Page 41 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
“Aye,” she smiled.
“Not sore?” he asked. The question made Feya’s stomach turn over, but she held his gaze.
“Look at ye,” she teased. “Asking questions like a healer.”
“Well, I learned from the best,” he laughed. He cocked his head to the side and gave her another smile before dropping his mouth down to hers. Feya’s lips fell open to accept the kiss, something gentle and light. It seemed to carry a secret message, but before Feya could interpret it, Archer pulled away. He strode a few paces away from her, turning toward the door.
“They’ll be looking for me at dinner,” he said with a sigh, and with this sentence, the weight of the world returned to Archer’s shoulders. She watched his back stiffen, saw the twitch in his neck as he prepared himself for the world outside this room.
Feya stepped forward, wanting to say something to comfort him. But her mouth only hung open, unable to come up with any response that might soothe him. Archer read her silence differently, assuming Feya was wavering about joining him at dinner.
“I’ll make excuses for ye,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “And send food up to your room. It’s better if we daenae arrive together.”
“Right,” she said, though she didn’t understand why. The rules and regulations of the castle always seemed so foreign to her, dictating the way Archer moved and who he sat with for a meal.
With nothing left to say, Feya shuffled toward the door, picking up her shoes on the way. She slipped them onto her feet as Archer reached for his jacket, draped over the back of his chair. She waited for him to look at her, but when he didn’t, she hauled open the heavy door and rushed back to her room. With every turn she prayed no one would see her, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she caught sight of her own chambers.
As soon as she pushed into her bedchamber, Feya collapsed on the bed. She wanted her sister here, and she found herself wishing beyond hope that Morgana would somehow walk through that door. She knew her older sister would notice something had happened. She would sit on the edge of Feya’s bed to run a hand over her forehead, asking her sister what was wrong.
“Oh, Morgana,” Feya sighed, eyes cast to the ceiling. “What now?”
Archer strode down the hallway, still flooded with images of Feya spread out on his bed. His fingers still twitched with thefeeling of her skin, and his body couldn’t help responding with a spark of desire as he imagined the events of the past hour.
Archer shook his head and pushed the thoughts aside, knowing his family would be waiting for him in the dining hall. He had told Feya he would make excuses for her, but unfortunately, he had no one to do the same for him. He needed to show his face and act normal, not only for his sake, but for Feya’s.
“There ye are,” Ayla said, speaking as soon as he crossed the threshold. She was already enjoying the first course of dinner, which could only mean Archer was later than he thought. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten to eat again.”
Archer grunted, having no clear explanation. He simply pulled his chair from the table and flopped into it. A bowl of soup was immediately set in front of him, and Archer attacked it, suddenly realizing how ravenous he was. For a moment, there was only the clink of his spoon against the bowl, but then Archer caught Feya’s smirk out of the corner of his eye.
“What?” he barked. He was surprised by his short temper. Why was he suddenly angry, ready to jump on Feya’s judgment? Something deep down told him he must be responding to the empty seat at his right, the spot that Feya usually occupied.
“Nothing,” Ayla said, holding her hands up in a gesture of surrender. She turned back to her own food and continued eating. But it was no surprise when she spoke up again, clearly unable to stay quiet. “Is Feya joining us tonight?”
He kept his eyes locked on his soup, knowing his sister was the only person who might be able to read something in his expression. He stared at his plate as he continued to eat.
“She’s resting,” he said curtly. “I sent food to her room.”
“And how did the healing go today?” Feya asked. “Last time I saw her, she was headed to try out a new treatment…”
“Next course,” Archer barked, interrupting his sister. Her words were reminding him of the verytreatmenthe and Feya had occupied themselves with. He was desperate to distract himself from the heat between his legs.
“Did it work?” Ayla asked, pressing him.
Archer scowled at her and pushed the bowl of soup away from him. He dropped back into his chair as the man rushed forward to take away his bowl.
“As well as anythin’,” he grumbled. “That lass hasnae yet realized I’m a lost cause.”
“Of course ye arenae,” Ayla said, and Archer regretted his self-deprecating humor immediately. Ayla was bound to defend him, to make him accept a sunnier version of himself she was desperate to hold on to.
“She’s persistent,” Archer said, trying to move the conversation back in another direction. “If anyone can find somethin’, it’s Feya.”
“Aye,” Ayla agreed. “At first, I wondered why ye brought her here. Ye have Holly to tend to ye, and I’ve been tryin’ me best. But I can see now that Feya’s different. There’s something special about her.”
He didn’t respond, though he agreed with Ayla’s judgment. What Ayla didn’t know was that Archer had brought her here to save the woman’s life. She didn’t realize Feya was in danger of being hunted down and kidnapped, that Archer had killed people to protect her. All of this talk of healing was just his excuse, a way to make Feya think she was doing something. And yet, what about the peace he had found in that bathtub today? The way his body had responded to her voice singing to him? At moments like that, healing didn’t seem so impossible.
Just as the next course was set in front of them, Elijah burst into the room. He carried an anxious energy with him that the siblings both felt. Ayla sat up straighter and seemed to steel herself for bad news.
“What is it?” she asked as Elijah sat himself in the chair Feya usually occupied. The man ignored her and looked to Archer, who began attacking his meat with his knife.
