Page 12 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
He put a hand on Archer’s shoulder, which he shrugged off, but it was Feya who took control of the situation. He heard her clear, confident voice from beside him, sounding much older than her years.
“Daenae touch him. He was injured on the journey. The Laird has wounds that must be attended to.”
“Who are ye?” Elijah asked, openly offended that this woman was making demands. He scowled at her, taking in the simple outfit she wore, common clothing from the innkeeper’s wife.
“Your Laird’s healer,” Feya said, her chin turned up in defiance. Archer held back a smirk as he got to his feet, amused by the girl’s fearlessness in front of one of his council members. “And I’m telling ye the Laird is injured.”
She took a gentle hold of his arm, and Archer allowed it. He let himself be led by her, though why he was letting Feya lead, who had never set foot inside his castle, was anyone’s guess. Perhaps it was simply how amused he was by the look of outrage on Elijah’s face as he watched them walk away from them.
“Elijah,” Archer called back. “Daenae tell me sister I was hurt.”
“Sister?” Feya asked. He looked down into her green eyes, noting how intrigued she was.
“Aye,” he nodded. “Ye arenae the only one with siblings ye care about, lass.”
As soon as they stepped into the castle, Feya realized she had no idea where to go.
“Where is your healing chamber?” she asked. She dropped his arm, feeling strange about guiding the man like a child. Outside her instincts had kicked in, telling her to get Archer inside and somewhere safe. It was the first time she had witnessed him having one of his flashes during the day, and it made her more certain than ever that he needed her help.
“I’m fine, lass,” he said, his voice tinged with that familiar mix of annoyance and embarrassment she always heard when he was confronting his illness. “I’ll show ye to a chamber where ye can rest.”
“Nay,” she said, shaking her head. She wouldn’t let Archer off that easily. “We must tend to your wounds.”
“It was nothing,” he protested. “Just a headache.”
“I’m not talking about your flashes,” she assured him. “Though those need some attention too. Did ye not realize your arm is bleeding? And ye’ve opened up the wound on your back.”
Archer looked down at his left forearm, genuinely surprised to see his sleeve was red with blood.
“It must have happened in the woods,” Feya reasoned.
“Aye,” he said, confusion in his voice. Feya had no idea how someone could ignore such a cut. Was the man truly immune to such pain? But then a more somber thought hit her.
Maybe he has pain all the time. He’s gotten good at living with it.
“Take me to the healing chamber,” she said again, forcing authority into her voice. Archer let out a sigh and took a sharp turn to the left, his long legs moving quickly. Feya had to run to keep up with him, struggling in the innkeeper’s shoes that were loose on her feet.
The healing chamber was on the ground floor, down a set of stairs where the temperature dropped to a comfortable chill. Feya could smell lilacs in the air and the earthy smell of herbs and spices. Feya had never had a healing chamber of her own—she had to carry everything in her travel bag, carefully organizing all the items she might need as she went from house to house in her village.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the octagonal room, making it bright and welcoming. A huge wooden table sat in the center of the room, with bottles of tinctures and powders beside mortars and pestles. There were smaller tables in front of many of the windows, each covered with plants and herbs appreciating the sunlight. Small pallets were tucked into quiet spots, peaceful places for the injured to heal.
“My Laird.” A woman looked up from her work, her face lined with age. “I was expecting ye.”
She wore a kerchief on her head, but Feya could see the shock of white hair that curled around her forehead, unyielding and untamable. She wore a canvas apron tied tight around her middle, her stomach straining slightly against the strings she had crossed behind her to tie in the front.
“Holly,” Archer said in greeting as the woman gave a nod of her head. “Are ye well?”
“I am old, my Laird,” she laughed. “Which is to say I’m as well as anyone can expect.”
He laughed warmly, and Feya saw how relaxed Archer seemed in her presence. It was easy to see there was love between Holly and Archer, a trust they had established over many years together. She was pleased to see it. Pleased to know Archer had someone in the castle he could be himself with.
“And who do we have here?” Holly asked, locking on Feya. Her eyes were those of a younger woman, piercingly blue and alert.
“This is Feya,” Archer said. “A healer from the North. I’ve brought her to help.”
As soon as he gestured to Feya next to him, a flash of pain crossed his face. He pulled breath through his teeth and brought his left arm closer to his body.
“Are ye alright, my Laird?”
