Page 68 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
“Of course I want to,” he told her. He glanced between his legs, where his desire for her was hard and evident between them. “Ye felt how much I want to. But I cannae take that from ye.” He placed a hand on her cheek. “That is for the man ye will love. The man who will be your husband.”
The spectre of this unknown husband suddenly loomed large between, casting a shadow across Archer’s mood. He didn’t like to think of anyone being with Feya in this way. Even thinking about another man touching her made Archer’s fingers twitch for his sword. But he was leaving…and Feya was staying here.
“Thank ye for protecting me,” Feya said, her words suddenly formal, far too cold. He wanted to pull her into his arms one final time, to feel her cheek pressed against his chest, but he held himself back. Instead, he grabbed Flora’s bridle from where it hung on the hook and led her out of her stall.
By the time he turned back, Feya was gone.
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Archer pushed his mare hard, determined he wouldn’t stop until he returned to Castle Dougal. It was time to put Feya and her family behind him. He had enough trouble with his own clan, and it was time to address it head-on. As he rode, he told himself that he wouldn’t stand for any more of Lennox’s insolence. People across the land feared him as a devil on the battlefield. Perhaps it was time for his own council to think the same of him.
He walked quickly to his council chambers, still dusty from the hard ride. Servants tried to smile at him in greeting, but he ignored them. Instead, he kept his eyes ahead of him until he could press his palms against the heavy wooden doors and push them open.
“My Laird!” Lennox jumped to his feet, rushing away from the chair he was sitting in. The chair that was reserved for the Laird.
“Don’t move on me account,” Archer said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “By all means, keep your arse in me chair.”
“I was only?—”
“Hoping I wouldnae return?” Archer asked. He looked around the room, taking in the wide eyes of the men at the table. Elijah watched him warily, a look of caution on his face. But Archer was done being cautious. He had tried to play nice and look where it had gotten him: A council member sitting so casually in a seat of power.
“Listen up,” he said. Archer slammed his fists on the table, making a few of the men jump. “I’ve been to Clan McKenzie. I’ve reinstated our alliance and shown the man that he will never disrespect me and me clan again.”
“Very good, my Laird,” Stewart said, but one glare from Archer silenced him.
“Let it be a warning,” Archer announced. “To any man or Laird who questions me. Clan Dougal willnae be forgotten. We willnae be disrespected after all this clan has been through.”
A flash of Feya’s apple orchard rushed to his mind, her memorial for all of his men. But the second it appeared, Archer pushed it away. He wouldn’t think of Feya now. He had promised himself that it would be clan business and nothing else.
“It’s time to restore this clan to the status it held when my faither was Laird,” Archer announced.
A few of the men pounded their fists in agreement, pleased by the response. Elijah stood up and nodded solemnly, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
“That’s right,” he cried out, as if he were addressing a group of soldiers. “For too long we have sat by, letting others get ahead. We’ve been afraid to fight back. But no more.”
Archer narrowed his eyes in Elijah’s direction, trying to understand where his comments were headed. But before he could interpret them, Lennox joined in.
“Aye,” Lennox agreed. “For too long, we’ve let our enemies sleep soundly in their beds.”
“It’s time to take back our revenge,” Elijah cried. “To show those murdering cowards what Clan Dougal has in store for them.”
“Ye cannae mean war?” O’Brien asked, and suddenly everyone was speaking at once. Archer’s determination to improve his clan had quickly turned into a declaration of war, something he never intended. With a scream that echoed off the walls, he silenced the room.
“No one is speaking ofwar,” he assured them, looking particularly hard at Elijah and Lennox. “We willnae engage in unnecessary conflict.”
“Unnecessary?” Elijah burst out. “They killed yer faither. They took away me brother.”
“Aye,” Archer nodded. “And we took men in kind. We willnae open up old wounds just as they’re starting to heal.”
“Archer—”
“Enough,” he bellowed, cutting Elijah off. “Your Laird has spoken. And from now on, you’re going to hear a lot more of him. This council will listen to what I have to say and act accordingly. If anyone doesn’t like that, ye can leave.”
He turned then and strode out of the room, equal parts angry and elated. For too long, he had felt unsure of himself as a Laird, always comparing himself to his father. But not anymore. Archer was ready to throw himself into his position and gain the respect of his clan. No more running from his past—it was time to face it.
Feya would be pleased.
He grunted as the thought floated into his head, instantly throwing it away.
