Page 73 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
From the corner of his eye, Archer saw Lennox rushing forward, his chest heaving with effort. He looked out of place in this battle, overwhelmed and afraid. How had Archer missed the signs? How had he believed Lennox was the mastermind of this plan?
“Can’t find the sister,” Lennox gasped. “She isnae in the castle.”
Ayla.
He was overwhelmed with relief that they hadn’t found her. He sent a silent prayer to her, asking her to stay put a little longer. He needed her to wait for him in that cabin. And then a new thought rushed into his mind:Thank the stars, Feya is not here.
“Keep looking,” Elijah screamed, and Archer used the opportunity to push the man hard in the chest, sending him reeling backward. Lennox looked over in surprise, color draining from his face. And then he ran away, clearly wanting nothing to do with this fighting.
“Ye have chosen a valiant partner,” Archer laughed, stepping forward with the tip of his sword aimed at Elijah’s throat. “He runs away at the hint of danger.”
Elijah was scrambling on the floor, trying to regain his footing and jump to his feet. Archer could take him out now, could slice his sword across the man’s throat and end this mutiny. But when he looked at Elijah on the ground, Malcolm’s face stared back at him.
Not now.
He felt the pull of one of his episodes, a flash of that battle that haunted him. Pressure built in his brain, and he tried to push it all away. He couldn’t disappear into this nightmare. If he lost himself, he would surely die. Filled with desperation, Archer summoned the one image that had saved him in the past, the one face that had soothed him.
Feya.
He squeezed his eyes closed and pictured her there, smiling down at him, and the episode began to recede. He heard her voice calling to him, speaking his name amidst the sounds of battle, and he opened his eyes, fully in the present, all flashes gone. Just as Elijah jumped to his feet, Archer was restored.
“Archer!”
The cry confused him. It sounded too real, too present in this room. It wasn’t the imagined cry of his dreams. No, this was here. This was now. Feya was calling to him.
With a shock of panic, he turned to the main doors of the Great Hall, and there, her eyes flashing with terror, was Feya.
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Feya stood frozen on the steps, her eyes locked on Archer as Elijah rushed at him, sword overhead. She held her breath as Archer defended himself, throwing Elijah’s blade in a different direction. His eyes kept sweeping over to her, but he couldn’t extract himself from the fuming man in front of him.
“Get out of here,” he cried out, but Feya’s feet felt frozen to the floor. She couldn’t leave Archer like this. She couldn’t run away when he was in such danger.
“Look who it is,” Elijah sneered, laughing as he glanced in Feya’s direction. “Your little plaything.”
They moved closer to her, fighting their way to the steps that Feya stood on top of, frozen at the entrance to the room. The smell of blood reached her nose, at once familiar and foreign. She had always seen wounded men when the battle was over. Now, standing in the midst of things, she saw the true horror ofmen killing one another, their eyes stripped of humanity as they attacked.
“Please, Feya,” Archer cried, and Elijah took the opportunity to strike. His sword caught Archer in the side, slicing through his shirt and into his skin. It made Feya cry out, and she watched Archer groan, pressing a hand into his side.
Elijah’s triumphant laugh sent her blood boiling. If only Feya had a weapon of her own. If only she could help. And then she remembered the small knife Ronnie had pressed into her palm on her departure.
“Why are ye doing this?” Archer screamed at Elijah, even as he pushed him backward. Feya reached for her boot and pulled the weapon out. It was barely five inches, but perhaps she could catch Elijah unawares. Perhaps she could get to him before Elijah hurt Archer again.
She rushed forward, running with abandon. Archer’s eyes widened when he saw it, and he called out to her to stop. But Feya ignored him, knowing that stopping now would be far too dangerous. She had one shot at this, and she needed to take it.
A figure to her right surprised her, swooping in with an angry snarl. One hand wrapped around her shoulders, and the other gripped hard in her hair, pulling her back. Feya screamed as her hair pulled against her scalp and the man wrested the small blade out of her palm. She looked up to see the ruddy face of Lennox looking down at her, pleased with himself.
“Let her go,” Archer screamed. She heard the terror in his voice as Lennox pressed the tip of the knife against Feya’s throat. She tried to control her breathing, but she was nearly hyperventilating, recognizing all at once that this could be the end. These men could kill her without a second thought.
Elijah took in Archer’s wide eyes, his frozen panic, and a smile curled at his lips.
“Ye want us to let her go?” He asked, a knowing look on his face. “Then throw down your sword.”
“Nay,” Feya cried out, but the press of the blade against her skin cut the word off. She held her breath as she felt the prick through her skin, followed by the drip of blood down her neck.
“Keep your hands off of her,” Archer screamed, and he tossed his sword to the ground without hesitation. “Let her go.”
But the grip on Feya’s hair only tightened, and Lennox twisted her neck painfully, making it impossible for Feya to move. Her eyes were locked on Archer and she saw the surprise on his face when Elijah rushed at him, quickly slashing his sword across Archer’s chest. His tunic was sliced open and Feya saw the streak of blood as Elijah’s blade found its target.
