Page 34 of Taken by the Devilish Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #7)

T he smell of smoke reached his nose, pungent and painful. He assumed it was a nightmare, brought on by the council’s talk of war, or maybe his unhappiness over losing Feya. It would be just like his body to send him into an episode immediately, the second he no longer had Feya to heal him.

But when he opened his eyes, he felt the sting of something cloudy and thick. Archer sat up to find his room engulfed with smoke, more of it rolling beneath his door with each second. With no time to spare, he jumped to his feet, grabbing for his sword and his clothes.

Ayla. I must get her out of this.

He pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose and rushed for the door.

His hand burned when he touched the handle, and he pulled it back, cradling a throbbing hand.

A cloth was discarded on a chair nearby, and he picked it up, wrapping it around his hand so he could turn the doorknob and throw open the door.

Red flames were licking across the threshold of his bedchamber.

They jumped up the wall, flickering over wall tapestries as the fire looked for anything it could consume.

Without stopping to think of the consequences, Archer rushed through the thigh-high fire, relieved when he found himself on the other side.

He patted at his thighs with the cloth in his hand, putting out the sparks and the embers that clung to him.

“Ayla,” he cried out.

Archer raced to his sister’s chambers, wondering how far the fire had spread. He hoped someone had called for the fire crew, that they were filling buckets and doing what they could to put out the blaze. But then he heard a man’s cry from somewhere behind him, and the distant echo of steel.

What if this is more than a fire?

“Ayla,” he called out. He was at her door, and he pounded on it, relieved the flames had not yet reached her. He pushed open the door and found his sister in her nightclothes, pulling on a robe.

“What is it?” she asked, looking frantic. “I smell smoke.”

“There’s a fire. I’m getting ye out of here.”

A scream ripped through Ayla’s open window, making them both jump. He watched color drain from his sister’s face, and he rushed to her, wrapping her in his arms.

“It will be fine,” he told her as he guided her quickly from the room. “I know where ye will be safe.”

With one arm around Ayla’s shoulders, he drew his sword with the other. Then he walked them down the hallway, careful to move ahead of her as they rounded corners and rushed down stairs. As they got to the ground floor, sounds of men screaming and the clash of swords grew louder, more prevalent.

“Who is it?” Ayla asked. She turned her head toward some men in the distance, but Archer spun her around, desperate that she wouldn’t see anything to give her nightmares like his own.

“I daenae ken,” he told her. “But I promise ye they willnae get this castle. I willnae let anyone mar our family’s name.”

“Promise me ye will protect yourself,” Ayla cried. Tears of terror were forming in his sister’s eyes, and he pulled her close, knowing he didn’t have much time.

“Do ye see that path there? The opening in the woods?”

He turned Ayla in that direction, forcing her to follow where he pointed.

“Aye,” she nodded.

“Ye must run there and not look back. Keep running on that path until ye come to a cabin in the woods. Hide inside and daenae let anyone come in unless ye hear me voice.”

“Archer—” she pleaded, but he wouldn’t be stopped. He took his dirk and pressed it into Ayla’s hand.

“Go,” he cried, and he gave her a push toward the path. With a cry of fear and surprise, Ayla started running. The cabin and that woodpile had been a refuge for him and Feya once before. He only hoped the place would work its magic a second time and keep his sister safe.

The closer she got to Archer’s castle, the more certain she was that something was wrong. A churning feeling in her stomach had started about halfway through the journey, but the ache only grew worse as her horse galloped through the familiar forests of Dougal lands.

Ye are nervous to see him.

But it was more than that. It was something that hadn’t sat right with her for days, an ominous feeling she couldn’t shake. Her mind kept floating back to her final day here at Castle Dougal. To that final conversation with Elijah.

He will suffer.

She could still see the sneer on Elijah’s face when he said it. She had never trusted the man, but he was Archer’s friend and council member. Didn’t that mean he would be loyal to his Laird? But that knowing glance had been haunting her dreams for days. Along with the final words he spoke.

…the world has teeth. Best to be far away when it bites.

She had planned to stop along the way, but something told her to press forward.

Despite the danger of riding through the night, she simply pulled her cloak over her head, telling herself to look intimidating to anyone who might pass.

That anxious sensation in her gut kept her moving.

It was a panic that she couldn’t soothe.

“I’m coming,” she whispered to the trees. She imagined Holly in her garden, her fingers pressed into the earth. Perhaps the wind would carry the message to her. Perhaps Holly would feel the vibrations of the earth telling her Feya was coming back…

And then she thought of Archer. She imagined him at his bedroom window, his hair untied and wild around his face.

She could picture him staring out into the woods, the first person to catch a glimpse of her racing back to him.

What would he say? Would his expression darken or open with surprise? Would he simply send her home?

The thunderous sound of horses’ hooves made Feya’s heart race with fear.

She held tight to the reins, keeping her horse from panicking, and looked over her shoulder to see two men racing down the path.

Their bodies were bent low over their horses’ necks, intent on their destination.

Feya rushed to the side of the road, clearing the path so her horse wouldn’t be trampled.

“Best get home, lass,” one of the men called to her. “It isnae safe out here.”

“What is it?” she cried. She pushed her horse forward, trying to keep pace with them so she could hear the man’s reply.

“The castle,” he called back over his shoulder. “It’s under attack.”

“No,” Feya gasped. The men raced away, leaving her behind as they made their way to the large building on the hill, ready to defend their Laird’s home.

Feya’s eyes followed their path, looking up to Dougal Castle, the shape just beginning to emerge in the dawn light.

There, in the distance, she saw the curl of smoke rising in the air.

Is the castle on fire?

She hesitated for only a moment. Just long enough to think about Archer and Ayla and Holly, all of the people in that castle that she loved. And then she pushed her horse forward, racing in the same direction the men were running—toward the castle.

Archer’s muscles ached from wielding his sword, and sweat poured into his eyes. He didn’t know how long he had been fighting, only that the sky was lightening outside, the gentle song of birds at odds with the grunts and screams of fighting men.

Archer turned the corner and found himself face-to-face with a scowling man, blood smeared on his face. The man’s eyes widened when he recognized Archer, and he turned over his shoulder, calling out.

“He’s here! I found the?—”

Archer didn’t give him a chance to finish the sentence. One slash of his sword, and the man crumpled to the ground, unable to cry out as his throat was slit. He stepped over the man as his muscles twitched with new energy.

I’ve found them. Whoever is ambushing this castle—I’ll see them soon.

He raced in the direction the man had yelled, eager to understand who was doing this.

Every man he fought was dressed in plain clothes, looking like humble villagers rather than seasoned soldiers.

He had scanned their clothing for the plaid of a neighboring clan, but nothing was recognizable to him.

The sounds of fighting increased as Archer raced to the Great Hall. He could hear men cursing each other and the clatter of metal against stone, sword, and flesh. The fire had not made it to this part of the castle, so the air was filled with the smell of men’s bodies and death.

Archer shouldered the heavy door and found himself staring out across the Great Hall, a space that should be reserved for celebrations.

Instead, it was filled with men in combat, fighting on and around the bodies of fallen men.

He scanned the room for any sign of his enemy and caught the eye of one of his guards, a trusted soldier.

“My Laird,” he cried out, even as he pushed away the man he was fighting. “It’s Elijah. He has betrayed ye.”

The guard threw his sword across two approaching men, shielding Archer from their blades. As soon as they jumped back, Archer attacked, taking care of both men swiftly as he took in the words of his man.

Elijah. Elijah has betrayed me.

There was no time to think. Only time to protect himself, throwing his sword in front of him and behind him, defending himself from all sides.

He remembered Elijah’s angry words at the council meeting, his determination to return to war with their neighboring clan.

And then there was his insistence that Archer pay attention to Lennox.

Was it all a game? Was it a distraction so that Elijah could make his move?

A vicious laugh echoed across the room, and Archer looked up to see Elijah at the top of a few steps, descending down to the hall. His shirt was smeared with blood and dirt, but there was victory in his eyes. A wild confidence seemed to course through him, something dangerous and unpredictable.

“Elijah,” Archer cried, feeling his own blood echo in his ears. He narrowed his eyes at the man, overwhelmed with the anger and betrayal buzzing through his limbs. As his man-at-arms looked up at him, a malicious smile spread across Elijah’s face.

The men rushed for each other, ignoring the soldiers fighting around them, intent only on each other.

“Ye survived your little bonfire, then,” Elijah taunted.

“Ye are a coward,” Archer cried. “Too weak to face me like a man.”

The accusation angered him, and Elijah lifted his sword over his head.

He swiped down, putting all of his weight into his weapon, but Archer veered to the left, causing Elijah’s blade to crash into the marble floor.

Elijah grunted at the hit and then swiped toward Archer’s legs, but a quick knock of Archer’s broadsword had Elijah reeling in the other direction.

“Ye were never a very good fighter,” Archer laughed. “Always overshadowed by your younger brother. Malcolm was the fighter in the family, the man destined for greatness.”

Elijah grunted and attacked again, this time moving with more precision. Archer had to focus on defending himself, watching the man’s eyes and the turn of his feet to anticipate where he would strike next.

How could ye trust him?

His interactions with Elijah from the past few years replayed in his mind, showing Archer how foolish he had been.

Something had always been off with Elijah—Ayla had been saying it for years.

But Archer had let his own guilt over Malcolm’s death blind him.

He had rewarded Elijah with a spot on his council not because he earned it, but because his brother had sacrificed his life for the good of the clan.

“Give up,” Elijah screamed as they continued to battle. Archer knocked into a man behind him and threw his elbow into the man’s side, knocking him to the ground.

“Ye think I will go down so easily?” Archer laughed.

“Aye,” Elijah said. “Ye said it yourself. Ye no longer have the stomach for war.”

“Is that why ye are doing this?” Archer asked. He sliced through the air quickly, catching Elijah on the shoulder. He yelled in pain, but it only made the man angrier. He set his jaw and pressed forward, walking Archer backward.

“This clan needs a leader who isnae afraid to fight. Someone who isnae afraid to make others pay for what they have done.”

From the corner of his eye, Archer saw Lennox rushing forward, his chest heaving with effort. He looked out of place in this battle, overwhelmed and afraid. How had Archer missed the signs? How had he believed Lennox was the mastermind of this plan?

“Can’t find the sister,” Lennox gasped. “She isnae in the castle.”

Ayla.

He was overwhelmed with relief that they hadn’t found her. He sent a silent prayer to her, asking her to stay put a little longer. He needed her to wait for him in that cabin. And then a new thought rushed into his mind: Thank the stars, Feya is not here.

“Keep looking,” Elijah screamed, and Archer used the opportunity to push the man hard in the chest, sending him reeling backward. Lennox looked over in surprise, color draining from his face. And then he ran away, clearly wanting nothing to do with this fighting.

“Ye have chosen a valiant partner,” Archer laughed, stepping forward with the tip of his sword aimed at Elijah’s throat. “He runs away at the hint of danger.”

Elijah was scrambling on the floor, trying to regain his footing and jump to his feet. Archer could take him out now, could slice his sword across the man’s throat and end this mutiny. But when he looked at Elijah on the ground, Malcolm’s face stared back at him.

Not now .

He felt the pull of one of his episodes, a flash of that battle that haunted him.

Pressure built in his brain, and he tried to push it all away.

He couldn’t disappear into this nightmare.

If he lost himself, he would surely die.

Filled with desperation, Archer summoned the one image that had saved him in the past, the one face that had soothed him.

Feya.

He squeezed his eyes closed and pictured her there, smiling down at him, and the episode began to recede.

He heard her voice calling to him, speaking his name amidst the sounds of battle, and he opened his eyes, fully in the present, all flashes gone.

Just as Elijah jumped to his feet, Archer was restored.

“Archer!”

The cry confused him. It sounded too real, too present in this room. It wasn’t the imagined cry of his dreams. No, this was here. This was now. Feya was calling to him.

With a shock of panic, he turned to the main doors of the Great Hall, and there, her eyes flashing with terror, was Feya.