Page 21 of Taken by the Devilish Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #7)

F eya stayed in her room for the rest of the night, though she hardly slept.

Every time she drifted into sleep, she found herself back in Archer’s bed.

She would dream of his mouth on her skin, of the electricity he dispersed through her body.

But then new images started to form: Archer’s bare chest in the bathtub, his tongue between her legs, the shock of his erection against her leg.

But she would wake with a jolt before her imagination took her too far.

Finally, when it felt acceptable to leave, she dressed and left her bed chamber.

The castle was quiet, with only the occasional kitchen maid rushing down the hall, tying her apron around her waist. Feya let her feet take her where they wanted, and she soon found herself exploring a familiar path down the steps to the healing chamber.

The space was a peaceful spot, and Feya’s mind was a mess with worry, excitement, and questions.

Perhaps the calming space would soothe her.

When she entered, she was surprised to feel a breeze across the octagonal room.

She looked up to the large French doors to the garden which were wide open.

She smelled fresh dew and newly turned dirt and heard the birds singing with the rising sun.

It looked bright and warm out there, and Feya was pulled outside.

There, she saw a small figure bent over the earth, long white-blonde hair blocking the woman’s face.

It took Feya a moment to realize who was kneeling in the dirt.

“Holly,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. The woman looked over as if she were expecting Feya to arrive. She gave a brief smile and then looked back at the ground, where she was packing dirt around a small sapling.

“We have a new child,” Holly whispered as Feya knelt in the dirt beside her.

She stared at the dirt around Holly’s fingernails and had the urge to press her own fingers into the moist soil.

She helped Holly create a small mound of dirt around the tiny tree that was just starting to sprout some branches and a single, green leaf.

“A bairn was born?” Feya asked. Ayla had explained Holly’s ritual. Anytime a child was born in the village, she planted a tree in the baby’s honor. There were trees scattered all around the castle grounds, but Feya had never seen her plant one here, in the healing garden.

“Were you with the mother?” Feya asked. Holly looked over, and there was a complicated look on her face.

All at once, Feya realized this wasn’t the joy of someone who had witnessed new life.

There was something dark in Holly’s eyes, a tinge of sadness.

The woman nodded gravely and looked back at the tree.

“The bairn didnae make it?”

Feya put a hand on top of Holly’s, but it was Holly who looked over and gave Feya a brave smile, as if she were the one who needed comforting.

“Born still,” Holly answered. “Nothing we could have kenned.”

Feya sat quietly as Holly finished planting the small tree.

She had thought this process of planting trees was reserved for the children who lived, a reminder of the vibrancy of life.

But here she was, planting something for the little babe who had left too soon and planting it in the most sacred of places.

As if Holly could read Feya’s mind, she started to speak.

“I’ll tend it for her,” Holly said. She reached a finger out to brush it along the small leaf.

“I’ll care for it ’til it’s strong and a bit taller.

Until it’s ready to be moved to a new home.

And then I’ll bring it back to her, once the shock of pain has worn off and she’s had a chance to mourn.

When she might find comfort to ken something physical was done to remember her bairn.

Then I’ll plant it where she can care for it, where she can sit near it and think of what she lost.”

Feya’s eyes filled with tears, and thoughts of her own family floated into her mind.

Her longing for them was ever present, but she had gotten good at pressing down the emotion.

But something about this loss brought an overwhelming sense of loneliness to her chest. It was the sleepless night and her racing thoughts about Archer, and all her uncertainty about what was growing between them.

All of it was catching up to her, and Feya let the tears fall down her cheeks.

Holly sat with her, not saying anything, as if she knew that letting Feya cry would be healing of its own. She listened as Feya sniffed and wiped her eyes, and then, after a few moments, she patted Feya gently on the knee.

They cleaned up the dirt and trowels and brushed the wet earth from their skirts. Feya followed Holly back into the healing chamber, feeling a bit lighter. And then, as the sky brightened further around them, they fell into a quiet routine to prepare for the day.

Feya didn’t appear at breakfast.

Archer tried not to watch the door, anxious to see if she was simply sleeping in, but as the morning progressed, he had to come to terms with the fact that she wouldn’t be appearing.

He hadn’t seen her since she left his chamber yesterday, her cheeks still flushed from sleep.

Did she regret what happened between them? Had he somehow scared her away?

He ate his breakfast quickly, treating it like another task to get over with. And even then, he didn’t finish it. He left the table still hungry, unable to sit at that dining table that felt far too empty without Feya beside him.

When Archer arrived at his study, he found Lennox outside of it. The day had started poorly, so he was already in a sour mood. The sight of this troublesome man only made things worse.

“What is it?” Archer asked. He walked by Lennox and shoved into his study, certain the man wouldn’t need an invitation to follow him in.

“I’ve heard something interesting, my Laird,” Lennox said. He seemed genuine, without a hint of judgment in his voice, but Archer wouldn’t be fooled so easily. Still, he wasn’t about to kick the man out. He was a part of his council, after all, and an influential man in his clan.

“Sit,” Archer invited. He took his seat at his desk as Lennox perched on the edge of a chair across from him. “Ye have heard something. From whom?”

“From a source,” Lennox said, evading the question.

“A source ye trust?”

“Aye,” he nodded.

“And who is it?” Archer asked. It was unlikely Lennox would tell him, but Archer had to try. He and Elijah had been working hard to understand the man’s reach, trying to ascertain how far his influence stretched. He couldn’t give up the opportunity to ask him directly.

“There’s more than one,” Lennox said. “There’s chatter in the villages and rumors in the pubs. It’s why I decided to come to ye, my Laird. If many people are speaking of this, ye should ken about it.”

“Aye,” Archer nodded. He was frustrated his own men hadn’t come to him yet. If this rumor was as prevalent as Lennox said, than someone should have brought it to his attention by now. Why else did he had men patrolling the villages? “Tell me.”

“It’s the new Laird McKenzie.”

Mention of Feya’s old clan made Archer sit up straighter.

“Ryder. What of him?”

“Word is he’s taken a wife,” Lennox explained. His words were careful, and Archer couldn’t shake the feeling the man across from him was testing him. It was like he was waiting to see Archer’s reaction, to judge if he asked the right questions.

“This is the shocking news ye bring to me?” Archer asked.

“It’s not any woman,” Lennox continued. “He’s married his faither’s bride. The village girl the old Laird McKenzie claimed for his own.”

Feya’s sister.

“I see,” Archer said, masking his surprise behind an uninterested tone. His mind was already with Feya, knowing she would want to hear about her sister.

“It may be a messenger is already on his way,” Lennox said. “But ye ken rumors fly faster than horses.”

“Aye,” Archer agreed, amused by the man’s wit. “Thank ye for bringing this to me.”

Lennox nodded and stood, ready to take his leave.

It was surprising Lennox had brought this to him, since he could very well have kept the information as ammunition.

He could have blindsided Archer with this in a council meeting, making him look like an uniformed Laird who didn’t know the current events in the clans around him.

Still, this small gesture wasn’t enough to make Archer trust the man.

“The ceilidh will be a good opportunity to confirm our connection with the McKenzie clan,” Lennox said at the doorway. “It would be wise for ye to attend, my Laird. Provided ye can do so without any…incidents.”

Lennox left before Archer could respond, but his biting words showed Archer exactly why he couldn’t be lulled into trusting the man.

He couldn’t let the conversation finish without sending a veiled critique in Archer’s direction, referencing his episodes.

Archer gripped his study door with thoughts of slamming it closed, but then he stopped himself, digging his fingernails into the hard wood.

He’ll be waiting for it, Archer told himself. Dinnae let him win.

He released his grip from the door and walked back to his desk, processing the new information he had received.

Feya’s sister was remarried. That meant she was alive and well, and he could only hope it meant the same for Feya’s other siblings.

He began to picture the smile that would cross her face when he told her, the relief he would watch leave her body.

A new idea sparked, and Archer was back on his feet. Maybe this news was an opportunity to make things right, and he knew just how to do it.

“My Laird!” The cook looked up from her space behind the counter, her hands covered in flour as she kneaded a large lump of dough in front of her. “Is something wrong?”

Archer shook his head and held up a hand to let her know that everything was fine with the breakfast she had sent up earlier.

“It isnae that,” he said.

He was suddenly at a loss for words now that he stood here in front of Jan.

Perhaps he should have sent a servant down to deliver this message.

It certainly wasn’t something that required the Lord of the house to burst into the kitchen about.

But now that he was here, there was nothing for it, so he pushed forward.

“I’d like ye to prepare something special tonight,” he said simply.

Jan looked at him, her eyes slightly narrowed.

The woman had been in this house longer than anyone.

She had seen Archer grow up, and no matter how old he got, he always felt like a little kid when he stood in front of her.

After all, she had never been shy about scolding him for stealing treats or ruining his dinner.

Jan had been the only member of the household who could get away with chastizing the future Laird when he was a child.

“Something special?” she asked. She smirked at him, and all at once he regretted coming down here.

“That rabbit stew you make, perhaps. Something like that.”

“Of course. And how many people will be enjoying the stew?”

He floundered, knowing the answer would reveal his intentions.

“Two.”

He stared at her, a warning in his eyes. Luckily, she managed to hold back her smile, knowing better than to tease him further.

“Of course. And perhaps ye’d like to enjoy it on the terrace, my Laird? I could have Aiden set a table for ye there.”

He hadn’t thought of that, but it was a good idea, and Archer nodded. The terrace would be quiet, a good place for him and Feya to talk about her family without anyone else overhearing them.

“Aye,” he said. “That would be fine.”

He turned to leave, but the cook stopped him.

“My Laird?”

He heard the hesitation in her voice, as if she didn’t know if she should speak up, but he turned back and nodded to her.

“Speak freely.”

“She doesnae like rabbit. Anytime we serve it, there’s half of it left on her plate. Perhaps a good seasoned lamb chop?”

His first instinct was to protest. After all, it was out of line for the woman to question him or assume who was joining him for dinner. But he quickly released this, aware the cook was only trying to help. He nodded.

“Aye. Lamb chops.”

Jan smiled, and Archer turned, setting his sights on the healing chamber. Now that the dinner was arranged, he needed to convince Feya to attend.