Page 32 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
“Archer!”
The voice came from far away, from a world somewhere beyond this battlefield. It sounded sweet and kind, the voice of someone who wanted him back home.
He turned toward the voice and suddenly fell, recognizing the cold tile beneath his cheek before he lost all consciousness.
“Help him,” Feya said, rushing through the door. She and Ayla were at Archer’s side quickly, grabbing for his arms as they tried to rouse him.
“It’s alright,” a man at Feya’s side said, and she looked up to see armed guards, the same men who stood at the castle entrance at all hours of the night. He nodded, and with the help of another man, they managed to get Archer to his feet. Feya heard the Laird grunt, sending instant relief to her tight chest.
“We’ll get him to his chamber,” the man said, and Feya was surprised to see he spoke to her rather than Ayla.
“Thank ye,” they both said, watching Archer’s eyes open slowly, confusion across his face.
“Apologies,” Elijah said, and Feya’s attention was suddenly back in the room, taking in the stranger in another clan’s colors and the two men she recognized as part of Archer’s council. “As ye can see, the Laird hasnae been well.”
Something about his tone made Feya angry, as if Elijah were apologizing for the man, or labeling him as weak. She shared a look with Ayla, who looked equally concerned. The women didn’t know much about politics, but they knew a member of Archer’s council shouldn’t be revealing any of his Laird’s shortcomings.
“It’s only exhaustion,” Feya said, and all three men looked at her, clearly shocked she had spoken up. “He’s been in the villages all day, tending to the sick and the injured.”
“Of course,” Elijah said, but there was skepticism in his voice. It was evident from the dismissive tone that he was ready to discount Feya’s words, that he didn’t respect what she had to say.
“He’s gone without food or water to serve his people,” Ayla said. She stepped forward, lifting her chin so she stood at her full height. Feya had seen the woman command attention before, and she did so now, regarding the men with the confidence of someone who didn’t need to remind anyone of her status in this castle. She stepped forward and reached for the messenger’s hand, standing him up.
“Laird Dougal is a selfless leader, sir.” The messenger stared at her, completely transfixed. “That is what ye should tell yourLaird when he asks ye about me brother. And now, while my brother gets the sustenance he needs, perhaps you and I can talk. You can be sure my brother will receive whatever message your Laird sends.”
With Ayla taking control of the council chambers, Feya turned her attention to Archer. She had seen the pallor of his face when he dropped to the floor. This episode had been a severe one, one of the worst Feya had seen. As she rushed toward Archer’s chambers, she felt her stomach knot in fear. All of her ministrations, and he wasn’t getting better—he was only getting worse.
His door was ajar, and Feya peered in to see the men settling Archer onto his bed. The kind guard who had spoken to her in the chamber stepped back as soon as he saw her and nodded to the guard.
“My Lady,” he said in greeting.
“It’s alright,” she said to them. “I’ll see to him.”
She still had her healing bag at her side, the same one she had brought to the village. She took it from her shoulder and rushed to the bed, laying it down so she could find what she needed. She had taken to always keeping small vials of her concoctions on her, hoping she could slip them to Archer before an episode overtook him.
“Feya?”
His voice was groggy, as if he were coming out of a deep sleep. She put a hand on his forehead, feeling for any sign of fever. Instead, he felt cold, and she had a sudden urge to cover him with the heavy blankets on the end of the bed.
“It’s alright,” she said. “Ye’re fine now.”
She found the vial she was looking for, filled with the mixture that had seemed to help him the most.
“What happened?” Archer asked, and she saw his brow furrow as he tried to remember. She pulled the stopper from the vial and held it out to him, wondering if he could sit up long enough to take it.
“Drink this, my Laird,” she said. She brought it to his hand, but Archer scowled, and she saw darkness overcome him. He sat up quickly, knocking the mixture from her hand. The vial fell, shattering on the floor.
“What did ye do?” he bellowed. He pushed to his feet, but the quick movement made him dizzy. He had to clutch for the post of the four-poster bed as the room stopped spinning.
“Ye arenae well,” Feya said. She put a hand on his arm, but Archer shoved it away, frightening her.
“Ye took me from the chamber. Ye made a fool of me in front of that man.”
“Nay, my Laird,” she said. “It was an episode. Ye collapsed. Please, lie down.”
Feya gestured to the bed, pleading with her eyes. She tried to be gentle, knowing that Archer was disoriented. He had collapsed in the council chamber only to come to in his bedroom. She had seen men react strongly like this when they came out of surgery, angry as the effects of ether wore off. Now Archer stared at her, still fighting to find his footing in the real world after disappearing into a deeper, darker place Feya could only imagine.
“Let me help ye,” Feya said, trying again. “It’s why I’m here.”
