Chapter 7
Finally...I’ve been waitin’ all day for this.
Archer was standing outside River’s chambers, his fist poised to knock, but something inside him gave him pause, despite his excitement.
He didn’t know what it was. It was as if it had been dredged up from the deepest parts of him—from an Archer he didn’t quite remember but carried with him nevertheless.
Grow up, Archer. This is yer wife.
He knocked once and didn’t wait for River to respond before he opened the door to her sitting room.
There, River sat with Finlay, the two of them talking quietly between them.
Not for the first time ever since he had woken up after the accident, Archer wondered if the man ever let his eyes roam off River or if she was constantly under his surveillance.
Had it not been for the physical distance they always seemed to maintain—her on the couch and he on an armchair near the fireplace—he would have suspected him of having much more sinister appetites.
The moment Finlay’s eyes found Archer, he stood, giving him a bow. The frown that knit his brows together, though, betrayed a confusion Archer hadn’t expected to see.
What was so strange about him visiting his wife’s chambers? Surely, he had done the very same things many times before.
“Och...is it time already?” River asked, and the disappointment in her voice was difficult to swallow.
“Aye,” said Archer drily, his gaze jumping back and forth between her and Finlay. When the man made no move to leave, he said, “I will have to ask ye to leave us alone for the night, Mr. Kirk.”
Finlay’s eyes jumped to River, as if waiting for permission.
There was a tension in his shoulders, his body drawn into a taut line, like a bowstring ready to fire.
Finlay didn’t want to leave them alone, as if he suspected Archer would do something to harm River.
But how could he ever believe such a thing?
Archer didn’t remember many things, but he knew a few truths about himself; one of them was that he would never harm his wife.
“Mr. Kirk,” Archer repeated, pointing to the door with a sweeping arc of his arm. “If ye would be so kind.”
His words were tipped with ice and left no room for discussion, Still, Finlay spared a moment to glance at River, and only when she gave him a small nod did he make his way to the door, lingering there for a brief moment before finally leaving them alone.
“What is the matter with him?” Archer asked once Finlay was gone.
“Naethin’,” said River. “He is me guard. His job is to protect me.”
“From yer husband?”
“From anyone.”
Archer said nothing in response. What was there to say to that, anyway? Did River, too, worry that he would hurt her?
Did everyone suspect him for some reason?
Slowly, he began to approach her, pushing all other thoughts from his mind. This was a night for him and his wife to get acquainted once more. It was a night for him to rediscover what it was that he liked about her, why he had chosen her, why they had gotten married.
And, hopefully, why he had refused to have an heir.
The closer he got to River, though, the more she began to backtrack.
Archer didn’t even know whether she realized she was doing it or whether her feet were simply carrying her away from him on instinct.
She was pale under the soft light of the candles, and she swallowed with an audible click when he got a little too close.
And then, Archer revealed what he had been holding behind his back—a bottle of whisky to be shared between them.
“What’s this?” River asked, sounding more suspicious than before.
“I daenae ken ye, River,” said Archer with a sigh. “I have forgotten everythin’ about ye, about us. But I wish to remember. I wish to find out everything I kent about ye again.”
River’s eyes narrowed, her gaze flitting between his face and the bottle.
“And how is whisky goin’ to help with that?”
“I thought we could play a game,” he said. “We ask each other questions and if one of us fails to answer, we must drink.”
River’s suspicion slowly turned into relief. She drew in a deep breath, then released it through her lips. She even gave him a soft chuckle, nodding along.
“Alright,” she said. “That sounds...almost like fun.”
“Almost?” asked Archer with mock hurt. “I can assure ye it will be very entertainin’.”
“I must admit I have trouble thinkin’ that anythin’ could be entertainin’ when it involves ye,” said River, and though Archer wasn’t quite offended by the comment, he was curious as to why she believed that.
Perhaps sensing his curiosity, River added, “Ye’ve always been a very serious man.
Nae...nae outwardly. Ye’re entertainin’ because ye choose to be.
Because it benefits ye. But ye’ve always been a very serious man. ”
“Well, I am the Laird of this clan,” Archer pointed out. “It does require a certain seriousness.”
“Aye, I suppose it does,” said River as she made her way to the couch.
She sat there, on the far edge of it, leaving plenty of room for Archer—as well as plenty of room to exist between them when he would take his seat.
Still, he didn’t plaster himself at the other end.
Instead, he sat firmly in the middle of the space River had left for him—neither too far nor too close.
The bottle of whisky was placed between them, like a border meant to separate them.
“Let us begin then,” said Archer. “Ye can start.”
“And I can ask ye anythin’ I want?”
“Aye, that’s the idea.”
For a few moments, River seemed to consider her options. Then, she asked, “Dae ye truly remember naethin’ from yer life?”
Archer let out a soft, humourless chuckle. “More or less,” he said. “I remember some things, from when I was much younger. But even that is...it’s muddled, as if I’m lookin’ at meself through a dirty glass. I daenae even ken if what I remember is correct.”
“But ye daenae remember me,” River said.
“That’s two questions.”
“It wasnae a question.”
Archer’s mouth ticked up at that into an approximation of a smile. There seemed to be a quick-witted, competitive side to her that he was already beginning to enjoy.
“Then I willnae answer ye, since it isnae a question.”
“I can always ask ye again later,” River pointed out. “But I can tell...I can tell ye daenae remember me.”
“Does that pain ye?”
It was a question he had meant to reserve for later in the game, but he couldn’t stop the words once they had been formed in his mind. The answer River gave him, though, surprised him.
“Nay,” she said, and she sounded entirely truthful.
Archer didn’t know why he had hoped to hear that it had pained her. Surely, a man didn’t want to cause his wife any pain, not even by accident, but now that River had confessed she didn’t mind it much that he had forgotten all about her, it stung more than he would have liked to admit.
He didn’t know what to say. How could he express his disappointment over something like this? All he could think of to ask was, “Why is that?”
“That’s a second question,” River pointed out, and Archer laughed despite himself.
“That’s true,” he said. “Fine, it’s yer turn, then.”
“How did the accident happen?” River asked.
Archer shook his head. “I daenae ken. I daenae remember it. What’s yer favorite color?”
River gave him an incredulous look. “Seriously?”
“Och aye,” said Archer. “I would very much like to ken that.”
River tried—and failed—to suppress a smile. “Blue. What’s yers?”
“Red. What’s yer favorite food?”
“A freshly baked bannock with a small mountain of butter and honey.”
“A very good choice,” said Archer.
“Why did ye wish to be close to me and decided to move yer entire room here?”
“I’m tryin’ to rebuild our relationship,” Archer said, though he had thought this was obvious.
From the very start, River had understood his actions as suspicious, as something to be wary of, and even now, though she had relaxed a little, she was still cautious.
On the one hand, it was a good thing; it meant she had good instincts.
On the other hand, he couldn’t understand why she was so suspicious of him.
“And I daenae like the thought of living so far from me wife. What do ye do in yer spare time?”
River watched him in silence for a while, as if she was trying to peer right into his mind. Then, she simply said, “I play with the bairns. I read to them. We go on walks.”
“Before the bairns,” said Archer.
River fell silent once more, considering his question for a moment. “I liked horse ridin’. I still do but I daenae leave the eastern wing much.”
“Why?”
“That’s three questions,” River pointed out. “Why did nae one tell me ye were injured for so many days?”
“I daenae ken,” said Archer truthfully. “I am just as surprised by that as ye are.”
River leaned back in her seat, a hand coming up to rest on her slender neck as she frowned to herself. She seemed to accept it as the truth, though, as she didn’t try to contradict him.
“Why are the bairns in yer care?” Archer asked. “What happened with yer maither?”
River took in a shaky breath, as if the mere question was enough to fill her with sorrow, and Archer immediately regretted asking. River didn’t refuse to answer, though.
“Me faither...he was a rake,” she said. “He wasnae a bad man to me or me brother, but he was to our maither. He had so many mistresses and he fathered several bairns with them. I understand why me maither hated him, but...but when she began to gather everyone she thought was associated with him, we couldnae allow it...me brother and I. She tried to kill so many of those women and those bairns and she...she succeeded in killin’ Arya’s and Colby’s maither.
I loved me maither dearly...a part of me still does, but what she did.
..it was so cruel, so inhuman. I cannae forgive her for it, nae matter how much I love her. ”