Chapter 4
The letters before Archer’s eyes swam on the page.
The light in his study was dim, nothing but a few candles and the crackling fire to illuminate the room, along with the silver cast of the moon through the window.
It was a balmy evening. The tapestries fluttered on the walls with the gentle breeze, and he wished he could be outside, on the terrace or the courtyard to enjoy the good weather.
But he had too much to do. The loss of his memory had burdened him with more work than he could ever imagine.
He had to learn everything from the start—everything about his clan and his people, his alliances, his former strategies.
No one could be allowed to think of him as incompetent and no one could be allowed to find out he had lost so much of his past.
With a sigh, he leaned back on his chair—a large, wooden armchair with intricate patterns carved on the surface, its seat and back covered in plush leather.
Jenson’s concoction of peppermint and butterbur still filled the room with its fragrance from the small bottle that now stood empty at the very edge of Archer’s desk.
The potent liquid had done little to help with his growing headache, and now Archer regretted ever insisting that he was well enough to work.
A knock on the door forced him to quickly sit straight and chase the pained expression away.
“Come in.”
Keir opened the door, then looked over his shoulder before closing it, as if he feared there would be someone lurking behind it. He had picked up the habit in the past few days—or perhaps he had always had this habit, Archer thought. Either way, he wouldn’t know.
“Och, it’s ye,” Archer said and immediately relaxed on the chair. Keir was one of the people he remembered, along with Jenson and some of the servants in the castle, though he remembered them all much younger than they were now.
And he could trust Keir with his secrets as much as with his life.
“Ye look like death,” said Keir.
“Aye and ye look like shite,” said Archer.
“At least I’m nae about to die.”
“But we’re about to kill someone.”
Keir had that look about him—the same frown, the same twist of lips that he always got whenever he was angry. Archer could recognize the expression on this face as well as he could recognize it on his younger countenance.
“What’s the matter with ye?” Archer asked.
“I came to yer chambers to find ye,” said Keir. “Imagine me surprise when I saw the servants carry yer things out of there.”
“Aye,” said Archer. “I will be movin’ to the eastern wing to be closer to me wife.”
Keir sighed and dropped his face in his hands. He didn’t seem surprised by that answer at all, as if he had been expecting it from the moment he stepped foot in Archer’s chambers and found the servants moving his belongings without warning.
“Have ye gone mad?”
“Is it mad to wish to be close to me wife?”
“It is if she’s the one who tried to kill ye.”
Archer couldn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes. That had been Keir’s strongest suspicion from the start, but Archer couldn’t imagine River could ever do such a thing.
“I went to see her meself,” he said. “She’s a tiny thing. Do ye truly believe she could ever harm me?”
Keir’s frown deepened, the corners of his mouth turning downwards as he regarded Archer.
“Perhaps,” he said. “I wouldnae underestimate her. Or anyone, for that matter.”
“Keir, she’s a wee lassie,” Archer insisted. “She can hardly reach me head.”
“Perhaps she had assistance.”
“From whom?”
“From her guard.”
“And why would she want to kill me?”
Keir shrugged a shoulder. “Why wouldnae she? She has every reason to want to kill ye.”
“Me wife?” Archer cried, a scoff escaped him.
“Aye,” said Keir, suddenly leaning forward over the desk. “Archer, there are things ye daenae ken...things ye daenae remember.”
Archer’s eyes narrowed and, as with every other time he tried to remember something that was simply now lost to him, his temples pounded with the effort.
“Tell me, then.”
With a sigh, Keir threw himself on the armchair across from Archer. Then, he reached for the carafe of wine on the silver tray by the desk, pouring himself a cup that he nursed for a long time before he spoke.
“There was an incident with yer wife’s maither,” said Keir over the rim of his cup.
“For a long time, the woman was tryin’ to kill every mistress her husband ever had, along with the bairns he sired.
When she was discovered...well, she was killed for it.
And though ye werenae the one to wield the blade, ye were there and ye did naethin’ to stop it. ”
Archer leaned back in his seat, considering Keir’s words. He remembered none of it, but he trusted Keir was telling him the truth. If he had been there when River’s mother had been killed, if he had done nothing to save her—
“Ye think she would have me killed for it?”
“I suspect her more than I suspect anyone else,” said Keir. “If anyone has access to ye and the means to kill ye, it’s her. And she has motive, too. But there’s also the alibi.”
“What alibi?”
“The bairns...the ones she took in after her maither killed theirs,” Keir said. “But they are her half-siblings. They could be lyin’ to protect her.”
That pounding headache was only getting stronger by the minute. With every new piece of information, it seemed to Archer that his head was getting heavier and heavier, until he could hardly bear it at all.
“Wait a moment now...if she took in those bairns, as ye say, why would she wish to avenge her maither? Why would she help them and then try to kill me for it?”
“She may nae blame them because they’re only bairns,” Keir pointed out. “They had nae say on bein’ born. And, as I said, they are her siblings.”
“Half-siblings.”
“Still siblings.”
The two of them sat in silence as Archer considered that possibility.
It seemed unlikely to him, not only because he doubted the need for vengeance would be so controlled and so focused or because River was so much smaller than him, but also because, in their brief meeting earlier that day, she had seemed too kind, too sweet to him to be capable of such a thing.
“I think it’s best if I speak to her meself about this,” Archer said, but Keir was quick to shake his head.
“Nay...nay, I wouldnae recommend that. If she truly means to harm ye—”
“Keir, she cannae harm me,” Archer insisted. “I am twice her size. Even if she wants to harm me, she cannae do it on her own. I’m in nae danger as long as it’s only the two of us.”
Keir leaned back in his chair and seemed to consider that for a moment.
Archer wasn’t going to hear any more protests, though.
Keir had no evidence. Besides, if River was truly looking for ways to harm him, would she get flustered and pink at a mere touch on her cheek?
The crime Keir was accusing her of was one that could only be committed by a much bolder woman.
She had fire in her, that much was true; he had seen it in their conversation, when she had demanded answers from him and claimed so firmly that she would never share his bed.
But she had been shy, too, timid at the thought of the two of them together.
She was not the kind of woman who could do such a thing.
“I’ll be there with ye when ye speak to her,” said Keir.
“Nay. I wish to speak to her alone,” insisted Archer. “I have more things to discuss with her than just this.”
“Other things?” said Keir, arching a curious eyebrow. “Such as?”
Archer drew in a deep breath. “Such as havin’ an heir. It’s about time.”
“An heir?”
Suddenly, Keir stood from his chair and leaned over the desk, bracing himself on the edge of it. “Are ye serious?”
“Aye,” said Archer with a small frown. “Why wouldnae I be?”
For a few moments, Keir simply stared at him in silence, scrutinizing him as if he was trying to find out whether something was hiding behind his thoughts. He was going to find nothing, though; Archer was entirely serious.
“Very well,” said Keir, sitting back on his chair. “That’s good news.”
“Are ye surprised?”
“Nay,” said Keir, a little too quickly. “But I agree it is time. Though I daenae ken if yer wife is the right woman to bear ye bairns, considerin’—”
“She’s me wife,” said Archer, interrupting him. “Who else would bear me an heir?”
“Another wife,” said Keir with a small shrug. “As I said, I’m nae convinced she’s nae the one who attacked ye. If it’s proven that she’s behind all this—”
“She’s nae,” Archer insisted, the headache returning with a vengeance, along with a bitter taste in the back of his mouth that had little to do with the medicine and concoctions Jenson was feeding him.
He didn’t like how convinced Keir was that River was behind the attack.
He didn’t think the man had any plans of harming his wife, nor did he think he had ulterior motives.
Keir was a transparent man—he wasn’t scheming like Archer himself was.
But Archer still lamented the fact that his closest man and his wife didn’t get along—not just that, but he also suspected her of foul play.
He wondered, for a brief moment, what River thought of Keir. Did she, too, suspect him? Did she dislike him for acting like this towards her?
“But even if she is,” Archer said with a quiet sigh, “we will deal with it when the time comes. We cannae accuse her when there is nae evidence. Bring me evidence and I will hear ye, but as long as there is naethin’ to prove she did it, I willnae hear another word about me wife.”
Keir didn’t seem entirely pleased. His lips twisted into a grimace of distaste, but he said nothing in protest. It was better this way; Archer craved the quiet, and he wasn’t going to have much of it moving forward.
The better he got, the more responsibilities returned upon his shoulders.
And now there was this—finding out who had attacked him and why.
“Now if ye’ll excuse me, I would like to see me wife,” said Archer, pushing himself up from his chair. Keir opened his mouth and, for a moment, Archer thought he was going to disagree, but then he only let his head fall back against the back of the chair.
“Are ye certain?”
“Och aye,” said Archer. “Very much so.”
“Fine,” said Keir. “It’s yer head. It’s nae as if the entire clan depends on ye.”
“I’m nae dead yet, am I?” asked Archer with a raise of his eyebrows, only for Keir to roll his eyes at him.
“Let us try token it this way,” he said. “It doesnae take much to kill someone.”
“It’ll take more than a wee lassie to kill me.”
With that, Archer gulped down the rest of his wine and followed Keir out of the study.
The hall outside was filled with guards, much to his chagrin, but it had been that way ever since he had woken up in his bed, remembering little.
He couldn’t even sleep in peace anymore without someone barging in every so often to see if he still lived.
He ignored them all as he made his way to the eastern wing, knocking on his wife’s door. There was no answer, though, not even when he knocked gain and again.
“Have ye seen the Lady O’Douglas?” he asked the guard closest to him—a spotty-faced young man with a mop of blonde hair, who quickly shook his head. “Any of ye? Have ye seen her?”
There were a few mumbles and a few more shakes of the guards’ heads. No one seemed to know where River was. Turning on his heel, Archer searched the entire eastern wing and found it empty, from one room to the next, until his feet carried him to his new chambers.
Those, too, were empty when he entered them, though he hadn’t expected to find River there anywhere.
Where has she gone? Is she avoidin’ me?
It wouldn’t surprise him. He had been quite aggressive with her, and besides, with Keir breathing down her neck, it was no wonder she didn’t want to see Archer either.
Still, he was far from pleased.
He would have searched for her more, tore up the whole castle from one end to the other, had it not been for that piercing headache that refused to let him out of its clutches.
His temples pounded and the space between his brows hurt as if he had been hit with a hammer.
Releasing himself to his fate, Archer undressed for the night and decided to retire to bed, hoping he could start the search afresh the next morning—this time with a clear head.
And in his dreams, all he saw were those two blue eyes, staring right through him.