Page 13 of Taken by the Devilish Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #7)

“ W e have everything, then?” Ayla asked. She and Feya had spent the past few minutes packing their saddlebags with the usual remedies and ointments Ayla and Holly took with them on village visits.

“Aye, we’re well stocked. Prepared for any illness or injury we might encounter.

” Feya had made frequent trips through her own village, checking in on coughing bairns and sharing tea with forgetful grandmothers.

The promise of doing something so familiar overwhelmed her with a sense of comfort.

She smiled at Ayla, who was occupying herself with a knot in her mare’s mane.

“Good,” Ayla said. She pulled her fingers through the knotted hair, and her horse gave a grunt, nudging Ayla’s shoulder with her nose to push the woman away.

“Hey now,” Ayla protested, and she and Feya laughed, amused by the big personality of this giant beast.

It was as they were laughing together that they heard the slam of a door and suddenly saw the glowering figure of Archer storming toward them.

“What do ye think ye are doing?” he asked, and Feya was shocked to see he asked it of her. She blinked at him, looking between Ayla and Archer as she attempted to understand his fury.

“Archer,” Ayla started, but he put his hand up, silencing her.

“Ye cannae be out here,” he said. He reached out and grabbed Feya’s arm, pulling her back to the house. His fingers squeezed hard around her upper arm and Feya yelped, though she was more angry than injured.

“Stop that,” she cried. She dug her heels into the dirt, making her body stiff as a board. “Leave me alone.”

But Archer had no trouble moving her. He simply pulled Feya into him, and before she knew what was happening, Archer had lifted her off the ground. He carried her sideways, handling her with no more effort than a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down,” she cried. Feya turned her hands into fists and pounded at anything she could find.

His legs, his arms, his side. When she threw her knee into the small of Archer’s back, he finally groaned and released her.

Feya fell in a heap to the dirt, kicking up dust as she got tangled in her skirts.

“What are ye doin’?” she cried from the ground as Archer scowled at her, a hand pressed to his kidneys.

Ayla stood with the horses, looking on with shock and a bit of amusement.

“It isnae safe,” Archer said. He dropped to one knee, bringing his face so close to Feya’s that she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek. “Do ye ken who is inside? Do ye ken who I just forced down to the kitchen so he wouldnae see ye?”

“Who?” she asked, suddenly fearful. She had a flash of Cohen’s face in her mind. She saw that furious, murderous look as he chased her out of Laird McKenzie’s bedchamber.

“A messenger from Clan McKenzie,” Archer whispered. It was evident Archer thought she was in danger. She could see the concern behind the glower of anger he wore. But unless Cohen or one of his men were on Archer’s doorstep, she couldn’t understand the danger.

“He willane recognize me,” Feya scoffed. She scrambled to her feet and brushed dirt from her dress. “I was only at the castle for the wedding.”

“We’re running behind,” Ayla said, clearly growing restless. Feya glanced over and nodded. She wouldn’t let Archer’s unfounded concerns keep her from the village trip she was so excited about. She walked toward Ayla as Archer’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“Ye cannae go,” he said, and suddenly Ayla was there in front of her, stepping in to go nose to nose with her brother.

“What is this about, Archer?” she asked. “The poor girl’s been locked up for days trying to heal ye. She isnae your prisoner.”

“It isnae safe,” he said again, and Feya saw the way he stared at her, his eyebrows raised as he tried to make her understand the gravity behind these words. Ayla had no idea where Feya had come from or who might be after her. And Feya was willing to bet Archer wouldn’t tell her.

“Not safe in the village?” Ayla asked, laughter in her voice. “Ye only say that because ye never go there. If ye ever visited your people ye might see what good people they are.”

“Feya, let me show ye the grounds here. We have acres of land to ride through. On grounds that are guarded.”

“Ye can be our guard,” Feya said on a whim, and she saw Ayla’s smirk of approval at her words. “If ye are so worried about me leaving, why not accompany us yourself?”

He looked momentarily stunned, and Feya was amused to find Archer speechless.

“She’s got ye there, brother,” Ayla teased. “Ye can let us go on our own, or ye can come. But we’re not staying here.”

Ayla stepped toward her opinionated mare and mounted, smirking at Feya as she did so.

It was the sort of look Morgana would have given her when they were aligned on something.

Two sisters against one grumpy brother, knowing they were close to victory.

Feya followed Ayla’s lead and mounted her own horse.

“Very well,” Archer cried as Feya pulled on the reins and prepared to press her heels into her horse’s side. “I’ll come. Give me a minute to saddle me horse.”

“Ye can catch up to us,” Ayla said, and with that, she clicked her horse forward, galloping down the driveway.

Feya looked down at Archer with a smirk, and then she kicked her horse forward, her hair flowing out behind her as she breathed the fresh air of freedom.

He bellowed at the stable hands to saddle his horse, but he quickly lost patience with them. He ended up shoving them aside so he could do it all himself.

“Let me,” he said, knowing he would be faster. His mare flicked her ears, waking herself up from a lazy afternoon in her stall, but she was quickly alert. Archer sensed her excitement at the unexpected ride, something he used to do quite frequently.

Before the war. When everything was simpler.

He pulled tight on the girth to secure the saddle and grabbed the riding gloves a small, terrified boy held out to him. Then he launched himself onto Flora as the mare tossed her head, getting used to his weight.

“Yah,” he cried, and Flora launched forward, taking a few strides to find her gait.

But within seconds, they were flying, out of the stables and back toward the front of the castle, where he followed the path Ayla and Feya had taken.

He overtook them quickly, his seventeen-hand warrior no match for the smaller mares the castle kept for recreational riding.

“He’s caught us,” Ayla cried, looking over her shoulder as Archer approached. He had a sudden flash of his sister as a girl, riding her pony through the fields as they played a game of riding tag they had invented.

Feya turned and smiled at him, and the gesture was so carefree and filled with joy that he suddenly felt guilty for keeping her inside.

He hadn’t heard much of Feya’s story, but he knew she was used to a simple life, the camaraderie of a village, the love of a family.

She was a natural when it came to life in the castle, quickly taking to the strict customs and exacting schedule, but he should have realized sooner that it wasn’t her natural habitat.

They raced together down the road, though no one was trying to win.

They were enjoying the feel of their horses beneath them and the scent of pine as they rushed past the trees.

The sound of horses’ hooves on hard-packed dirt, often a haunting sound for Archer, suddenly seemed playful.

He watched the afternoon sun glint off Feya’s dark hair as pieces escaped from her braid.

They slowed down together when they saw the small gathering of thatched roofs in the distance.

It was the first of many small villages that surrounded Dougal Castle.

The men, women, and children that Archer was responsible for.

He felt that weight like stones in his pockets whenever he caught sight of the farmers and laborers.

It was a responsibility he took seriously.

“What a special day,” Ayla said, breathing hard as they brought their horses to a walk. “The Laird come to visit the village!”

Instead of answering Ayla, Archer watched his horses’ nostrils open and close as she regained her breath.

“Ye daenae like visiting?” Feya guessed, and Archer looked over in surprise.

“It isnae that,” he told her. Feya’s gaze was gentle. There was no hint of judgment as she waited patiently for his response. “It is only that many of them knew me faither. They knew what a good man he was. A good Laird.”

She looked at him curiously, but she didn’t say anything.

She only urged her horse forward as Ayla led them to a water trough where they could tie up the mares.

Archer cast his eyes to the small gathering of homes as a few villagers looked up in surprise.

He saw a small boy stare at him, eyes going wide, before he turned and ran down the street.

“Welcome, me Laird,” a woman at the closest house said. She dipped down so low her knees practically scraped the ground.

“Nay, no need for that,” Archer said, shaking his head. He dismounted and lifted the woman to her feet. “Though I thank ye for it.”

She smiled at him and Ayla joined her brother.

“How is Dunn?” Ayla asked, glancing into the house, where a tattered curtain blocked the entrance. Archer watched the woman’s face fall, and she glanced over her shoulder.

“The same,” she answered. Ayla gave the woman’s shoulder a squeeze.

“We’ve brought someone to help,” she said, smiling with encouragement. “A very talented healer.”

Ayla nodded in Feya’s direction as she gathered her bags and carried them into the house. He appreciated Ayla’s use of the word “we”, though he would never have thought to send Feya to the villages. Still, it was kind of Ayla to endear him to these people.

He spent the afternoon as a shadow, silently watching Feya as she laid her hand on feverish foreheads and applied bandages to new wounds. He shook the hands of the men who stood nearby, anxiously looking over their sick children and gave comforting words to the children whose mothers lay in bed.

He was amazed by Feya’s instincts and the way she knew the perfect thing to pull from her bag.

Ayla stood nearby, equally transfixed. She worked as an assistant, but her attention was on Feya.

She watched her every move, desperate to memorize them.

For the first time, he saw Ayla’s interest in healing in a new light.

“A few miles up there’s a boy with a broken arm. Holly set it in a sling last week,” Ayla said as they mounted their horses for the fourth time that afternoon. Archer cast his eyes to the sky, judging the time based on the sun’s trajectory.

“Last stop then,” he said. He didn’t want Ayla or Feya out after dark.

While none of the villagers had asked where Feya came from, he was still wary of too many people knowing he had a new healer at the castle.

He couldn’t risk rousing suspicions in the event any of Cohen’s men came to ask questions.

Of course he could kill any man who came looking, but there were Feya’s siblings to think about.

She would never forgive herself if anything happened to them.

Music reached their ears before they caught sight of the next village.

Archer heard children’s laughter and the skilled voice of a female singer who knew how to send her voice across a crowd.

Feya glanced at him with a smile, as if she couldn’t believe their luck, and then the women rushed forward, eager to join the festivities.

“Wait up,” Archer called, but they were already urging their horses forward, drawn in by the sounds of unabashed joy ahead.