Page 1 of Taken by the Devilish Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #7)

F eya flipped over in the overstuffed bed and threw her fist into the pillow.

The bed was too soft, far more luxurious than the sensible pallet she slept on at home.

She found it far too 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 sister kept floating into her mind, making it impossible to sleep.

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

Eloise was just eleven years old, the baby of the family, though just barely.

She had a twin sister, Poppy, who slept in the room next door, where Feya’s brothers, Ronnie and Tormond were probably tossing and turning just as Feya 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 never imagined she would find herself spending the night in the place, let alone celebrating Morgana’s wedding here.

“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 to the balcony, feeling the cool breeze of the evening through her nightgown. How could Feya lie in bed knowing where Morgana was right now? Knowing that she had to share a bed with that cruel, ill-mannered man?

She squeezed her hands around the cool iron of the balcony 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 claimed Morgana for his bride, refusing to take no for an answer.

Of course, Morgana’s selflessness had taken over, immediately willing to sacrifice herself for the good 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 wrapped his whole hand around Morgana’s wrist and pulled him from one spot to the next. She remembered the way he leered at her, so openly eager to claim her as his own.

“I can’t stay here,” Feya whispered to the wind, and she turned 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 won’t 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 Feya froze, looking down the candle-lit 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 you won’t feel so alone.

The sound of a door slamming made her jump, and Feya 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 came to her, a grunt that sounded dangerous.

“Leave her alone,” Feya said under her breath, and she took off at a run, her bare feet cold on the stone floor.

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 imagine Morgana in front of him, her small frame no match for the man.

“I’ll kill ye,” McKenzie screamed, hatred in 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 rushed into the room, shoving the bedchamber door open.

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 locked on the pool of blood growing larger as it poured out of 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 Feya couldn’t compute what was happening. Instead, she found herself strangely distracted by the scattering of freckles across the man’s face.

“I’ve seen ye before,” she said, remembering the wedding feast. She pictured Laird McKenzie’s table, the figures that surrounded him earlier in the night.

“Ye’re her sister,” the man said. There was a spark in his eye, an intrigue that made Feya’s limbs 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 Feya’s recognition. Only moved with the confidence of a man who knew what his next steps would be. 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 eye was deadly, and 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, Feya would be dead.

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 Feya’s 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 servant’s 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 thought she could be strong for Morgana in the same way her older sister had been strong for her family. But Feya was wrong.

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

He knew it was reckless to journey without his men.

As the Laird of Dougal Castle, he should think about his own protection.

He should care about the risk he took to be 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 protection.

He hated guards who felt like governesses, men who told him to be careful, who wouldn’t put up with any risk.

He had learned long ago that it was easier to do things on his own.

Then ask forgiveness later. So, when he heard about land disputes between farmers of 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 Archer leap to his feet, his hand immediately on the sword at his side. The crunch of leaves and breaking 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 on him, desperate and intoxicating.

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 line of trees.

“Please, they’re going to kill me.”

“Who are ye?” he cried. Everything in him told him to leave her.

He should jump on his horse and run 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.

He felt the familiar adrenaline of battle pouring 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 set his feet and slashed his sword with perfect timing, getting 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 clash of steel and an expert twist, he disarmed the man.

“Give us the lass,” one of them cried, but it only made Archer chuckle. He picked up the sword he had just dislodged.

“Hold this, lass,” he said, turning to the terrified girl behind him. He pushed the broadsword into her two hands and watched her struggle beneath its weight. Then he turned back to the men who had now dismounted, one with only a dagger to defend himself with.

This won’t take long.

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

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

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

Archer felt nothing as the man crumpled to the ground. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, just that he couldn’t let himself. 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, and Archer felt the sting of a sword 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 red 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 Archer back to reality. He wiped his sword 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 still held the broadsword with two hands, but now she let the tip fall to the earth, dropping the weapon to the ground.

“Thank ye,” she gasped. Tears fell down her cheeks as she looked at the men Archer 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. Through the light of the moon, he could just make out McKenzie Castle in the distance.

“He killed him,” she said, and Archer had to strain 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 these words hit him like a stone. He had thought he was saving some poor town’s 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 speak. “Did one of these men kill yer Laird?”

“Nay,” the girl said. Her hair fell across 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’s said he wouldn’t 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 light, running with the same speed she had barreled through the woods with. Only now, she was going right back where she had come from. She was going back to them.

“Nay,” Archer cried.

Everything in him 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 the man’s cruelty and the way he let his clan starve while he threw feasts for his friends.

Still, it was dangerous to involve himself in this clan business.

It was risky to align himself with a strange girl who had witnessed treason.

And yet his legs moved on their own. 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 cried. 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, overwrought 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 Archer was shocked to recognize the expression that stared back at him.

He knew this agonizing guilt, a grief he had carried with him for far too long.

And then, with a glance up to 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 happened this night.

“What now?” he asked the air.