Page 5 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
She had already seen him shirtless once. But she was struck by his beauty all over again. With his back to her, she let her eyes linger, seeing the shape of him, the smoothness of his skin, the scattering of scars along his back. She had a sudden longing to run her fingers over the taut muscles of his shoulders, to massage the tension he clearly held in the base of his neck.
Get a hold of yourself.
As a healer, she had seen many naked men. It was a part of the job, and she had become skilled at separating bodies from faces, at looking at things scientifically rather than emotionally. So, it was an odd sensation to feel so overwhelmed by this particular body, to find herself heady with interest.
She soaked the cloth and dabbed it gently at the cut, forcing herself to focus on the wound. Archer sat stiffly, a block of marble beneath her fingers, but he let her clean the cut. Blood and dirt had congealed around the wound, and Feya worked until the skin was clean and raw, the injury a gentle pink rather than an angry red.
“I never thanked ye for saving me.”
Still, he did not move.
“It was bold of ye,” she continued. “To risk your life for a stranger. To help me.”
Finally, Archer shifted, turning his legs in the chair so he could face her. At the sight of his chest, Feya had to hold back a gasp. She had seen scars on his back, but it was nothing compared to the front of him. His shoulders, chest, and stomach were littered with them, crisscrossed in a pattern that was nothing short of beautiful.
“Ye thought I would leave ye?” he asked as Feya blinked back, noticing the striking gray color of his eyes. “Ye think me such a monster?”
He stood up quickly, breaking her gaze. Archer was used to the reputation he had garnered on the battlefield, the exaggerated stories of his ruthless nature. But something about this woman’s assumptions made him angry. He grabbed for his shirt, but the feisty woman pulled it away too quickly.
“Nay. Ye willnae put this dirty thing back on after I’ve cleaned ye.” She held the tunic up in the air, and even Archer could see how disgusting the garment was, stained with dirt and blood. “This shirt is only fit for the fireplace.”
He scowled at her and turned away, noticing that the cut on his back did not sting as much as it had before. Not that he would tell her so. He felt trapped, confined to a tiny room with nowhereto go, suddenly saddled with a woman he had no idea what to do with.
Earlier, he had been anxious for her to wake up from her fainting spell. Now, he could only wish this troublesome lass had slept through the night.
“’It’s late,” he grumbled. “We should sleep.”
He dropped to the edge of the bed, still turned away from her. His eyes locked on the tiny window, catching the glow of the moon.
“Have your healer look at it when you’re back,” she said. “In the morning, ye can ask the innkeeper for a strip of cloth so ye can wrap it.”
There was a finality to her voice that confused him, and he turned to look at her. She stood by the door, her hand on the doorknob.
“Thank ye again for saving me.” She gave him a formal nod. “I willnae forget it.”
And with that, she opened the door, stepping out to the hallway of a busy inn wearing nothing but her nightgown. Archer would have laughed if he weren’t so shocked. He was on his feet instantly, closing the gap between them.
“Why must ye always make me chase ye?” He asked. “Get back inside.”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room, practically lifting her. The little squeal of protest she gave him made his body flush with desire for her, and he quickly let go. Archer stood in front of the door, a much more solid barrier than any piece of wood.
“What are ye doin’? I must get back.”
“To the castle where your Laird was murdered? Where the man who did it is likely waitin’ for ye?”
“It doesnae matter,” she insisted. “I cannae leave me family. If he doesnae find me, he will take it out on them. I ken he will.”
She rushed forward and tried to move him, her small hands pressing against the solid mass of his chest. He smirked at her as she did her best to move him, though Archer hardly had to do anything to stay still.
“Move,” she cried, and there was desperation in her voice. It was the same panic he had heard out in the woods, the same desperation that told him just how guilty she felt for running away.
“’It’s a fool’s mission,” he reasoned with her. “Ye will only get yourself killed.”
Her small hands turned to fists and began to pound on his chest. Archer grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away, frustrated by the girl’s stubbornness.
“Do ye think I will let ye out there? Of course the man will be waiting for ye. Not to say anythin’ of the way ye’re dressed. Ye wouldnae make it to the castle before some man found ye to have his way with ye.”
She blushed crimson at his words, and they were both suddenly aware of how close they stood to each other. Feya pulled her arms away, and Archer released her, watching her walk a tiny path back and forth in the cramped room, her eyes on the ground. He watched her, somehow understanding that she was plotting something.
