Page 33 of Taken by the Devilish Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #7)

A rcher pushed his mare hard, determined he wouldn’t stop until he returned to Castle Dougal.

It was time to put Feya and her family behind him.

He had enough trouble with his own clan, and it was time to address it head-on.

As he rode, he told himself that he wouldn’t stand for any more of Lennox’s insolence.

People across the land feared him as a devil on the battlefield.

Perhaps it was time for his own council to think the same of him.

He walked quickly to his council chambers, still dusty from the hard ride. Servants tried to smile at him in greeting, but he ignored them. Instead, he kept his eyes ahead of him until he could press his palms against the heavy wooden doors and push them open.

“My Laird!” Lennox jumped to his feet, rushing away from the chair he was sitting in. The chair that was reserved for the Laird.

“Don’t move on me account,” Archer said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “By all means, keep your arse in me chair.”

“I was only?—”

“Hoping I wouldnae return?” Archer asked.

He looked around the room, taking in the wide eyes of the men at the table.

Elijah watched him warily, a look of caution on his face.

But Archer was done being cautious. He had tried to play nice and look where it had gotten him: A council member sitting so casually in a seat of power.

“Listen up,” he said. Archer slammed his fists on the table, making a few of the men jump. “I’ve been to Clan McKenzie. I’ve reinstated our alliance and shown the man that he will never disrespect me and me clan again.”

“Very good, my Laird,” Stewart said, but one glare from Archer silenced him.

“Let it be a warning,” Archer announced. “To any man or Laird who questions me. Clan Dougal willnae be forgotten. We willnae be disrespected after all this clan has been through.”

A flash of Feya’s apple orchard rushed to his mind, her memorial for all of his men. But the second it appeared, Archer pushed it away. He wouldn’t think of Feya now. He had promised himself that it would be clan business and nothing else.

“It’s time to restore this clan to the status it held when my faither was Laird,” Archer announced.

A few of the men pounded their fists in agreement, pleased by the response. Elijah stood up and nodded solemnly, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

“That’s right,” he cried out, as if he were addressing a group of soldiers. “For too long we have sat by, letting others get ahead. We’ve been afraid to fight back. But no more.”

Archer narrowed his eyes in Elijah’s direction, trying to understand where his comments were headed. But before he could interpret them, Lennox joined in.

“Aye,” Lennox agreed. “For too long, we’ve let our enemies sleep soundly in their beds.”

“It’s time to take back our revenge,” Elijah cried. “To show those murdering cowards what Clan Dougal has in store for them.”

“Ye cannae mean war?” O’Brien asked, and suddenly everyone was speaking at once. Archer’s determination to improve his clan had quickly turned into a declaration of war, something he never intended. With a scream that echoed off the walls, he silenced the room.

“No one is speaking of war ,” he assured them, looking particularly hard at Elijah and Lennox. “We willnae engage in unnecessary conflict.”

“Unnecessary?” Elijah burst out. “They killed yer faither. They took away me brother.”

“Aye,” Archer nodded. “And we took men in kind. We willnae open up old wounds just as they’re starting to heal.”

“Archer—”

“Enough,” he bellowed, cutting Elijah off. “Your Laird has spoken. And from now on, you’re going to hear a lot more of him. This council will listen to what I have to say and act accordingly. If anyone doesn’t like that, ye can leave.”

He turned then and strode out of the room, equal parts angry and elated.

For too long, he had felt unsure of himself as a Laird, always comparing himself to his father.

But not anymore. Archer was ready to throw himself into his position and gain the respect of his clan.

No more running from his past—it was time to face it.

Feya would be pleased.

He grunted as the thought floated into his head, instantly throwing it away.

Nay, daenae think of her. No more distractions.

“Ye’re home,” Ayla said, rushing forward as she spotted Archer striding down the hallway.

“Aye, and I’m busy,” he grumbled. He didn’t stop walking, only continued his path to his bedchamber.

“Of course ye are grumpy,” Ayla muttered to herself, and the comment made him boil with anger. He spun around, glaring at his sister.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” Ayla answered. She lifted her chin in the air, probably the only person in this castle who wasn’t afraid of him. “I kenned ye would stomp around this place like a stormcloud when ye returned without her.”

Without her…

Archer worked his jaw, struggling to find a response. He furrowed his brow as he stared back at Ayla, wanting to deny her words. The problem was, he couldn’t. With a final grunt, Archer turned on his heel, fuming that with one look at his face, his sister had read him like a book.

Feya tried to focus on the world in front of her.

She threw herself into her family, thrilled to be back among them after so long.

She helped the twins with their studies, inventing little games to keep them interested.

She worried about her brothers, each of them trying to establish themselves as men in their own unique ways.

And she listened to Morgana gush about her husband, trying to be happy that her sister had found love.

There were also the villagers and the many ailments and injuries that needed healing.

Morgana and Ryder had gifted her a cottage of her own, where she could live among the villagers and visit them daily.

She used what she had learned from Holly to stock the shelves with tinctures and tonics, filling every hour of the day with different healing tasks.

I should be happy…

It was a thought that came to her constantly. Where she had once felt guilty about abandoning her siblings, now she felt guilty about not appreciating them. For so long, she wanted to be back among them. She dreamed of her village and a simple, independent life as a healer.

But that was before ye met him.

Thoughts of Archer tormented her. She couldn’t go half an hour without thinking of him and wondering what he was up to. At least three times a week she sat down at her desk, determined to write a letter to Ayla where she could subtly ask about Archer.

How were his nightmares? Was there still trouble with the clan? Did he miss her?

A knock on the door pulled Feya from her thoughts, and she looked up to see Morgana in the open doorway. Summer was turning to fall, and her sister held a shawl pulled tight around her shoulders.

“Morgana,” Feya said. “Are ye well?”

Her sister had recently shared the news that she and Ryder were expecting. It was early days yet, but Feya was already alert for any changes in her sister, determined to keep her healthy.

“Aye,” Morgana chuckled. “Very well. But I think someone else is not.”

“Who?” she asked. Feya looked around for her bag, preparing to rush out to whoever needed her tending, but Morgana’s voice stopped her.

“Ye, sister.”

She scrunched her face in confusion, eager to brush aside Morgana’s accusation. She shook her head, quickly denying it.

“Me? Nay, I’m well.”

“Feya,” she said gently. She nodded to the small table where Feya ate her meals. “Let’s sit down.”

She wanted to fight it, but Feya’s older sister still held some sway over her. Plus, something had been building inside of her, a truth that needed to come out. Morgana had always been attuned to Feya’s emotions. It was no surprise she sensed something.

Feya sat down and let Morgana set two mugs on the table. She took the kettle from the fire and poured out two cups of tea before settling in across from her sister.

“Ye arenae happy,” Morgana said.

“Of course I am,” Feya said. “Look at everything ye have given me. I have a place to live and the love of me family…”

“Feya.”

She closed her mouth, and all of Feya’s defenses fell away. The weight of her unhappiness settled around her shoulders, a cloak that felt far too heavy to carry. Tears filled her eyes, and her chin trembled as she bit her bottom lip.

“Oh, dear one,” Morgana cried. She reached across the table to take Feya’s hands. “What is it?”

“I daenae ken,” Feya cried, letting the tears fall down her face. Every sentence was a struggle as she gasped and cried under her sister’s kind gaze. “Everything should be perfect. I am back home, and our family is safe. But there’s…something wrong. Something missing.”

“Or perhaps someone?”

Feya sniffed and looked up in surprise. She wiped her nose on her sleeve as she looked at Morgana with a questioning gaze.

“Ye mention him, ye ken? More than ye may realize. When we’re telling stories over dinner or I tell ye something sweet Ryder has done for me. Very often it’s his name that passes between your lips.”

“Who?” Feya asked, though of course she knew who Morgana spoke of. Somehow, she needed to hear her sister say it.

“Archer, ye dolt,” Morgana laughed. “I think I ken more about the man than I do me own husband. Ye miss him.”

“Nay,” she protested, though Feya’s heart ached at that very moment with a longing for the man. If she could only see him one more time, if she could only make sure he was safe.

“It’s alright,” Morgana coaxed. “If ye love Archer it doesnae mean ye love your family any less.”

“Love?”

She was shocked by the word. Not because it wasn’t true, but because she thought she was hiding it. She thought she had locked that truth far away where no one could see it, but she should have known she would be no match for her older sister.

“Aye, love,” Morgana teased. “Ye love him. I can see it in your eyes every time ye talk about him.”

“And so?” she asked. She had had this argument with herself so many times before. “What does that matter when he doesnae feel the same?”

“And how do ye ken that?” Morgana challenged.

Feya thought back to their final goodbye in the barn, her desperate need to be close to him, to find a connection with him before he disappeared forever. When she thought of it now, she was mortified, remembering how Archer had pushed her away, had stopped things from going too far.

That is for the man ye will love. The man who will be your husband.

In other words, a man who was not Archer.

“He left,” Feya said, because she couldn’t put all of that into words. Even though she told Morgana everything, she couldn’t tell her about those final moments in the barn, the way she had embarrassed herself.

“Of course he did. The man has a clan to take care of. What did ye expect of him?”

“Exactly,” Feya said, exasperation taking over her sadness. “He has a life at Castle Dougal. And me family is here.”

“Aye, and we’ll always be here,” Morgana said.

She spoke with reason and logic, making it all sound so simple.

“Just because ye move away doesnae mean yer family disappears. We’ll love ye just as much, whether ye are here or there.

But if ye love this man, then ye owe it to yourself to find out if he feels the same way. ”

Feya shook her head, ready to fight this again, but Morgana squeezed her hands.

“I dinnae ken how wonderful it could be, Feya, to have someone love me and to love them back with such fierceness. It’s an experience not everyone gets. And if ye have the chance for it, ye have to go for it. Daenae deny yourself this happiness.”