigue that made her blood run cold. “A shame ye arenae as beautiful.”

“Ye’re McKenzie’s man-at-arms. Ye’re supposed to protect him.”

Cohen. The man’s name is Cohen.

He didn’t react to the statement, only moved with the confidence of a man who knew his next steps. Who would do whatever it took to ensure his own safety.

“She’s mine now,” he said. “I wouldnae let McKenzie stand in me way. I willnae let anyone stand between me and Morgana.”

The look in his eyes was deadly.

Feya knew the man would kill her. He looked crazed, all reason gone. If she didn’t do something now, if she didn’t make her limbs move, make her voice scream, she would die.

I’m sorry, Morgana.

Feya took two steps back until she was back in the hallway. And then, she ran.

She ran faster than she ever had, knowing that the only thing between her and death was the speed of her feet, her agility to move through the corridors.

She had to leave. She had to get out of this castle and get as far away as possible.

Tears streamed down her face as she turned into a tight stairwell, as she went down, down, down as far as she could, as she searched for a door.

She pushed through a servants’ entrance and took off across the grounds, her sights set on the woods.

I’ve left her.

Devastation washed over her as she disappeared into the trees.

She thought she was brave enough to protect her sister. She’d thought she could be strong for Morgana in the same way her older sister had been strong for their family.

But Feya was wrong.

When faced with danger, she turned out to be nothing more than a coward.

He knew it was reckless to journey without his men. As the Laird of Clan Dougal, he should think about his safety. He should consider the risk of being out in these woods alone, sitting by a pond as he stared up at the moon.

But Archer Brown hated being treated like something that needed protecting. He hated guards who shadowed like governesses, men who told him to be careful, who wouldn’t tolerate any risk.

He had learned long ago that it was easier to do things on his own and then ask forgiveness later. So, when he heard about land disputes between farmers from his clan and a neighboring laird, he saddled his horse and dealt with it.

His council would chastise him when he returned, but he had solved the problem, hadn’t he? And he had done it on his own.

A sound in the woods made him leap to his feet, his hand immediately going to the sword at his side. The crunch of leaves and snapping of branches told him it was an animal, likely spooked by something and running off its terror.

But then he heard a voice.

“Help me!” she cried. “Help me, please.”

A woman in white emerged from the trees, her dark hair long and tangled behind her, her feet bare. Her green eyes locked onto him, desperate and entrancing.

She was like a specter of the woods, one of the fairies the townsfolk claimed to see in the early morning hours, the fae they warned their children about.

As Archer struggled to understand what was happening, he heard the thunder of hooves, saw the flash of horses through the trees.

“Please, they’re going to kill me.”

“Who are ye?” he asked.

Everything in him told him to leave her. He should jump onto his horse and ride away before he put himself in danger for some stranger. But even as the horses got closer, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

That familiar thrill of battle rushed into his veins.

“I’ll do anything,” she cried. “Please, help me.”

As the men burst through the trees, he pushed the lass behind him, her small frame dwarfed by his giant one.

He widened his stance and swung his sword with perfect timing, catching the first man in the thigh as he dodged the man’s weapon.

The second was upon him quickly, but Archer was ready.

With a thrust of his sword and an expert twist, he disarmed the man.

“Give us the lass,” one of them bellowed.

But it only made Archer chuckle. He picked up the sword he had just knocked off.

“Hold this, lass,” he said, turning to the terrified girl behind him.

He pushed the broadsword into her hands and watched her struggle beneath its weight. Then, he turned back to the men who had now dismounted, with only a dagger to defend himself.

This willnae take long.

They approached together, but Archer rushed forward, surprising them.

He locked blades with the first man, pushing his broadsword away so he could slam his boot into his chest. He kicked him to the ground and heard him cry out, but he didn’t have time to linger.

Instead, he turned to the second man and plunged his dagger into his stomach.

He felt nothing as the man crumpled to the ground. He couldn’t allow himself to care. Growing up surrounded by war, he had learned to turn off those emotions. He had learned to focus on his hands, the flex of his muscles—only the job in front of him.

“Look out!” the girl cried out.

Archer felt the bite of a blade in his back, though he knew immediately the cut wasn’t deep.

He spun around to see the first man struggling to stand, one pant leg stained with blood.

His sword was loose in his hands as he fought through pain, but he was still trying, determination in his eyes.

Archer caught him in the arm, making him drop his sword.

Then, he walked behind him and swiftly sliced his throat—a merciful death.

The girl’s ragged breathing brought him back to reality. He wiped his blade on his shirt, unaffected by the shock of red.

He sheathed his weapon and turned to this fairy from the woods, dressed in nothing but a thin nightgown.

“Who are ye?” he asked again.

She was still holding the broadsword with two hands, but now she let the tip fall to the ground before dropping the weapon entirely.

“Thank ye,” she gasped. Tears fell down her cheeks as she looked at the men he had killed. “They were going to kill me. I saw… I saw…”

“What did ye see?”

For the first time, Archer took stock of his surroundings. He cast his eyes in the direction the girl had come from. Under the light of the moon, he could just make out McKenzie Castle in the distance.

“He killed him,” she said.

Archer had to strain his ears to hear her whisper.

The girl’s whole body began to shake, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “He killed Laird McKenzie.”

“Who did?” Archer asked.

The gravity of her words hit him like a stone. He had thought he was saving some poor town girl from the drunken desires of two men. But here she was, telling him she was involved in the assassination of a laird.

“These men?” he asked, when she didn’t respond. “Did one of these men kill yer Laird?”

“Nay,” the girl said. Her hair fell over her face, those striking green eyes flicking from one dead body to the other. “It wasnae them. He must still be there… he’s still in the castle.”

She took a shuddering breath and cast her eyes to the stone building on the hill, looking even more horrified, though Archer didn’t think such a thing was possible.

“He’ll hurt her. He said he wouldnae let anyone get in his way.”

“Who, lass?”

“Me sister. He’s going to get her. He’s going to hurt me family.”

She took off like a flash, running with the same speed she had barreled through the woods with. Only now, she was going back where she had come from.

She was going back to them.

“Nay!” Archer cried.

His instincts told him to let the girl go. He had never had problems with Laird McKenzie or his clan, but neither did he like the man. He had heard about his cruelty and the way he let his clan starve while he threw feasts for his friends.

Still, it was dangerous to involve himself in McKenzie’s business. It was risky to align himself with a strange girl who had witnessed treason. And yet his legs moved of their own accord.

He ran after her, overtaking her with a few long strides. He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and spun her back to him.

“Ye cannae. It isnae safe.”

“What will happen to them?” she whimpered. She was desperate for an answer, desperate for him to see into the future and tell her the unknown. “I cannae leave them.”

She began to gasp for breath, overwhelmed with worry and the terror of what she had witnessed.

Archer held her firmly, his hands on her shoulders. “Breathe, lass. Just breathe.”

She locked eyes with him, and he was shocked to recognize the expression on her face. He recognized the agonizing guilt, the grief he had carried with him for far too long. And then, with a glance up at the sky, the girl fell into his arms, lost to the world as she fainted.

Archer caught her, pulling her small frame tight against his chest.

He stood frozen, hardly believing what had just happened.

“What now?” he asked the air.