Page 22 of Taken by the Devilish Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #7)

“ H e woke up and asked me if I was a princess who needed rescuing.”

Feya and Holly were doubled over in laughter, listening to Ayla’s most recent exploits with the children of the village.

She enjoyed spending time with the villagers, and she had a special way with the children.

She frequently had a handful of them following her around as she checked in on patients and made her rounds.

“Those bairns are glad they got ye this morning,” Holly said. “Much better than the old woman they usually deal with.”

“Nay,” Ayla insisted, jumping to Holly’s defense. “The villagers love ye, Holly. They see ye as one of them.”

“Aye,” Holly nodded. “Boring, old, and ordinary.”

They all chuckled at Holly’s self-deprecating humor, but Feya knew how important it was for villagers to connect with their healer. She had seen it firsthand when she cared for the people of her own village.

“It was good of ye to go,” Feya told Ayla. “I ken how they love to see ye among them.”

“Well, it was the least I could do after the night Holly had,” Ayla said.

She had learned of the stillborn baby early this morning and had insisted that Holly get some sleep while Ayla went to check on the sick patients in the village.

Of course, Holly had stayed awake, jumping right from her early-morning planting of her tree to working with Feya on the preparations for the day.

“We ken why Ayla and I were up so early,” Holly said, her gaze settling on Feya. “But why did ye wander down here practically before dawn?”

Ayla’s eyebrows shot up, learning about Feya’s early wake-up for the first time. Feya felt the pressure of their gaze, but she wasn’t about to tell them the truth. What would she even say? Every time I close my eyes, I imagine Archer in bed with me? It was far too embarrassing to admit.

“I couldnae sleep,” she admitted.

“Hmmm.”

Holly and Ayla shared a look, as if they were speaking a separate language.

“What?” Feya protested. She didn’t like they way they seemed to diagnose this sleeplessness all on their own.

“It’s interesting,” Ayla said. She was mixing soap over the fire, and she walked over to stir it, carrying an air of knowing. “The last time we saw ye, ye were headed to see me brother. Something about forcing him to have treatment?”

“I wouldn’t say forcing ,” Feya said, but then she thought of the way she had pulled him out of his study, had forced him into his bedchamber, where the bath had been waiting for him.

“I’m not criticizing,” Ayla told her. “In fact, I’m impressed. There aren’t many who can stand up to me brother and live to talk about it. I only hope he wasnae cruel.”

She pictured him at the end of the bed, staring up at her.

Now it’s my turn to treat ye.

“Nay,” Feya said. Her voice squeaked on the word, and her cheeks grew warm. She kept her eyes on the table in front of her. “I think we found an understanding.”

She was too nervous to look up, but she could imagine Holly and Ayla sharing another amused glance.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Ayla said. “When ye dinnae come to dinner last night, I was worried Archer had done something to upset ye.”

On the contrary , Feya thought, but she wouldn’t reveal that to Ayla and Holly, no matter how comfortable she felt with them.

“Speak and he appears,” Holly announced, and Feya looked up to see the very man she had been dreaming about, now in the flesh. He stood in the doorway, hesitating.

“Come in, brother,” Ayla called. “We were just speaking of how ye scared Feya from the dining table last evening.”

“Nay,” Feya cried out, eager to make it clear she had said nothing of the sort. She caught Archer’s eyes and shook her head. “I was only tired.”

Archer smirked, and it suddenly felt like they were the only two in the room. Feya’s whole body went hot, and she could feel her heartbeat in her ears. She looked away and gripped the edge of the counter, forcing herself to breathe.

“Exactly why I came here,” he said, sweeping his gaze around the room to address all of the women with a confidence Feya envied. “Ye missed out on one of cook’s best last night.”

His eyes settled on Feya again and she looked at him. It was impossible not to feel nervous under his gaze, not to question whether she stared too much or blinked too often.

“Ye must let me make it up to ye.”

“It’s alright,” Feya started, but Archer interrupted.

“Dinner tonight,” he said. “Out on the terrace. I’ve asked Jan to make one of her specialties.”

It took Feya a moment to take in what Archer was asking her.

After he sent her from his room last night, she had been confused about whether Archer wanted to see her.

She had struggled with what might happen when they saw each other again.

And now he was standing in front of other people, unabashedly inviting her to a private meal.

“Don’t leave the man waiting,” Holly said. She slipped over to Feya and nudged her with her elbow.

“Will ye join me?” Archer asked.

“Aye,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ayla beaming at them, as if something she had wanted were finally coming true. “I’d love to.”

“Good,” Archer said. He didn’t smile, but Feya was starting to recognize the slight change in his eyes that told her he was pleased. She was finally able to peer beyond his hard exterior to see the true emotions underneath.

“And what about the rest of us?” Ayla asked, putting on some mock outrage. “Am I to eat by meself?”

“Ye ken ye’ll love it,” Archer laughed. “Ye willnae have to keep me grumpy self company. Ye should thank Feya for doing it for ye.”

“How true,” Ayla laughed. “I’ll finally have a night of peace.”

“Tonight then,” Archer said, locking eyes with Feya for a final time. She nodded, feeling shy, and Archer turned to leave. His steps hadn’t even disappeared from the hallway before Ayla and Holly started teasing her.

“I have news for ye.”

Archer and Feya sat at a carefully arranged table, the evening sky darkening around them. It was a warm night, but a cool breeze from the woods kept it comfortable on the terrace, light from large chandeliers inside illuminating through the French doors.

“News?” she asked. Archer poured wine into Feya’s glass, trying not to stare at the deep neckline of the dark blue velvet dress.

She had no doubt borrowed it from Ayla, but despite his sister’s height, she was lighter of frame than Ayla.

It meant that all the curves he had only begun to explore were on display, none more so than Feya’s ample breasts straining to be contained.

“From home,” he said.

As soon as he said it, Feya sat up straighter. Worry creased her brow.

“It isnae bad,” he said quickly. He hadn’t meant to panic her, and he shook his head now, doing his best to show her that he hadn’t brought her here to deliver bad news.

“Nay, it’s good, I think,” he assured her. “The new Laird McKenzie has married your sister.”

“Morgana?” she asked, and Archer nodded.

“The old man’s son returned to claim his position as Laird. And it seems he’s accepted Morgana as his wife.”

“Then she’s safe,” Feya sighed. She seemed to melt with relief, and Archer felt a warmth spread through his chest as he realized how good it felt to deliver this news.

“She’s safe,” he nodded. “And it’s likely your siblings are, too. I daenae have word of them, but if your sister is Lady McKenzie again, then they are under her protection.”

A smile spread across Feya’s face, and she gazed at him with gratitude.

“Thank ye,” she said, and the words felt so intimate that Archer squirmed beneath them. He reached for his wine and took a hearty sip. He gestured for the first course of their meal, catching the eye of the man who had set himself up in a quiet corner, available but discreet.

“Tell me about him,” Feya asked, and there was excitement in her voice. She lifted her own wine glass and sipped from it as she settled back into her chair. “The younger Laird McKenzie. Do ye ken him?”

“Not well,” Archer said. “But his reputation is a good one. He disapproved of his faither’s actions with the clan, and so he fled. But he made a name for himself as a hard worker, someone his men are loyal to.”

“If he is a Scots Inch kinder than his faither, then I’m happy. It means me family may be treated well. That they have protection.”

The lamb chops arrived, and Archer silently thanked the cook when he saw Feya’s look of admiration toward her plate. She lifted her knife and dug into the meal, eating with the careless abandon of someone who just had a weight lifted from her shoulders.

Feya talked of her siblings as they ate.

It was like the news that they were safe had opened something inside of her.

Perhaps she had been afraid to speak of them before, as if keeping them close to her heart could somehow protect them.

But now he heard of her childhood in the village, of her younger brothers trying to protect her when they were small.

He heard about the antics of her younger sisters, the twins who seemed to pull each other into mischief.

“They sound like Ayla and me,” he laughed, wiping at the last drops of sauce on his plate with a piece of bread. “Our tutors could never keep track of us.”

“It must be so different,” she said, looking at him thoughtfully. “To grow up in a small family. I cannae imagine what it would be like to have only one sister.”

“The same,” Archer shrugged. “Only ye daenae have other siblings to complain to when your sister is bothering ye.”

He pushed his plate away, thoroughly satisfied by the meal and their conversation.

Archer refilled his wine glass and topped off Feya’s before shifting his chair so he could look out across the grounds of the castle, watching the glint of fireflies as they hovered over the grass.

He took a deep breath and sighed. How long had it been since he had enjoyed a meal like this?

Since he had listened to stories and told some of his own?

“Can I ask ye something?” Feya asked.

Archer didn’t hesitate. He nodded, his eyes still following the spark of light in the distance.

“Your scars,” she said, but then she stopped. Archer looked over, trying to make out Feya’s expression in the dimming light.

“I thought ye werenae watching me in the bath, lass.”

She rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head at his teasing. It gave her the courage to keep talking and she pressed forward.

“Do ye remember them all? Do ye ken where each one came from? What battle ye fought in?”

“Not all of them,” he said. He set his wine glass down and pushed up his sleeve, turning to the soft skin on the inside of his forearm. Hard lines crossed the skin, a map of all the times the metal of a sword had found its target. He ran his finger over a long line close to his elbow.

“This was my first,” he said. He laid his arm across the table where Feya could see it more closely. Suddenly, her hand hovered above it, and the lightest touch of her finger ran across the scar.

“What happened?”

“Me fighting master overestimated me,” he laughed.

“I was eleven years old, and he decided I was ready for some real-world experience. He brought in an older boy from the village, thinking the kid would be no match for me. But partway through the fight, I tripped over my own feet. Basically fell into the kids’ sword. ”

“Oh no,” she said, but she held back a laugh. Archer smiled at the memory.

“I thought the boy was going to faint when he saw the blood. He had just injured the son of his Laird. He probably thought he was done for.”

“Poor boy,” she laughed.

“And what about me?” Archer teased. “I had to go back to me family with me fighting master’s shirt tied around me arm. I was stupid enough to tell them the truth about what happened—Ayla didn’t let me live it down for years.”

Feya’s fingers ran across the mark again, and Archer felt every second of the touch. The air changed between them, and Archer caught Feya’s eye as she ran her fingers up and down his skin.

“Be careful, lass,” he said, his voice low and deep. “Or I may have to take ye back to me bed.”

She stared at him, frozen by the words, and he recognized a mixture of desire and apprehension in her eyes. He gave a small laugh, letting her know he was teasing her, and Feya smiled at him as Archer pulled his arm back to his lap.

“Do they still hurt?” she asked. It took him a moment to realize she was speaking about his scars.

“Nay,” he said. “Not on the outside.”

He surprised himself with the honesty of his words.

Where had that come from? He was suddenly thinking of the slash across his chest he had gotten while trying to protect his father.

And then there was the scarred-over spot where the soldier’s dirk pierced his side as he struggled to get back to his men who had been attacked unexpectedly.

“What is it?” Feya asked. He blinked and pushed the images away, focusing on Feya’s eyes, the slight upturn of her nose, her full lips.

“Nothing,” he said, but now when Archer glanced out toward the forest, he saw the shadows of his men, the ghosts of those he had lost.

“It’s getting late,” he said. He stood from the table and held out a hand to her, helping her to her feet. “We should get some rest.”

She looked confused by this sudden change, but Archer could feel himself slipping into a sadness. He wouldn’t bring Feya down with him. Better to walk her to her room and say goodnight so he could disappear into his demons all on his own.

“Thank ye for dinner,” she said when they reached her bed chamber.

She tilted her head up, and for a moment Archer wondered if she wanted him to kiss her.

He thought about it. How nice it would feel to press her against this wall and loose himself in the feel of her body.

But it wouldn’t be fair to her. He couldn’t use Feya to exorcise these demons, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Good night,” he said. Archer brought a hand to Feya’s cheek, a gentle touch of his fingers to her skin. Then he dropped his hand and walked away, forcing himself not to look back.