Page 16 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
“Let’s get this over with,” he said. The nausea he had felt earlier was returning, brought on by the pain in his skull. Archer threw himself into his chair at the head of the table and narrowed his eyes at his council. “What is it we need to discuss?”
The men looked hesitant. They had seen Archer in moods like this before, and they knew he could be biting with his responses. But their hesitation was the last thing Archer wanted. What he needed was to get this over with so he could get back to his chamber before he had another episode.
“Wheat,” Egan Stewart told him.
“Wheat?” Archer echoed. He struggled to hold back a sigh.
“It’s gone yellow.”
“Is it notmeantto be yellow?” Archer asked.
“Not at this time, my Laird,” Stewart answered. “The leaves of the plant have gotten yellow pus and stripes. The farmers say it’s a sign of a bad harvest. That it will lead to a shortage.”
“And do ye have a suggestion?” Archer knew the man was knowledgeable about farming. He had grown up poor, the son of a farmer, only to be pulled into the war. Stewart had proven himself, rising in the ranks until he fought right alongside Archer and his father. When the war was over, he had earned his position in Archer’s council.
“We should warn the villages,” he suggested. “Tell them to plant more potatoes and onions. And the farmers without the yellow rot—they should plant more wheat. It’s still early enough in the season that it could make it to harvest before the frost. And we should be prepared to provide rations from the castle stores.”
“Very good,” Archer nodded. The vice grip on his brain let up slightly, and Archer took a breath. “What else?”
Ten more minutes. Just get me through ten minutes.
“There is the matter of your proxy, my Laird.”
The whiny pitch of Lennox’s voice put Archer on edge. All hope of this headache going away left him immediately.
“Me proxy?” Archer asked. What was this man planning?
“Aye. In the event ye arenae fit to rule.”
He pressed his teeth together, working his jaw.
“And why, Lennox, do ye believe I would be unfit to rule?”
“Come, my Laird,” Lennox said, looking around the table for support. “We all ken your health is not good. We’ve seen your headaches, those moments when ye seem to disappear, seeing something none of us can see.”
“Be careful,” Archer warned, but the man continued.
“It is unwise to forego a plan,” Lennox pressed. “If ye choose a proxy, ye will have say in who rules in your absence. Ye will have control.”
“And I suppose ye think thisproxyshould be you?”
Elijah returned to the room then, a fresh shirt in his hand. He seemed to pick up on the tension immediately because he slowed down, walking carefully so he could hear the conversation.
“I would hope ye would consider me, my Laird,” Lennox said. “I served your family well during the war. I ran your faither’s household when he was out on the battlefield.”
“Aye,” Archer agreed, dropping his voice to something dangerous. “That is true, Lennox. Ye did stay in the castle during the war. Ye did hide behind the walls of this place while the rest of us risked our lives on the battlefield. And ye believethatis what makes a good leader?”
“We couldnae all go into battle,” Lennox protested. “As I told your faither, some men needed to stay behind to watch the homestead.”
“Aye,” Archer said. “And I’m sure he appreciated yoursacrificewhen he was dying on the battlefield.”
Archer stood up, scraping his chair across the floor. Spots danced across his vision as he fought dizziness.
“I think we’re done,” he told the room, barely able to see them through the white spots of pain. But he wouldn’t show them his weakness. Not after Lennox had just questioned his fitness. Archer turned and walked away, nodding to Elijah to follow him.
He grabbed the shirt in Elijah’s hand and pushed his way through the council chamber door.
“Can ye believe him?” Archer cried. He pulled the innkeeper’s shirt over his head in one swoop, feeling immense satisfaction in throwing it to the floor. “What insolence.”
