Page 23 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
“Kiss me,” she said, though it came out more as a question than a demand. Nevertheless, Archer was happy to oblige. He dropped his mouth to hers again, and Feya moved with him, getting the hang of things. But then Archer ran his tongue along her bottom lip, and Feya lost feeling in her knees. Archer caught her, and she heard that low chuckle again even as he continued to kiss her.
He put both hands on her hips and then, as if she weighed nothing, he lifted her onto the table. Feya’s legs opened on instinct, and suddenly Archer was between them, the fabric ofher skirt and the canvas of his breeches between them. Still, she felt every long inch of him as he rocked his hips against her.
“Ye feel what ye are doin’ to me?” he asked, pulling back from kissing her to look into her eyes. Feya blushed crimson, struggling with a response. Her own body was weak for him, pressing into him of its own accord, struggling to get closer. She dropped her mouth to his and tried to replicate his kissing, suddenly slipping her tongue into his mouth.
Archer groaned and kissed her harder. He rested his hands on her thighs, and Feya felt them through her skirt, hot and dangerous. His thumbs pressed on the inside of her legs. His tongue pushed into her mouth, and then his hand was up at her neck. She shivered as it ran lower, tracing a line to her chest.
“Archer,” she cried. His finger dipped below the neckline of her dress, and Feya held her breath as his finger found the hard nub of her breast.
“It seems I am not the only one stirred up,” he whispered into her ear. He kissed along her neck once more as his finger began to circle her nipple. It sent sparks down to Feya’s toes, and she couldn’t stop the small exhalations of pleasure he drew out of her.
Feya had never felt anything like this, and right now, with Archer tucked between her legs, she never wanted it to stop. She wondered how her sister and her friends could keep such a secret from her, how she could go her whole life withoutrealizing what magic a man could bring with his hands and his lips.
He kissed her again and then his fingers were at her ankle, teasing gently beneath her skirt. She pressed her mouth against his as those fingers ran up her calf and then teased along the underside of her knee.
Keep going.
The thought came unbidden, but even as she thought it, she wrapped her hands around Archer’s neck and up into her hair, feeling bolder.
“Feya,” he groaned, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. His hand still moved, suddenly along the bare skin of her thigh. She jumped at the touch, though her very core was calling to him, desperate for him to keep going, to explore further.
With a yell of frustration, Archer stepped back, disconnecting. His chest rose and fell in time to Feya’s. Without Archer to hold her up, she was left gripping the table, her whole body loose with longing, suddenly cold without him pressed against her.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he said. He shook his head as if he were trying to shake away one of his nightmares, though perhaps this one was a dream. “I shouldnae have done that.”
“Archer,” she said, though beyond his name, she couldn’t put words to what she was feeling. She was too stunned to speak,too overcome with this new world of pleasure that had suddenly been opened to her. Thathehad opened to her.
“I will leave ye,” he said. He adjusted his clothing, clearly trying to regain control. Entirely unbidden, Feya’s eyes dropped to the space between his legs. She couldn’t breathe for the lump in her throat as she saw he was still eager for her. She quickly looked away, glad Archer hadn’t caught her.
“My Laird…” she said, trying to elicit conversation once more, but neither of them seemed to have words. Sense flooded back into Feya’s brain, and she suddenly felt strange perched on the table. She jumped down, now uncertain in front of him. How had that happened? How had an argument turned into Archer’s mouth on hers, to his fingers in dangerous places?
Archer gave her a nod of farewell that felt far too formal, and then he strode across the room, heading for the exit.
“Wait,” Feya cried. She suddenly remembered what she had been working on. The reason she asked Archer to come to the chamber. She held up the glass, tinged yellow from the chamomile. “I made this for ye. To help with your soldier’s heart.”
He smiled at her kindly from across the room.
“Not now, lass,” he smirked. “I can promise ye that in this moment, war is the last thing on me mind.”
11
As voices carried down the hall, Archer pressed his back against the cold stone of the passageway. He listened carefully, trying to catch snippets of conversation as the man he had followed walked into the castle’s expansive kitchen. Elijah stood next to him, his frame frozen in place.
“Get out of here, Grant,” a rough female voice barked, impossible not to hear.
“Come on, Jan. Just a taste.”
“Ye’ll have your fill with everyone else,” she told him. “After dinner’s been sent up to the hall.”
They had followed the servant out of Lennox’s chambers, keeping their distance so the man wouldn’t know he was being tailed. Elijah had seen the man whispering to other servants on multiple occasions, and they were following his suspicion thatthe man might be spreading rumors through Dougal Castle, causing unrest.
“This is useless,” Archer grumbled. He felt ridiculous, sneaking around his house like a child hoping for a cookie. He felt his annoyance grow as he thought about the image he and Elijah made here. What would people think if they saw their Laird eavesdropping on the kitchen staff?
“Just wait,” Elijah urged.
“Why do they always eat first?” A new voice asked, pitched high with the whine of a child. The woman in the room quickly shushed the girl, but Lennox’s man, Grant, gave a low chuckle.
“Because they were born under a lucky star,” he announced. Archer heard a crunch that sounded like the bite of an apple. “They came into this world rich, and they’ll leave it that way. While the rest of us pick out their clothes and clean their boots.”
