Page 6 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
“I willnae die,” she said, planting her feet on the ground as she stared at him. “I promise I willnae die without repaying ye for your kindness. I give ye my word. If ye let me leave, I will come to your castle. I will thank ye for what ye have done.”
“With what?” he asked, laughing at her, though he saw this only made the girl more furious. “What is it ye can give a Laird that he doesnae already have?”
“Anythin’” she burst out, desperation written all over her face. A tug of desire shocked him, pulling him closer to her. His body moved on its own, drawn to her and the challenge he read in her eyes. He stepped slowly, a hunter stalking his prey.
“Be careful what ye promise, lass. Someone might call ye on your bluff.”
When he was this close to her, he saw how small she was. The top of her head came to just below his chin, and she had to look up at him. Archer didn’t try to hide the hunger coursing through his body as he stared down at her. He saw her recognize it, saw the slight opening of her mouth that told him she might even appreciate it.
He was about to reach a hand for her waist when Feya stepped back, that curious gaze turning into defiance.
“Ye cannae keep me here—” she started, but Archer interrupted her.
“If ye are determined to die, ye can do it tomorrow. It’s the middle of the night and ye have no horse. Hell, ye dinnae even have shoes.”
She looked down at her bare feet, and in that moment, she recognized defeat.
“At least wait for daylight,” he suggested, keeping his tone reasonable. “Get a few hours of sleep to get up your strength.”
“I leave tomorrow,” she said, but it was clear he had convinced her. He could already see exhaustion setting in, the weight of the day collapsing around her shoulders.
“As ye wish,” he nodded, though Archer had no intention of sending the lass to her death. Still, better to let her rest with dreams of home, with the hope she could go back there. “Rest now.”
She did as he told her, climbing back beneath the bedclothes. Archer kicked the heavy boots from his feet and crossed to the other side of the bed.
“What are ye doin’?” she asked with alarm.
“Sleeping,” he grumbled. He threw aside the blanket and dropped onto the bed, making the mattress shake.
“Here?” Feya asked. Archer was delighted by her shock, and he couldn’t help smirking at her.
“Aye, lass. There is but one bed.” He lay down, turning his back to her before muttering. “Dinnae worry, I willnae bite.”
3
Ascream of anguish echoed in his ears, followed closely by another. A cacophony of hooves and the clatter of metal sounded far too loud, blocking out the one voice he was listening for, the one person he needed to find.
“Archer!”
All at once, he was on the ground, the heavy form of a man in his arms. Archer looked down at a face so familiar to him, a face he had grown up alongside. His man-at-arms tried to smile, but there was blood in his teeth.
“Malcolm,” Archer gasped as he watched his best friend wince in pain. Archer’s hand was wet, and he lifted it to his face only to see it red with blood.
“Don’t leave me,” Malcolm cried, but even before the final word, the man disappeared from Archer’s arms, replaced by another. He stared down at a face grimacing in pain.
“Faither.”
“Ye must finish this, son.”
“Please,” Archer cried, and his chest squeezed with pain.
Just then, he heard the keening of a woman in the distance, a siren calling out to usher the dead to their new homes. But no, it wasn’t a song of death. This was a song of comfort, a soothing voice pulling Archer to a different place. A happier place.
A breeze through his hair comforted him. The air seemed to push the sounds of the war away. Suddenly, the wind felt like fingers on his scalp, running in gentle circles, and the war and the bodies of his friends began to recede. Archer felt like he was lifted into the air, the wind pulling him away from this place…
He noticed the sheets around his legs, twisted and oppressive. Then there was the chill of his body, ice cold despite the sheen of sweat that covered him. He was still caught in that nightmare, struggling to come up from the surface. He could still hear that eerie singing, that voice beckoning him somewhere. And it still felt like fingers moved through his hair, like the wind of his dream.
With another breath, Archer dropped into reality. He felt a body close to him and felt someone touching his scalp. He moved without thinking, flipping his body so he straddled the figure, trapping the offender between his strong thighs, his hands pressing their wrists to the bed.
