Page 12 of Taken by the Devilish Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #7)

“ F eya, look out!”

Feya looked down at her hands, where the knife she held hovered over her finger instead of the ginger root she had been slicing. She blinked and put the knife down, pulling herself back from thoughts that had her a hundred miles away.

“Thanks.” She gave Ayla a distracted nod.

“Thinking about your family?” Ayla asked.

Images of her sisters and brothers floated into her mind, and with them came an overwhelming wave of guilt. She should be with them right now. She had no idea if they were alive or dead. But the real guilt came from the knowledge that she hadn’t been thinking about them at all.

No. She had been thinking about Archer. His mouth pressing insistently against hers. The press of his hand on the small of her back, pulling her hips against his. His eyes looking down at her with desire.

“Yes,” Feya lied, but the word felt hard and heavy in her throat.

“I’m sure they’re just fine without you,” Ayla said, and Feya smiled with her lips pressed tightly together.

She nodded, knowing that Ayla was only trying to be helpful.

But Ayla didn’t know the real story. She had no idea that Feya had fled in danger, that she had left her family in the midst of a tragedy.

“Are ye alright?”

The question brought tears to Feya’s eyes, and she swallowed hard to keep them away. Her mind was spinning with competing desires, one part pulling her toward her family, the other keeping her right here in the castle. With him.

“Fine,” Feya whispered as she focused on the job in front of her. “If you let this seep in some tea, it can help with nausea and even hunger. I tell the farmers to keep it on hand for difficult winters when the food must be rationed.”

She glanced at Ayla, who gave her a strange expression. She was usually such an attentive student, but Feya could see she wasn’t listening. Instead, she seemed more interested in learning about Feya. Her eyes roamed Feya’s face, searching for truth behind her mask.

“Come on,” Ayla said. She gave Feya’s sleeve a playful pull. “Ye look like ye could use some air.”

Feya allowed herself to be pulled away from the long healing table. As they passed the spot where Archer had kissed her, her cheeks flushed pink, and she was glad Ayla wasn’t looking at her.

“Where are we going?” Feya asked as Ayla guided her out the back door of the chamber, pushing open the tall door so they were hit with the warm sunlight on their faces.

“To the village.”

The words sent a spark of excitement through Feya’s chest. She hadn’t stepped outside the castle walls since arriving here.

“Really?” she asked, and Ayla looked over with a smirk.

“I thought it would please ye,” she said. “Ye keep mentioning the village ye grew up in.”

Feya hadn’t noticed she was speaking of her hometown so frequently.

She and Ayla had spent long hours in the healing chamber as Feya taught Ayla what she knew.

They talked about everything, from their siblings to their favorite colors, and last night’s dinner.

Apparently, Feya’s conversations had frequently turned to the small town where she grew up.

“I guess I’m still getting used to castle life,” she admitted. Ayla dropped the sleeve she had been pulling, and the girls ran toward the stables, a skip in their step. As they laughed together, holding up their skirts, Feya felt like a child again.

Archer slumped in his chair, the cheery tone of O’Brien lulling him to sleep.

The man was discussing some improvements he wanted to make to the roads leading to Castle Dougal and the surrounding villages.

Archer knew it was his job to think about the infrastructure of their clan, but he always struggled to pay attention when O’Brien discussed stones and dirt.

“That sounds excellent, O’Brien,” Elijah said from his spot to Archer’s left. He glanced to his Laird, and Archer sat up straighter, realizing that his boredom was noticeable.

“What else do we have to discuss?” Archer asked. He was still thinking about Feya and her visit to his study earlier today. He couldn’t forget her accusation that he was avoiding her, and he had plans to set things right. Perhaps he was overdue for a visit to the healing chamber.

“My Laird,” an armed man was suddenly in the council chambers, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Archer sat up straighter, suddenly alert.

“What is it?”

“There’s a messenger. From McKenzie Castle.”

Archer’s whole body went cold at the words. His chest tightened, and he fought to keep his face neutral.

They’re looking for Feya.

No one in his council knew where Feya had come from. He had told them she was a healer from a neighboring village, someone he had stumbled upon on his way back home. But if a messenger had arrived from McKenzie Castle, there was only one reason for it. They were looking for her.

“Send him in,” Archer said with a careful nod. He cast his mind to the healing chamber, hoping beyond hope that Feya was inside. He sent up a prayer that she would stay hidden, that she would stay locked in the basement until this man left.

“McKenzie?” Lennox asked, looking around the table. “It must be news of the murder. Perhaps they’ve chosen a new Laird.”

Others on the council murmured their own thoughts, but Archer stayed silent.

The important thing was to get this man out of his castle as soon as possible.

He needed to make sure this messenger was back on the road, where he would run no risk of hearing rumors about a strange new healer who had appeared in Archer’s household.

The man was small in stature, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. It was a warm day, and from the looks of the man, he had ridden hard. He carried the jumpy unease of a man who worried his life was at stake.

“My Laird,” the man said, giving a small bow in Archer’s direction. He held out an envelope, the white of the paper smeared with dirt. Archer stood from his chair and strode toward the man.

“Thank ye,” he said. He tore open the paper to read the words, glad he had a moment to take in the news before the rest of his council.

But as Archer’s eyes scanned the careful handwriting, his anxiety slipped away.

He held an announcement in his hand, a declaration of the new Laird McKenzie taking his position of leadership.

“Ryder McKenzie has returned to take his rightful position as Laird,” the man announced, with the confidence of someone who had delivered the news to many castles. “He requests your support and asks ye to continue the goodwill Clan Dougal and Clan McKenzie have had in the past.”

“And he shall have it,” Archer said, passing the declaration to Elijah, who showed it to the others at the table. “We have no wish to create new enemies.”

“I will tell him,” the man nodded. “And Laird McKenzie thanks ye.”

The servant began to turn, and Archer breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t here to look for Feya. That meant Cohen must have believed his lie. Archer thought of the man he had spared in the woods, the one who carried his message back to Cohen: Ye will tell him that Feya Webster is dead.

Just as the messenger reached the threshold, Lennox’s chair scraped across the ground.

“Sir,” Lennox said, his eyes on Archer. “Is this not a decision that should be discussed with the council?”

The messenger froze in the doorway, stalled by Lennox’s words. He turned back slowly.

“It is not,” Archer said. He gave Lennox a withering look.

For a moment, they squared off. Lennox stood with his palms against the table, his expression defiant, but Archer was angrier.

He set his jaw and glared, sending daggers with his eyes.

He was determined to quiet Lennox, but movement behind the man caught Archer’s eye.

There, in the courtyard, Ayla and Feya were walking with saddled horses.

“My Laird?” Lennox asked, noticing Archer’s distraction.

When Archer looked back at him, the man gave the smallest of smirks.

Archer looked away from Lennox and crossed the room to the messenger, suddenly aware of a much larger danger than a mutinous council member.

He couldn’t let this man see Feya. He was a member of Clan McKenzie, the very castle Feya had fled from. What if he recognized her?

“We celebrate your Laird’s appointment,” Archer told the messenger, ignoring Lennox’s protests. “Tell him he has a friend in Clan Dougal.”

“Thank ye, my Laird.”

Archer put a hand on the man’s shoulder as he walked him back to the threshold.

“Ye have ridden hard,” he said. Standing this close, he could see dark circles under the man’s eyes. “How about a nice meal to fill your stomach before ye go? I have the best cook for fifty miles.”

He saw the spark of interest in the man’s expression, quickly replaced by uncertainty. The man had been ordered to deliver his news without delay. As soon as he left Dougal Castle, he would ride hard to the next Laird and the next, until he could report back to McKenzie.

“Callum,” Archer called to one of his men, who quickly left his post at the front entrance to meet Archer and the messenger.

“Would ye show this man to the kitchens? Tell Jan to feed him well. Even if she has to take from tonight’s main course.

” Archer put a hand on the messenger’s shoulder.

“Ye’re in luck. I think it’s duck tonight. ”

This final detail convinced the man, and he went willingly with Callum, walking deeper into the castle, far away from the courtyard where Feya and Ayla were laughing.

The sound of that carefree laughter made Archer suddenly furious.

How could they be so careless? How could Feya risk being discovered?

Archer glanced up to see Elijah in the doorway, likely eager to roll his eyes at Lennox’s behavior. But Archer wasn’t in the mood. There was something more important to deal with.

“Tell them I’m done for the day,” Archer announced. “And tell O’Brien he can have his money for the new walls or roads or whatever he’s looking for.”

Archer turned without a word and pushed through the front door with far more force than necessary.