Page 4 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
“Ye’re hurt,” she said. He looked over his shoulder to catch her eye.
“Ye’re awake,” he said, his voice free from emotion, stoic and cautious.
“Let me help.” She pushed the covers aside, only to see she was wearing nothing more than her nightgown. Feya’s face flushed scarlet as she realized she was locked in a room with a man, both of them half-dressed.
“’It’s only a scratch,” he said. To Feya’s relief, he turned away from her, seemingly unaffected by her state of dress. He grabbed the shirt he had discarded and pulled it roughly over his head. She saw the already blood-stained fabric stick quickly to the cut.
“Ye must clean it,” she protested, imagining the dirt and grime of the man’s clothing seeping into the wound, infecting it.
“Who are ye?”
The question was aggressive, full of anger and annoyance. She quickly forgot the cut, feeling her heart rate quicken as he confronted her.
“Feya,” she said carefully. And then she swallowed, forcing herself to answer with more confidence. “Feya Webster.”
“And what were ye doin’ in Laird McKenzie’s Castle? What were ye doin’ running through the woods in nothin’ but your nightclothes?”
His tone annoyed her, as did his veiled insinuations. Did she think she had asked for this? Did he think she had somehow brought this trouble onto herself?
“Who are ye?” she asked, sitting up straighter as she challenged him. “And why did ye take me? Why did ye bring me to your bed?”
The man stood up, looking offended and embarrassed all at once.
“I’m the man who saved your life,” he said, his voice booming around the small bedchamber. “Archer Brown. Though my clan know me as Laird Dougal.”
She stared at him, her mouth dropping open in shock.
“Laird Dougal?” she asked, shaking even as she said his name. She had heard stories of him, legends of a fearsome warrior who didn’t know the word ‘mercy’. He was known as a cruel and heartless soldier, a man the children of her village were taught to fear. So why had he saved her life?
“Aye,” he said, but he quickly returned to Feya’s earlier protest. “I didnae take ye to me bed. I brought ye to an inn. After yecollapsed in me arms. So, I’ll thank ye to stop accusin’ me of things.”
There was a threat in his voice that made Feya’s heart beat faster. Reality crashed down around her as she realized she was locked in a room with a man people called a devil. She bit her tongue, telling herself to be careful before her usual outspoken nature got her into even more trouble than she was already in.
“I fainted?” she asked quietly. Feya looked at her hands, clasped tightly on her lap. She couldn’t remember collapsing. Archer only grunted and turned away, busying himself with a bowl of water and a cloth set on the desk, still struggling to clean his wounds. Silence stretched between them until Feya couldn’t stand it anymore.
“I was there for a wedding,” she burst out, and this intimidating man turned back slowly. “Me sister’s wedding. She married Laird McKenzie yesterday.”
“A bride and a widow all in one day,” Archer mused. Feya regarded him. Was there a hint of amusement in the man’s voice? “Did ye really see him killed?”
She nodded gravely. She could still see that dagger driven into Laird McKenzie’s stomach. If she closed her eyes, she saw the man crumple to the ground.
“And did ye see who did it?”
Again, she nodded.
Archer let out a breath, and his reaction only served to solidify Feya’s fears. She had witnessed the assassination of her Laird. As long as Cohen was alive, he would be looking for her, desperate to silence her.
“That isnae good, lass.” He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, but the movement irritated the injury on his back. He grunted in pain.
“Ye must let me help.”
She climbed out of bed, forcing herself to be brave. This man had helped her, and it was her turn to return the favor.
“I told ye I’m fine,” he grumbled, but his voice was softer. He watched her approach, his eyes roaming down her body as if he were taking her in for the first time. It made her whole body flush with warmth, but Feya wouldn’t be deterred.
“I’m a healer,” she said. She reached around him, grabbing the cloth as she pulled the water to her. Standing this close, she could feel the warmth of his body in the cool room. “A good one, too.”
She hadn’t meant to boast, and she felt a bit embarrassed as Archer smirked at her, clearly amused. He held her gaze for a moment. Then he reached to the hem of his shirt and pulled it offin a single swoop. She didn’t miss his wince of pain as he did so, though he tried to hide it.
