Page 27 of Taken by the Devilish Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #7)

A t midday, he walked through the healing chamber, headed for the meeting point Feya had given him.

“Look who it is,” Ayla said, her eyes on Holly as they watched him cross the room. “And where are ye headed?”

“I’m sure ye ken, Ayla,” he said, rolling his eyes at her.

He hadn’t missed how close Feya and his sister had gotten over the past few weeks.

Sometimes it made him wish he were closer to Ayla, that he could ask her what Feya was feeling or thinking.

Though, of course, something told him she wouldn’t tell him anyway.

“Don’t let her tease ye,” Holly said. “Ye must spend time with Feya while ye have the chance.”

He nodded, unable to voice his agreement with the statement.

It only made him think of their impending departure.

In two days, they would leave at dawn, headed back to McKenzie land.

He would return Feya to her family, where she would no doubt catch the eye of some ambitious Lord.

Before he knew it, he would be back at McKenzie Castle for Feya’s own wedding.

He walked through the open doors and saw the colors of late summer blooming throughout the garden.

Roses in all shades of pink, white, and red, lined the walkway until he reached the containers of herbs and plants that made up many of the concoctions Feya had brought to him.

He glanced around, slightly nervous about what he would find out here, but Feya was nowhere to be seen.

What is she up to?

He heard her before he saw her, her voice carrying across the lawn. She called his name, and he looked up to see her running, her hand up in greeting. She held a large basket in her arm as she rushed from the direction of the castle kitchen. A blanket was draped over one shoulder.

“Apologies, I’m late,” she said, catching her breath as she reached him. “They werenae ready with the food.”

He looked down to the basket in her hands where a clean cloth had been carefully arranged over its contents. Even so, he could smell the yeasty aroma of bread and something sweet that made his mouth water.

“Food?”

“Aye. A picnic,” Feya announced. She practically bounced when she said it, overcome with excitement about the idea. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie. He took the basket from her and felt the satisfying weight of it. “Lead the way.”

She rushed forward as soon as he said it, leading him with urgency.

The shadow of the council meeting he had just suffered through was quickly receding.

Elijah had even warned him not to leave, saying it wouldn’t be a good look for Archer to spend more time with Feya.

Of course, he didn’t listen, and now he found himself smiling as he followed her off the castle grounds.

“How far are we going?” He laughed when their stroll turned into a hike. Feya only looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.

“You’ll see,” she said. She veered left and walked up a hill, bringing up memories of Archer’s childhood.

He and Ayla used to explore these woods all the time.

As a child, he would have known exactly where Feya was taking him.

But today, it was a surprise when they crested the hill and the clear, still blue of a pond spread across the horizon.

“I forgot this place,” he said, half to himself.

“Holly’s brought me here to collect from the water plants,” she explained.

Feya pulled the blanket from her shoulder and unfolded it.

She held the corners as she lifted it into the air, letting the fabric settle onto the ground.

She looked at him with an expectant look and Archer smiled as he walked the basket to the blanket.

He settled onto it as Feya smoothed the wrinkles with her palms.

“Jan outdid herself,” Feya said. She pulled aside the fabric, and tantalizing smells emerged. He watched Feya unpack it, stretching his long legs in front of him as he rested on his hands. With each new food, Feya narrated a description.

“Fresh rolls and clotted cream, strawberries, sweet onion tarts, chicken legs with rosemary, goat cheese, and peach preserves.”

The food kept coming.

“How many people did ye tell her to cook for?” he asked.

There was enough food to feed four of them, and they both jumped in, sampling each dish with fervor.

Jan had packed them plates and knives, but they mostly ate with their fingers, pulling apart fresh bread to scoop up the cheese and the cream or making sandwiches with the chicken.

They ate until the warm sun and their full stomachs made them tired, until they found themselves lying back, their heads cushioned with their arms.

“I want to thank ye,” Feya said as they both stared at the blue sky and the wispy clouds that moved across it.

“Ye daenae have to?—”

“I ken. But I want to. I think…ye probably saved me life.”

He turned on his side to prop his head on his hand, looking at her with curiosity.

“Ye must have thought it,” she said, glancing over. “If ye had let me run back to the castle, those men would have found me. Or Cohen would have taken care of me himself. Bringing me here saved me life.”

They looked at each other, weighing the what ifs of that situation. Sometimes it felt like years ago that Feya had stumbled out of the woods screaming for help. Other times, it felt like only yesterday.

“So, thank ye,” she said.

Archer nodded, an unspoken thank you of his own on his tongue. He wanted to tell her she had healed something inside of him. Or, at least, had started to. But he found it too hard to form the words.

“I wonder how tall the twins will be,” Feya said.

She flipped onto her back again, her curls falling around her shoulders.

She had worn her hair partly down today, only part of it pulled back into her usual braid.

Archer fixed his eyes on the shine of her curls, on the swoop of her nose as he looked at her in profile.

“They’ll be pleased to see ye,” Archer said. He hoped his voice didn’t sound strained, that she couldn’t pick up on the difficulty he had in talking about this.

“Aye, but I wonder if they’ll still need me. Will any of them? I’ve been gone so long, perhaps they’ve grown to take care of themselves.”

He reached over and captured her hand, squeezing it in his own.

“They’ll still need ye,” he assured her, catching her eyes as Feya dropped her face toward his. “No matter how old they get, they’ll always need their sister. After all, it sounds like ye practically raised them.”

“Me and Morgana,” she nodded. She grew quiet, and they both stared at the sky again, their hands still touching. Then, her voice tentative, she said, “I envy ye for the time ye had with your faither. He sounds like a very special man.”

Archer tensed, his father’s face floating into his mind.

But when he pictured his father, he didn’t hear the oppressive sounds of war in his ears.

He didn’t remember the pain of swords and steel.

Instead, he had an image of himself as a child, splashing in this very pond, his father holding his stomach as he taught him to swim.

“He was a good faither,” Archer agreed. “I lost my mother when I was so young, and Ayla never even kenned her. So, our faither was mother and faither. He never made us feel like a part of our family was missing.”

Feya squeezed his hand, and it was the encouragement he needed to keep going.

“He let us run wild all through these woods, always there to patch us up when he came back with bruises and cuts. But he also taught us the importance of education. He encouraged Ayla to keep learning—always said that we needed her sharp mind to keep me on my toes. The man certainly kenned how to motivate me.”

“The villagers loved him,” Feya offered. “Some of them still speak of him when Ayla and I visit.”

It made him glad to know the people of Clan Dougal still thought of their old Laird fondly. But it also made Archer question if he could ever be the Laird that his father was.

“Tell me something,” she said. A cloud floated across the sun, darkening their quiet oasis. “Tell me about the day he died.”

“Nay,” he said.

Archer rolled over and sat up, clearly upset by the question.

“Ye daenae want to hear that.”

“I do,” she said, sitting up herself. She reached for the hand he had just pulled away and took it into her lap. “It’s good for ye to talk about it. It’s the only way ye can heal.”

He regarded her for a moment, looking far too serious, but then a smile crossed his face.

“Is this the treatment ye promised? I have to say, I like kissing a whole lot better.”

“Enough of that,” she scolded. “I willnae let ye distract me.”

“Are ye sure?” He flipped his hand and ran a finger up her wrist, sending a shiver up her spine. Feya pulled her hands away and looked at him with impatience.

“Tell me what happened.”

Archer sighed and leaned back, this time resting on his elbows.

“It was a hard-fought war,” he started. “It had already stretched out months longer than we anticipated. People around me faither started to speak of surrender, but he wouldnae hear of it. He said he would never let his clan go to another Laird while he still had breath in his body.

“I had taken another army West, to take care of a small group that thought they could ambush the castle while the soldiers were away. We had captured a rebel soldier who told us about the attack, but when we arrived there was no one there. It was all a ruse, designed to pull a portion of our army away from the main fighting.”

“Oh no,” Feya gasped. She could already see where this was heading. The enemy would attack, would take advantage of their weakened forces.

“We rode hard for two days, stopping only when the horses couldn’t go any further.

But even then, we were too late. My faither and the remaining soldiers had been in conflict since dawn, doing everything they could to fend off the larger and stronger forces.

It’s remarkable they survived as long as they did. ”

Archer fell silent, but Feya needed the full story. She wanted to know the exact details of Archer’s nightmare. What was it he kept reliving over and over in his mind?

“Your faither. Was he still alive when ye got there?”

“Aye,” he said. “Out front with the best of his men.

My army joined in, attacking from the side, and the new energy brought us life.

We started pushing them back. But my father had been fighting for hours, and just when I thought we might be close to victory, I heard him cry out.

I kenned it was him as certainly as I kenned me own voice.

“I lost me head then. Instead of staying with me men and continuing to lead them, I attacked anyone I could find. I went on a rampage, slicing and pushing back the enemy. I forgot everything except how to kill, how to destroy the people who had taken me faither from me. Their army retreated, but they left behind a trail of bodies from our side. I held me faither in me arms while he took his last breath.”

Feya’s heart ached for him, and her eyes pricked with tears. Despite Archer’s casual position, she could see how painful this was for him. She could sense how raw this was, how tense his muscles were as he relived this moment.

“Ye saved your clan,” she said. “Ye pushed back that army when ye were on the verge of defeat.”

“Perhaps,” he said dismissively. “But I shouldnae have acted on me own. I shouldnae have left Malcolm to make decisions about the men’s movements. He wasnae prepared to lead them in me stead, and he paid the price with his life.”

“They died honorably,” Feya said. “They died so that your clan could continue. They wouldnae want ye to blame yourself.”

“I ken,” Archer sighed. “But it doesnae mean I can stop meself.”

He took a deep breath, so big Feya heard the air as he pulled it into his lungs. She watched the rise of his chest and the way he held his breath before slowly letting it out, opening his mouth to release everything with a sigh. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes.

“Are ye alright?”

She knew his episodes often started with headaches. Now she looked at him with concern, wondering if talking about that day was about to give him one of his flashes. But when Archer looked over, his eyes were clear, no sign of pain on his face.

“Aye. It feels good to talk about them.”

He even smiled at her, showing Feya the truth of his words.

“Do ye ken what else might feel good?” he asked with a glint in his eye.

“What?”

“Putting our feet in that water.” He nodded toward the pond, the water still crystal-clear in its stillness. “Last one to the water gets thrown in.”

He shifted to unlace his boots, slipping out of them with expert speed. Feya squealed as she reached for her own laces, but she hardly had them loose before Archer was kicking off his shoes and then his socks. He jumped to his feet and raced toward the water, folding up his breeches as he ran.