Page 14 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
“It’s best to be reckless? To stay out for days without sending word?” his sister challenged, but her tone was a bit gentler. She had probably seen the jolt of pain in his face and recognized the headache coming on. His sister knew the signs better than almost anyone in the castle. But instead of comforting him, this made Archer furious. He didn’t want to be babied.
“If the Laird of this castle wants to stay out for aweek, it is none of your concern. I’ve told ye over and over, Ayla—it isnae your job to protect me.”
Another shock of pain made Archer squeeze his eyes together, riding out the pain. He felt nauseous, and it was all he could do to breathe in slowly, to keep the bile from rising higher in his throat.
“Archer,” someone said, though he was in too much pain to know if it was Ayla or Feya. He stepped backward, feeling blindly for the pallet.
Not now. Leave me be.
He felt the bed against his knees and sat down hard, the bed groaning beneath him. Archer pressed his fingernails into his palms, telling himself to stay in the moment, desperate to keep himself from disappearing into one of his nightmares.
Ye are in the healing chamber. Ye are sitting on a bed. Ye are fighting with Ayla.
Sometimes these reminders could keep him in place, and this time it seemed to work. He felt the pain recede, moving from a sharp stab in his skull to something dull but manageable. He took a deep breath and forced himself back into his body.
“Are ye alright?” Ayla asked. Archer opened his eyes and saw her shoes in front of him.
“Aye,” he said. He rested his elbows on his knees as he continued to breathe, not sure he was out of the woods yet.
“My Laird.”
Feya surprised him, suddenly at his side. He had almost forgotten she was here, but as he looked up at her, he felt the remnants of the nightmare slip away. Her very presence seemed to calm him.
“Drink this. It will help.”
She held a glass out, something thick and tinged brown. It looked disgusting, but Archer wouldn’t allow himself to think about that. He only grabbed the glass and downed it, holding his breath so he wouldn’t smell what he could only assume would be a pungent odor. He drank it in two huge gulps and then thrust the glass back to Feya, finally able to sit up fully.
“Excuse me,” Ayla said, and Archer didn’t miss the shock in her voice. He was almost amused by the look of outrage he saw on his sister’s face as she glared in Feya’s direction. “Who, may I ask, are ye?”
“I’m Feya Webster.” Feya smiled broadly, hoping that kindness was the best way to cut through Ayla’s frustration. She had stood back as long as she could, but watching Archer on the verge of one of his episodes had been too much to bear. She couldn’t let him suffer when she might have something to help him.
“She’s a healer,” Archer explained, but Feya saw quickly it was the wrong thing for him to say. The scowl only deepened on Feya’s face. So much for making a good impression…
“Why would you bring another healer here?” she asked. “Ye ken Holly has been training me.”
“And ye ken I daenae want ye to be a healer. Ye are the sister of a Laird. It’s your duty to marry. Ye must strengthen our alliances?—”
“I can marryafterye are well,” Ayla cried. “If we cannae cure ye of these flashes…”
“Enough, Ayla.” Archer got to his feet, making both women jump. Feya stepped back and brought the glass to the wooden table, though she kept her eye on Archer. She was disappointed to see him so short with his sister. She had a flash of Archer’s scowl as he sliced his sword into the man in the woods. A chill came over her as she wondered once again if the man’s cruelty might extend beyond the battlefield.
“I only want to help,” Ayla said, and her voice was quiet now. Feya’s heart tugged as she heard the sadness in Ayla’s voice, recognizing the plea of a younger sister who wanted to be taken seriously. Feya’s brothers were younger than she, but they could be just as hard-headed as Archer. They still thought they could stubbornly solve everything themselves, finding weakness in accepting Feya’s help.
“I ken,” Archer sighed. He stepped closer to his sister and took her hand. “But the way ye can help is by getting married. By focusing on your life outside of this castle instead of wastin’ your time.”
“Wasting me time?” Ayla pulled her hand away. It seemed the siblings couldn’t say anything right today. Feya saw they were both short-tempered. She had a suspicion they were far too alike for their own good, probably butting heads because they both felt so strongly about things.
“Do ye think what Holly does is a waste?” Ayla challenged. “Do ye think Feya’s life is a waste?”
Archer looked at her quickly and shook her head.
“Nay,” he said. “’It’s not what I?—”
“I’ve been studyin’ for weeks,” Ayla interrupted. “If ye just give me a few months to learn, I ken I can help ye. I ken we can find a solution.”
“It isnae Holly’s job to train ye,” Archer argued. “The woman is frail. She shouldnae be on her feet all day or forced to answer all your questions as ye follow her around.”
Feya imagined Holly’s hunched shoulders and her slow shuffle on painful knees. She acknowledged it must be hard for Holly to teach Ayla the art of healing. Feya had been a student of many healers, and she knew it was grueling work to teach the properway to grind leaves and spices into powder. It was difficult to think about all the ways a body could be injured and describe it in detail…
