Page 15 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
“Perhaps I could help Ayla,” Feya suggested, speaking without thought, and Ayla’s eyes flashed with interest.
“Aye,” Ayla said. She began to speak with excitement, telling Feya what she already knew and the things she was working on, but Archer quickly interrupted. He raised his voice, making it echo off the walls of this many-sided room.
“I daenae want Ayla to be a healer!”
The women were silent, left staring at him after this outburst. Feya couldn’t help feeling hurt, wondering if Ayla’s earlier accusation had been true. Did Archer look down on healers? Did he think she was somehow less-than because she cared for the people in her village?
Archer glanced at her, but Feya dropped her eyes to the ground. She felt tears stinging behind her eyes, and she wouldn’t let him see her cry. She didn’t want Archer to know he had pained her.
“We’ll discuss this later,” he told Ayla, and she nodded silently, looking hurt and angry all at once. “I should show Feya to her chambers.”
“Whatever ye say,” Ayla said, her tone tinged with mockery. “Ye are the Laird.”
The tall, dark-haired woman turned on her heel and strode out of the room, her head held high. Feya was impressed with the way she carried herself even after this argument with her brother. He might be the Laird, but Ayla Brown knew how to command a room until the second she stepped out of it.
“Come,” Archer said. He grabbed for the tattered shirt and threw it over his head. It looked even more torn and dirty than it had earlier, but there was no other option. He didn’t look at her as he walked toward the door, but she saw his fingers rub at his eyes and press against the bridge of his nose.
The tonic didn’t work.
It made Feya even more upset. A crushing feeling of defeat overwhelmed her. The medicine she had mixed for him had not cured him of his headaches. That meant he was still at risk of seeing those haunting images in his mind. It meant she was no closer to curing him and no closer to going home. Walking through the hallways of a strange castle, Feya felt lonelier than she had ever felt before.
Ye will find something else. Ye will cure him.
“I am sorry for me sister,” he mumbled as they walked through the hallways, but Feya didn’t trust herself to speak.
“Aye,” she said noncommittally. She tried to swallow down the lump in her throat, but it wasn’t working. Seeing Archer with his sister had made Feya long for her own siblings. Even watching them fight made Feya jealous. All her fears about the well-beingof her brothers and sisters were alive once more. Her fears and her guilt.
The events of the past few days were finally catching up to her, as was the reality that she was practically a prisoner in this man’s home.
Find a cure. Then go home.
“Right here,” Archer said, stopping in front of a large wooden door. “Let me show ye.”
He opened the door, but Feya stepped in front of him, blocking the entrance.
“It’s alright,” she said quickly. “I can manage.” She gave Archer a nod and closed the door. Only then did she let the tears fall down her cheeks.
7
He strode down the hallway with clenched fists, angry with himself. He knew he shouldn’t have argued with Ayla like that. It had only left two women afraid of him.
So what? Why do ye care what she thinks of ye?
He reminded himself he had brought the woman here to heal him. It made no difference whether he saw fear in her eyes when he closed the door on her. He didn’t need her happy, he just needed a cure. And yet, something pulled at him, something nagging at the back of his mind that made him desperate to throw his fist into the wall.
“There ye are,” Elijah said, and Archer fixed his jaw, holding back the curses he wanted to scream down the hallway.
“What is it?” he managed through his teeth. His head was still pounding, and the last thing he wanted was to hear about more unrest with the clan.
“The council,” Elijah said, as if the answer were obvious. “We are waiting for ye.”
He should have expected the council would want a meeting. It seemed they were desperate to meet with him more and more these days. Elijah assured him that he shouldn’t see it as a lack of confidence, but something in the back of his mind told Archer it was a bad sign.
He took a sharp turn to the right, heading for the council chambers.
“Tell a servant to bring me a shirt,” he grumbled. Elijah faltered, looking confused, but then he did as he was told, running in the opposite direction to find someone to fulfil this strange request.
“My Laird.” Bennett O’Brien was a cheerful man who seemed unable to wipe a smile from his face. Even when the council was speaking of war, O’Brien appeared to be inwardly humming to himself, lost in his own rosy world. Most of the time, Archer appreciated him for his outlook, but the man’s bright greeting as Archer stormed into the room made him frown.
