Page 26 of Taken by the Devilish Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #7)

She narrowed her eyes at him, unsure how to unravel his words.

They sounded sincere, as if Elijah had his Laird’s best interests at heart, but there was something beneath them that set Feya’s teeth on edge.

Without another word, she took off down the hallway, brushing past Elijah as she set her sights on Archer’s study door.

He was finishing the final line of a letter when his door flew open. Archer looked up in surprise to see Feya glaring at him, her hands planted resolutely on her hips.

“What are ye doin’,” he asked, getting to his feet.

“Is this why ye’re avoiding me?” she asked. He blinked at her, wondering why it felt like they were launching into a conversation he hadn’t heard the beginning of.

“What are ye talkin’ about?”

“How can ye let some rumors get to ye?” She asked. “Or maybe ye don’t think they’re rumors. Maybe ye believe them yourself.”

Her cheeks were red with anger, but at the same time, he saw tears pricking at her eyes.

He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, to try to calm her down from whatever had made her upset.

But then he remembered that she was going home.

A few more days and she would be out of his life forever.

“What rumors?” he asked.

She seemed to look at him for the first time, recognizing that perhaps he really didn’t know what she was speaking of. She jutted out her chin before answering him.

“That I’m a witch,” she sighed. “That I’m holding some power over ye.”

“And ye think I believe that?” he scoffed. He shook his head at her, shocked she could ever believe it of him.

“Ye arenae denying it,” she countered.

“Of course I am. I daenae put stock in things that arenae true. They’re old wives’ tales meant to scare people. Ye shouldnae put stock in it.”

“And yet you’re avoiding me,” she said. The anger and the hurt flared up again, her voice raw with emotion. Archer felt an instant tightening in his chest, a guilt that Feya could read his actions of the past few days as something meant to hurt her.

“Of course I amnae avoiding ye,” he started, but she interrupted him.

“Every time I bring ye something ye send me away,” she said. She held up a vial in her hand as if to drive home her point. “Ye willnae be alone with me in a room. And ye barely speak to me at the dinner table.”

“Feya—”

“I’m leaving in a few days,” she announced, and the truth of these words surprised them both. The room fell silent.

What could Archer say to her? How could he tell her that this was painful for him? That he couldn’t bear the thought of sending her back home? How could he admit that the reason he didn’t want to be alone with her was that it hurt too much to know she was choosing to leave him?

Feya dropped into a seat, the fight seeping out of her body. Archer walked around his desk to lean against the front of it, where he could speak to her quietly, try to catch her eyes.

“I amnae avoiding ye,” he said again, more gently this time. “But ye are going home. It’s time for both of us to focus on what comes next.”

It was as good an excuse as any, but he could tell Feya didn’t entirely believe him. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he was struck with how adorable she looked as she stared up at him with such skepticism.

“Are ye sure ye daenae think I’m a witch?”

“Hmm,” he laughed, taking the opportunity to tease her.

“If ye are, ye arenae enchanting me with these concoctions.” He reached down to pull the vial from her hand, letting his fingers linger for a moment against hers.

He set the bottle down and leaned closer, dropping his voice low.

“If ye’re enchanting me, it’s with these lips. ”

He reached out to her and Feya froze, holding her breath as he brought his pointer finger close to her mouth. She licked her lips instinctively, and Archer ran his finger along her bottom lip, the slightest of pressures.

“It’s with the shape of your neck.”

He ran a finger down her neck, and Feya tipped her chin. He watched goosebumps emerge across the ample curve of her breasts.

“And these,” he said. He couldn’t stop himself from running his fingers over the top of her breasts, from edging toward the neck of her gown. He locked eyes with her and dipped his fingers deeper, pulling against the fabric to find what was waiting for him beneath.

A sound in the hallway startled them both, and Archer pulled his hand away, standing up to put distance between himself and Feya. They both looked to the open door, relieved when they didn’t see a figure pass.

Archer chuckled, realizing just how quickly he could fall under Feya’s spell. Maybe she was a witch after all.

“And ye wonder why I willnae be alone with ye?” he asked.

She blushed, but there was no mistaking the longing that was evident in her eyes. Archer went back to his chair behind the desk, eager to put a piece of furniture between them.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been distracted,” he said.

Archer sighed, remembering the council meetings of the past few days, the arguments that were becoming more and more contentious the closer they got to Ryder McKenzie’s wedding party.

And then there was Lennox, who only seemed to be inching closer and closer to mutiny.

“Things are…uncertain among me council. There are those who daenae think I am fit to lead this clan.”

It was rare for him to be so open about this, but it felt good to tell Feya the truth.

For so long, he had no one to confide in.

Ever since the death of his father and his best friend, he had operated as if anyone could hurt him.

But he trusted Feya. In fact, she was the first person he had trusted in a long time.

“I’m sure rumors of a mysterious healer holding power over ye daenae help.”

She laughed at this, making fun of herself.

“I told ye I put no stock in it,” he said.

“Aye, but ye must admit that others do.” She looked at the ground for a moment. “I’m sorry if my coming here caused trouble for ye. Ye were only tryin’ to help me?—”

“Nay, Feya,” he said, stopping her. “Daenae think that. Ye have helped me more than ye ken.”

“Let me do something for ye,” she said, suddenly filled with the energy of a new idea. “To thank ye for saving me. And for getting me back home.”

“Ye arenae there yet,” he laughed, and she smiled.

“Aye, but we’ll be there soon enough. One more treatment—something I can do for ye before I go.”

“Treatment?” he asked. His mind flashed to kissing in the woods, to Feya laid out on his bed. “What did ye have in mind?”

“Not like that,” she laughed, staring at him with wide eyes. “Just be ready tomorrow at midday. I’ll meet ye in the healing garden.”