Page 49 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
Archer growled and slapped his hand against the wall, instantly regretting it as pain radiated down his arm from the unforgiving stone. Still, he figured he deserved it. After all, he had just made a decision that affected someone else, someone he preferred to keep right here within his castle walls.
Ye dobber. When ye go back there, ye’ll have to bring Feya home.
She was headed to the healing chamber when a shadow crossed in front of her. She looked up to see the scowling form of Archer striding down the hallway.
“What is it?” She asked, but the man only set his jaw and shook his head. It was like he grew angrier when he saw her, the darkness in his eyes deepening. Feya had been thinking about Archer’s darkness ever since dinner last night, when she had watched him go from a happy, carefree man into a shell of himself, retreating inward.
“Come on,” she said. She wasn’t sure what gave her the courage, but Feya grabbed Archer’s sleeve and pulled him to a stop. He allowed himself to be spun around, and Feya began pulling him down the hallway in a new direction.
“What are ye doin’, lass?” he asked, but she was pleased to see his anger was softening a bit.
“New treatment,” she said, but she didn’t elaborate. Ever since treating Archer in the bathtub she had been brainstorming new ways to help him with his soldier’s heart. She stayed up late thinking of unorthodox treatments that she might try. This one was inspired by a distant memory of her grandmother when her brother Tormond was in a particularly grumpy mood.
She turned into a stairwell and led him down the winding stone steps. She felt Archer’s presence behind her and his heavy footsteps descending. At any point, he could have turned away, but his continued presence made Feya even more confident in her plan.
“Ye ken I have things to do,” Archer grumbled as she pushed outside to the expansive castle grounds.
“Aye,” Feya told him, glancing over her shoulder. “But ye cannae do them well if ye are too angry to think straight.”
He rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. Feya scanned the tree line for the small break in the trees that Ayla had shown her earlier. She guided Archer toward it and walked down a small path, feeling the temperature drop as they entered the shade of the trees. The path led to a small cabin, long abandoned, where Ayla said a gardener used to live before a larger house was built for the man’s family.
The log structure had a clearing in the front where wildflowers grew along the path. There, Feya had arranged logs into a pile, choosing a flat surface where someone could have stable footing. She crossed toward the cabin where a heavy axe leaned against the wall.
“Do ye plan to kill me?” Archer asked as she lifted the axe with two hands, careful to turn the sharp blade away from her legs. A bubble of laughter emerged from her chest, and they shared a smile.
“Cut,” she said, holding the handle out to him.
Archer stared at her, watching her strain beneath the axe’s weight.
“Go on,” she urged, speaking through gritted teeth as the muscles in her arms strained. “If ye daenae take this, I’m bound to drop it on your toe.”
He reached out with one hand and wrapped his fingers around the smooth wood of the axe.
“Ye brought me here to chop wood?” he asked. He scanned the nearby tree stump and the cross-section of tree she had already set atop it. “It’s a servant’s job.”
“Swing until ye feel no more anger,” Feya said, holding her ground. She raised her eyebrows, challenging him to protest. When Tormond was eleven or twelve, her grandmother gave him a stick to pound against her rug, cleaning the dirty fabric and releasing the boy’s anger at the same time. Now, Feya applied a similar concept to the man in front of her.
He hesitated for a moment, but then the corner of his mouth ticked up, and she saw him wrap both hands in position. His muscles flexed as he stepped toward the log and raised the axe over his head. With a slice of strength and skill he brought the sharp blade down on the wood, splitting it instantly in two.
“Again,” Feya said.
He strode forward and set the log he had just halved on its side. Then he stepped back and swung again. This time, he didn’t need Feya’s prodding to keep going. He quickly righted the log and brought the blade down. Then he immediately grabbed another log from the pile.
Archer swung with speed, throwing his whole body into the gesture. He locked his eyes on the work in front of him and took on a singularity of purpose, seeing nothing except for that wood and the axe in his hands. He went crazy on the logs, causing them to fly in all sorts of directions. Soon he was grunting as metal hit wood and then he was crying out, vocalizing his anger and his frustration.
“Good,” Feya said, though she wasn’t sure the man could hear her. He was too overcome with the task, and he continued without pauses. Feya watched the muscles of his arms bulge against his shirt and the strong set of his legs. Sweat began to form on his forehead, but Archer only wiped it away and continued swinging.
Eventually, when the pile was nearly decimated, he swung his final cut, slicing through the log like butter as his blade went deep into the tree stump beneath it. Archer released the handle, leaving the axe planted in the makeshift stand, and he stumbled toward an overturned log that he used as a seat. His chest rose and fell as he caught his breath, and hair hung down in front of his face that had come lose from where it was tied.
“Feel better?” Feya asked, unable to hold back her smile. Archer looked up with a smile of his own, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Aye,” he said. “But I could feel even better.” And then he stood up and closed the distance between them, dropping his mouth down to Feya’s in an enthusiastic kiss.
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He held the back of her neck as he pressed his mouth against hers. His breath was still coming hard and painful to his chest after the exertion of the past few minutes, but now Feya’s breath was starting to match his own. She opened her mouth to him and leaned into his hand. Archer pressed his tongue into her mouth and felt Feya push back, meeting his enthusiasm.
He grabbed at her hip and pulled their bodies together, crashing ungracefully. They laughed through their kissing, but then he felt Feya’s hands on the small of his back. His shirt had come free of his breeches, and suddenly her eager fingers were exploring his skin. She ran fingers up his spine and held onto his shoulders as they continued to kiss.
