Page 64 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
She was quiet as she regarded him, a look of surprise and something akin to gratitude on her face.
“You’re doing this for me?”
“I promised to get ye home safe,” he said. “Let me go there tonight and find Cohen. Let me understand what’s happening inside that castle. And then I promise I’ll bring ye home.”
The light from the window cast a gentle glow on Feya’s face. Her eyes were still wet from the angry tears she nearly shed, her cheeks flushed as she stared up at him. He couldn’t stop himself from dropping his head and pressing his mouth against hers. She responded immediately, almost desperately. Her fingers found his knee and the strong muscles of his thigh beneath his kilt.
Archer groaned and gripped her wrist. He pulled her hand away before his body could leap to attention at Feya’s touch.
“I don’t have much time,” he whispered, pulling his mouth away from her.
“Ye started it,” she accused, but she smiled at him in jest. Archer stood up and gathered his things, feeling the arousal in his gut switch quickly to anticipation, a mix of excitement and nerves that he always felt when he was heading into battle.
“Be careful,” Feya begged.
“Stay inside,” Archer countered.
They kissed a final time, each giving a silent promise to the other.
30
She couldn’t sit still. Anytime Feya sat down, she would jolt to her feet, her muscles tense. Her mind kept flying toward McKenzie Castle, re-tracing the steps she had taken so long ago when she fled the Laird’s bedroom, terror coursing through her body. Now Archer was the one taking that path, heading back to the scene of the gruesome crime.
Her stomach grumbled with hunger, but she wouldn’t go down to the dining room. She had promised Archer to stay in this room, and she worried that if she broke her promise, he could somehow break his.
Be careful.
She said the words over and over again, even whispering them to the night air that blew through the open window. She pictured him arriving at the castle, pictured the moment when someone recognized him. What if the younger Laird McKenzie was angry? What if Archer found himself in danger?
She squeezed her fingernails into her palms and tried to push the negative thoughts away.
He’ll be alright. He has to be.
A sound in the hall jolted her to attention, and she held her breath, her eyes locked on the handle of the door. Footsteps moved swiftly across the wooden floor, squeaking across the loose boards. But the steps continued past her room, and she knew it wasn’t him.
It had grown dark outside long ago. Feya kept checking the sky, where she could follow the path of the moon as it rose higher and higher. She was certain it was the middle of the night, hours past the time for a wedding party to be over. What if something had happened to him? What if Archer was locked in a cell? Or worse, injured on the side of the road, cast out by McKenzie’s men?
The door clicked, and Feya jumped, taken aback by the noise. She grabbed for the stool that sat at the desk and held it over her head, her heart pounding as her eyes locked on the door. It pushed open with a groan, and suddenly Archer’s frame filled the doorway.
“I ken I’m late, but ye daenae need to hurt me, lass.”
She dropped the stool and rushed to him just as he closed the door. She walked him against it and began checking his limbs for injuries, moving aside the loose fabric of his tartan and shirt to check for blood.
“Are ye alright?” Feya gasped, and she heard him laugh, though he didn’t push her hands away.
“Just fine,” he assured her. When she was satisfied, Feya dropped against his chest, the stress of the past few hours finally receding into exhaustion.
“I thought ye were dead,” she said, her mouth pressed against his tunic as her arms wrapped around his waist. She knew she shouldn’t hold him like this. He had pushed her hand away when he kissed her, disengaging from anything beyond that chaste touch of the lips. But she couldn’t help it. Besides, in a few short hours, they would never see each other again.
“I’m very well alive,” he assured her. Archer walked her to the bed and set her down, taking in her gown and the boots she still wore on her feet. “Ye should have gone to bed, lass. It’s far too late to still be up.”
“Ye think I could sleep?” she asked. Archer chuckled and sat at the bottom of the bed, where Feya saw how calm he seemed. He smiled down at her as he reached for her foot and began unlacing her boot. “It went alright, then?” she asked.
“Aye,” he nodded. He dropped her shoe to the ground and reached for the other one. “I met your sister. She looks well. Happy even. Though we had a tense moment when they realized who I was and where I came from.”
“She’s well, then?”
Relief flooded through her body, but it wasn’t enough to know Morgana’s fate. What of her other siblings?
