Page 37 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
He stood up quickly, as if throwing off the water and all the comfort the bath had brought him. A towel was laid out for him, and he grabbed it, stomping down onto the wet floor. He dried himself off with the fabric, running it over his wet hair and down his arms before securing it tightly around his waist.
“Ye can turn around now, lass,” he said, amused by her sense of propriety. He saw her back stiffen, but then she slowly peered over her shoulder, as if she didn’t quite trust him. Archer smirked at her as she saw he was indeed covered up.
“How do ye feel?” she asked.
The question confused him for a moment. He wasn’t used to discussing his feelings or even taking stock of them in his own being. But instead of scoffing at the question, he felt an impulse to answer it. Almost a thank you to Feya for the time she had spent with him and all the effort she was putting into healing him.
“Here,” he said.
The word surprised both of them, and she gave him a curious look, waiting for more.
“I’m here in this room. I’m not thinking about the work waiting for me outside. I’m not thinking about things that have happened…”
“Not thinking about the war,” she said, completing his thought. Archer stared at her, unwilling to confirm that this was exactly what he had been thinking. It was only in moments like this that he realized how often those memories were with him. A constant reminder of his failures.
“Would ye tell me about it?” she asked gently. She stood from the bed and turned her head, as if she were approaching a scared animal. The very suggestion made something slam closed in Archer’s chest.
“Nay, lass,” he said. “It’s too much for a woman’s ears.”
She was suddenly angry at this, stepping forward to confront him.
“Ye must talk about it,” she insisted. “It’s the only way to push those memories away. Ye must say them out loud so other people can carry them.”
“I won’t do that,” he told her. “I won’t make ye carry the burden of me own mistakes.”
“Mistakes?” Feya asked, appalled by the word. “Ye were a hero in the war. Ye saved your clan from being taken.”
“Enough,” Archer exploded, unable to keep himself under control. “We willnae talk about this.”
His outburst silenced her, and Feya dropped her eyes to the floor. He quickly regretted raising his voice, all too aware it was another sign he couldn’t control himself. Just like he couldn’t control the haunting memories of the past that came for him unbidden. But at least they weren’t here now. Feya’s presence seemed a sort of talisman to keep the nightmares at bay.
“If ye willnae speak of yourself,” she said quietly, gaining confidence with each word. “Will ye let me ask another question? About your household?”
She met his gaze, her expression an open challenge.
“Ask it,” he said.
“Why must ye marry Ayla off? Do ye think so little of healers that ye willnae let her become one?”
“Nay, lass,” he said immediately, sensing the hurt in Feya’s voice. “It isnae that.”
“Then what is it?”
He felt far too exposed, and it wasn’t just because he wore nothing but a towel. Still, he fought the instinct to brush off the question. It was clear that Feya had taken things personally. Archer’s insistence that Feya wouldn’t be a healer had hurt Feyain a way he never intended. It was the least he could do to set this right.
“Ever since I came back from…”
“The war,” she finished for him. Why couldn’t Archer say those words?
“Aye,” he nodded. “When I came back, Ayla was the first one who knew about the nightmares. When they grew frequent, I needed to tell someone. But as soon as she knew…Ayla made it her mission to fix me. She set her sights on finding a cure.”
“Of course she did,” Feya said. “She saw her brother in pain, and she wanted to ease it.”
“But she cannae sacrifice her own life for mine,” he said. Archer began to pace, unable to look Feya in the eye. “All of this interest in healing, it only started when she kenned something was wrong with me. I won’t let her throw her own life away for a monster. A coward who should be able to save himself.”
“Daenae say that,” Feya cried, but he barely heard her. All of Archer’s fears for Ayla’s life were tumbling out of him. All of his guilt over his sister’s life since he came back from the war.
“She should be courting and enjoying her life,” he cried. “Not trying to heal a broken man. A coward who doesn’t deserve all this attention. I shouldnae even be here.”
