Page 36 of Taken by the Devilish Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #7)

“ A ny change?”

Feya looked up from her vigil beside Archer’s bed to see Ayla and Holly entering the room. She shook her head at them but immediately brought her eyes back to Archer’s face. She was intent on being there when he woke up. She wanted to be the first person he saw.

She held Archer’s hand as he slept soundly in his bed, the rise and fall of his chest telling her that he was alive, that he was fighting his way back. Ayla came up behind her and rested a hand on Feya’s shoulder.

“He’ll come back to us,” Ayla said. “Just as ye did.”

“Aye,” Holly agreed. “We cannae let ye have a wasted trip.”

Feya smiled, appreciative of the lightness Holly brought. But it wasn’t only her humor she found comforting. It was Holly’s confident presence, her firm belief that everything would work out all right.

“Honestly, he was overdue for a rest,” Ayla said. She dropped her head to Feya’s shoulder, pressing her chin into the crook of Feya’s neck in an intimate gesture. “I daenae think the man has slept since ye left him.”

Feya brought a hand up to squeeze Ayla’s shoulder, hugging her in gratitude. She had missed these women more than she knew.

“Thank ye for coming back,” Ayla whispered. “He needs ye.”

Holly crossed the room to the open window, where the chill of the evening blew the curtains. She closed it, taking a moment to peer out to the night sky.

“Ye needed me too,” Feya teased as Ayla stood up again. “Otherwise, ye might still be hiding out in that cabin.”

As soon as Feya had gotten Archer safely to his room with the help of his guards, she had set out to find Ayla.

Holly had appeared like an angel, swiftly binding wounds and assessing injuries as soon as it was safe to do so.

The small group of villagers and soldiers Elijah and Lennox had gathered were mostly dead, no match for the trained men who guarded Archer’s castle.

Those who lived were brought swiftly to the cellar cells, where they would await the Laird’s recovery to know their fate.

“Thank goodness ye thought to look for me,” Ayla laughed. “I was getting quite hungry.”

“Thank Holly,” Feya laughed. “She was the one who asked me to think like Archer. She asked me if I knew of anywhere safe he might send ye.”

“He told me not to open the door unless I heard his voice. But I think he’ll be alright that I made an exception for ye.”

Feya and Ayla smiled, sharing a brief moment of relief and joy for being alive. They had both been close to death, but Archer had protected them. It was because of him they were both standing here.

“It’s getting late,” Holly said. She placed a hand on Feya’s head, reminding her of her grandmother’s gentle touch. “Ye should get some rest.”

“I’m staying,” Feya said, leaving no room for argument. “I want to be here when he wakes up.”

Holly and Ayla shared a look, but they didn’t push it. They simply said their goodnights, with Ayla laying a gentle kiss on her brother’s cheek. Then they slipped out of the room, closing the door with a click.

Feya pushed down the covers, checking Archer’s wounds for the hundredth time.

They had cleaned and sewn the cuts, wrapping him in healing salve and bandages and then slipping a clean tunic over his head.

Holly had helped her assess the blow to his collarbone, bruised and red, but not broken.

Now, Feya ran her fingers gently over his shirt, where she knew the cuts were, checking for any sign of blood seeping through.

“Will I live?”

His gruff, groggy voice made her jump, and she looked up to see Archer wide awake and staring at her.

His face was free of pain, more peaceful than she had seen in a long time.

There were no shadowy memories reflected in his gray eyes, only amusement as he stared down at her, his mouth turned up in a smile.

“Archer,” she gasped, and she dropped her head to his chest, hugging him. It made him grunt, and she quickly pulled away.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m just so happy ye are awake.”

“Do that again,” he said, and the confident tone of his voice sent a little spark through Feya’s stomach. She rested her head on his chest, gently this time, and Archer’s arms closed around her, engulfing her in his embrace.

“Ye came back.”

She glanced at him, wondering if she could voice everything she was feeling. There were so many things she wanted to tell him. So much competing in her chest, fighting to be the first words through her lips.

“I had to,” she said simply. He grinned at her, his eyes flashing with a knowing look.

“Aye? And why is that?”

“Ye ken,” Feya said, and she dropped her face against his arm, suddenly shy. A low chuckle made his chest shake, and Archer reached a finger to her chin, making her look up at him. She saw his eyes dart to the bruise around her right eye and across her cheekbone.

“I want to hear ye say it,” he said. His voice was low, filled with longing and desire. Feya felt her cheeks grow warm, the air around them crackling with something alive between them.

“Ye first,” she challenged, though it took all her control not to burst out her protestations of love. “Ye must speak of your feelings, remember? Ye must put word to your thoughts.”

“Still trying to heal me, are ye?” He laughed. His thumb brushed against her lower lip, and Feya gasped at the sensation. How could such a simple touch send heat down to her toes? Now she couldn’t speak if she wanted to. Luckily, Archer didn’t make her wait much longer.

“I love ye,” he said. “I ken it more certainly than anythin’ else in me life. I love ye, Feya Webster.”

“I love ye,” she gasped. She pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed his fist, his wrist, his fingers, desperate to show him the truth of her words. “It’s why I couldnae stay away. I couldnae bear to be without ye.”

“Daenae worry,” he said. His hand slipped down her neck, running the backs of his fingers along the sensitive skin. “I willnae let ye out of me sight ever again.”

Archer pushed his fingers into her hair and guided her forward, forcing Feya to lean over his bed, locking his eyes with hers. Her heart practically beat out of her chest as he pulled her closer, ever so slowly, until he finally guided her lips to his eager mouth.

He pulled her on top of him, even though his shoulder screamed with the effort. But he didn’t care about the pain, he only cared about holding Feya against him, about being near her.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” she cried, as he slid her across his chest, and yet her legs opened to straddle him.

She pressed her hips into his as she brought her mouth back down, relaxing into the kiss.

Archer’s hands wandered across her back as they kissed lazily.

He brushed aside her hair and ran his fingers down her spine.

Then his hands cupped her backside, pulling her more forcefully against the hardening length shielded only by the thin fabric of his tunic.

“Wait,” she cried, laughing at him. She pulled her mouth away and stared down, giving him her stern healer expression. “We cannae. Ye only just woke up from battle.”

“All the more reason,” he smirked. He nipped at her neck, delighting in the sighs of pleasure they elicited. “A celebration of being alive.”

Archer pushed his hips up, frustrated by the fabric of her skirts, but he saw her eyes open wider, saw her recognize just how eager he was for her.

“Ye certainly feel alive,” she laughed, and her voice caught with desire. But then she began to move off of him, lifting her hips away. “But ye must heal. Healer’s orders.”

With a burst of energy, Archer flipped Feya onto her back, hovering his face over hers.

She looked up with surprise, but the gesture had achieved its intended goal.

All hesitation had disappeared from Feya’s eyes.

Instead, she looked up at him with eagerness, her mouth dropping open as her chest heaved, waiting for his next move.

“Maybe ye are strong enough,” she gasped, and Archer dropped his mouth to hers to show her how healthy he felt. He held himself above her as he pressed his tongue into her mouth, as he ran a hand down to her chest, roughly pulling at the fabric that contained her perfect breasts.

Suddenly, they were desperate for each other, gasping and kissing with abandon. He was pleased when Feya helped him, when she reached behind to release the ties of her gown.

“Aye,” he growled as he stared at her. “I want to see ye. I want to see all of ye.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and he saw her heart beat in her neck.

He pressed his lips against the spot, then let his tongue travel down until he could feel the roundness of her breast. Between the two of them, they shed her dress, throwing it to the bottom of the bed where the blankets had already been discarded.

Feya wore only a thin shift, her dark hair against the pillow. He stared down at her with the gaze of a man who had found his love, who had found the thing most precious in the world. Part of him wanted to stay there, to stare at her forever, but a more pressing need was building between his legs.

He smirked at her and reached for the hem of her shift, running his hand up her thigh and then higher, across her stomach so he could cup her breast. Feya’s hands roamed across his back and around his neck, pulling at the fabric of his tunic.

She pulled his mouth back down to her as she pressed her chest into his palm, her nipple hardening against him.

But it wasn’t enough. He needed to see her.

He needed all barriers of fabric removed.

He leaned back on his knees and pushed the shift up and over her head, finally letting his eyes have their fill of her.

He took in the flush of red across her neck and her chest, the pink puckering of her nipples.

He let his eyes roam down her stomach and to the space between her legs, a hint of moisture clinging to her lips.

He grew harder, his length barely concealed by his shirt, and he pulled the fabric over his head, leaving them both naked. Feya’s eyes dropped to his length, and he saw her pull her bottom lip between her teeth, raise a hand over her head as she gripped for the pillow.

“Back in the barn,” he said, his eyes locked on her breasts. “Ye asked me for something.”

“Aye,” Feya said. Her fingers reached out, dancing against his thighs, moving closer and closer to his erection. Archer could hardly breathe, and he heard his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for those soft fingers to brush against him. “Ye told me it was meant for the man I will love.”

“Aye,” he said. Finally, Feya’s fingers found him, whispering against the skin.

Archer returned the touch, running a finger up Feya’s thigh and then higher, where he slipped into her eagerness, eliciting a moan.

Feya squeezed her eyes together as he started to stroke her, and he worried she would forget their conversation entirely.

But a moment later, she opened her eyes.

“I love ye,” she said. Her hand closed around his length. “And I want this. I’m asking for it.”

“Umm,” he said, relaxing into the feeling of her warm fingers around him. He couldn’t take it much longer. He couldn’t hold back. “Then ye shall have it.”

He shifted to straddle her, dropping his mouth down to kiss her as he guided himself to her opening. She stiffened at the sensation, her eyes popping open at the slightest touch. Archer held back a smirk, placing a kiss on her cheek.

“I love ye, dear one,” he whispered. “I cannae deny ye.”

And then he pushed his hips forward, sparks igniting in his toes as he felt Feya close around him.