Page 26 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
Feya allowed herself to be pulled away from the long healing table. As they passed the spot where Archer had kissed her, her cheeks flushed pink, and she was glad Ayla wasn’t looking at her.
“Where are we going?” Feya asked as Ayla guided her out the back door of the chamber, pushing open the tall door so they were hit with the warm sunlight on their faces.
“To the village.”
The words sent a spark of excitement through Feya’s chest. She hadn’t stepped outside the castle walls since arriving here.
“Really?” she asked, and Ayla looked over with a smirk.
“I thought it would please ye,” she said. “Ye keep mentioning the village ye grew up in.”
Feya hadn’t noticed she was speaking of her hometown so frequently. She and Ayla had spent long hours in the healing chamber as Feya taught Ayla what she knew. They talked about everything, from their siblings to their favorite colors, and last night’s dinner. Apparently, Feya’s conversations had frequently turned to the small town where she grew up.
“I guess I’m still getting used to castle life,” she admitted. Ayla dropped the sleeve she had been pulling, and the girls rantoward the stables, a skip in their step. As they laughed together, holding up their skirts, Feya felt like a child again.
Archer slumped in his chair, the cheery tone of O’Brien lulling him to sleep. The man was discussing some improvements he wanted to make to the roads leading to Castle Dougal and the surrounding villages. Archer knew it was his job to think about the infrastructure of their clan, but he always struggled to pay attention when O’Brien discussed stones and dirt.
“That sounds excellent, O’Brien,” Elijah said from his spot to Archer’s left. He glanced to his Laird, and Archer sat up straighter, realizing that his boredom was noticeable.
“What else do we have to discuss?” Archer asked. He was still thinking about Feya and her visit to his study earlier today. He couldn’t forget her accusation that he was avoiding her, and he had plans to set things right. Perhaps he was overdue for a visit to the healing chamber.
“My Laird,” an armed man was suddenly in the council chambers, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Archer sat up straighter, suddenly alert.
“What is it?”
“There’s a messenger. From McKenzie Castle.”
Archer’s whole body went cold at the words. His chest tightened, and he fought to keep his face neutral.
They’re looking for Feya.
No one in his council knew where Feya had come from. He had told them she was a healer from a neighboring village, someone he had stumbled upon on his way back home. But if a messenger had arrived from McKenzie Castle, there was only one reason for it. They were looking for her.
“Send him in,” Archer said with a careful nod. He cast his mind to the healing chamber, hoping beyond hope that Feya was inside. He sent up a prayer that she would stay hidden, that she would stay locked in the basement until this man left.
“McKenzie?” Lennox asked, looking around the table. “It must be news of the murder. Perhaps they’ve chosen a new Laird.”
Others on the council murmured their own thoughts, but Archer stayed silent. The important thing was to get this man out of his castle as soon as possible. He needed to make sure this messenger was back on the road, where he would run no risk of hearing rumors about a strange new healer who had appeared in Archer’s household.
The man was small in stature, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. It was a warm day, and from the looks of the man, he had ridden hard. He carried the jumpy unease of a man who worried his life was at stake.
“My Laird,” the man said, giving a small bow in Archer’s direction. He held out an envelope, the white of the paper smeared with dirt. Archer stood from his chair and strode toward the man.
“Thank ye,” he said. He tore open the paper to read the words, glad he had a moment to take in the news before the rest of his council. But as Archer’s eyes scanned the careful handwriting, his anxiety slipped away. He held an announcement in his hand, a declaration of the new Laird McKenzie taking his position of leadership.
“Ryder McKenzie has returned to take his rightful position as Laird,” the man announced, with the confidence of someone who had delivered the news to many castles. “He requests your support and asks ye to continue the goodwill Clan Dougal and Clan McKenzie have had in the past.”
“And he shall have it,” Archer said, passing the declaration to Elijah, who showed it to the others at the table. “We have no wish to create new enemies.”
“I will tell him,” the man nodded. “And Laird McKenzie thanks ye.”
The servant began to turn, and Archer breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t here to look for Feya. That meant Cohen must have believed his lie. Archer thought of the man he had spared in the woods, the one who carried his message back to Cohen:Ye will tell him that Feya Webster is dead.
Just as the messenger reached the threshold, Lennox’s chair scraped across the ground.
“Sir,” Lennox said, his eyes on Archer. “Is this not a decision that should be discussed with the council?”
The messenger froze in the doorway, stalled by Lennox’s words. He turned back slowly.
