Chapter 20
He remembers. There’s nae other explanation for it.
Archer had told her that fragments of his memory had returned, so it didn’t sound so far-fetched to River that he had probably remembered everything about his life.
Everything, from the things he liked and disliked to how he ran the clan to how he was with her, River was no longer seeing glimpses of his past self in him; no, she was seeing his past self, the way he used to be before his first attack and the memory loss.
There had been signs of it since they shared that first night together, since he made her his. River had just missed them—or she had simply ignored them, too reluctant to think that the man she had once known had returned.
What did that mean for her? For them? Archer was already cold towards her, already acting distant, even though he had not yet admitted he remembered.
Did other people know? Was she the only one in the dark? Surely, he had to have told Keir, at least, since he always told the man everything.
She couldn’t help but feel like a fool. Archer was now playing with her, using her once more, though for what, she couldn’t tell. Why not admit the truth? Why not tell her that he remembered and that he once again wanted nothing to do with her?
What was his plan?
She didn’t know, but she was going to find out. Leaving the children with Layla, River burst out of the doors of her chambers and stomped over to the other side of the castle, breezing past guards and servants with nothing more than curt nods to them.
She found Archer exactly where she expected him to be.
The study door stood half-open and through the gap, she could see him seated behind the broad oak desk, bent over a stack of papers. The afternoon sun spilled through the windows at his left, casting long threads of gold next to reaching shadows on the floor.
Archer looked up when she entered and for a moment, neither of them spoke. He set down his quill carefully, slowly, as if he was trying to delay the inevitable.
“River.”
There had been a time when hearing her name from his lips would have warmed her. Now it only sharpened the ache in her chest. He was once again cold and distant, just like the man he used to be, and River couldn’t even hold onto a sliver of hope that she was mistaken.
She shut the door behind her, as she didn’t want anyone else to hear the conversation they were about to have. Most of the castle didn’t even know there was anything wrong with Archer in the first place, let alone that he had recovered, and River was eager to keep it that way.
Still, she gave him no greeting, no time to lie or sneak his way through this.
“Ye remember.”
It was all she said. She didn’t need to say more. He didn’t need to say anything, either. The silence he gave her was answer enough.
A strange calm settled over her, because at least now, she knew for sure.
All the little things she had ignored now lined themselves neatly together—the way he sometimes stared at her as though trying to reconcile two versions of himself, the way his laughter had become less frequent, the moments when she caught him watching her with a guarded expression she had not seen since the beginning of their marriage.
The way he had grown distant.
Finally Archer exhaled. “Aye, I remember,” he confirmed, and the word fell between them with the weight of a stone. There was no emotion in his voice; there was nothing to suggest that he regretted the return of his memories or the fact that he was once again the man he had been.
“When?” River demanded, though she was quite certain she already knew the answer.
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does,” said River, her voice a low hiss as she approached the desk. She didn’t sit. Somehow, sitting felt like a surrender when Archer, even seated as he was, seemed to loom over her, taking up all the space in the room. “It may nae matter to ye, but it matters to me.”
“When I first slept with ye.”
Once again, his tone was flat, unemotional, so much so that River began to wonder if maybe all this had been a game to him from the start, if he had been pretending for some unknown, twisted reason.
But no, it couldn’t be; the days they had spent together since his memory loss had been genuine.
His emotions had been genuine; there was no way to fake them, not for Archer.
And that somehow pained her even more, to know she had found real love, real tenderness, only for it to be pulled away from her like this.
“Ye should have told me,” River said, blazing with an anger that threatened to consume her whole. “How dare ye keep this from me? How dare ye use me like this?”
“I didnae use ye,” Archer said, though for a brief moment, he averted his gaze as if he couldn’t stand looking at her.
“I did what I had to do. Ye of all people should ken that I have certain...plans in place and I cannae let anythin’ get in the way of that.
How am I supposed to catch whoever is attackin’ me if word comes out that I remember?
And if it does? Can ye imagine what it will do to the castle to find out I’ve been pretendin’ I remember all this time? Come now, River...use yer head.”
River froze. She was not used to Archer speaking to her like this—or rather, she had stopped being used to it and now she didn’t know how to respond. What was she supposed to say to this? What was she supposed to say to a man who didn’t have a single care in the world about her?
“I wouldnae have told anyone and ye ken that,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “But if it makes ye feel better about usin’ me, I suppose ye can keep lyin’ to yerself.”
Archer didn’t speak. He only stared at her, and the silence that stretched between them felt endless, like she could never escape it.
“Anythin’ else?” Archer asked finally, as if he was trying to conclude a meeting.
“Anythin’ else?” River echoed in disbelief. “Is that all ye have to say to me?”
Archer gave her a small shrug, desperately trying to hide the guilt that sat like a stone in his stomach from his expression. “What else is there to say?”
What else is there to say, indeed.
“Nay,” River said in the end, her lips pressing into a thin line. “That is all.”
And with that, she was gone.
By the time River reached her chambers, she was in no mood for conversation, which was unfortunate, as Layla possessed an almost supernatural ability to detect unhappiness before a single word had been spoken.
The maid was seated near the window with a basket of garments that needed mending in her lap, but she had scarcely looked up from her work before her expression changed.
“Is somethin’ the matter, me lady?”
River paused halfway across the room, wondering how Layla had even noticed so quickly, without so much as a single word from her.
She stopped by the small table near the window, her fingers tracing the wood grain.
Had she looked at Layla in the eye, she would have crumbled and told her everything in an instant.
Still, Layla waited patiently for River to speak, something that she didn’t do often. Layla was a constant stream of consciousness spoken out loud, never silent for too long, and yet now she didn’t say a single word. Instead, she only looked at River, waiting for her to speak first.
River sank into the chair beside the hearth and stared into the flames, hoping silence might discourage further inquiry. And though it did, River herself couldn’t stomach the silence, the stillness.
“It’s the Laird,” she said in the end.
Layla nodded as though a particularly complicated mystery had just been solved. “Has he done somethin’?”
The answer should have been simple—Archer remembers.
But just like everyone else in the castle, Layla didn’t know Archer had lost his memory in the first place, nor did she know about everything that had happened between them.
And besides, now that she was thinking about it, this would hardly be a sufficient answer.
The problem wasn’t that Archer remembered—the problem was that River had fallen in love with a man who didn’t exist anymore.
Never before had she admitted this to herself. Never before had she considered her feelings as love, as something so life-changing.
“Maybe...maybe it’s better this way,” River said, mostly to herself, instead of answering Layla’s question.
“What do ye mean?”
“I mean…”
What did she mean? There were too many thoughts racing through her mind, too many things she couldn’t share with Layla. But she could tell her about her one and biggest fear. She could tell her the one thing that plagued her even more than this sudden change in Archer.
“I mean that I daenae ken if I even deserve to be happy,” she admitted in the end. She didn’t dare meet Layla’s gaze; she didn’t want to see whatever pity she held for her. But then she heard a rustle as Layla stood and placed her basket aside, coming to sit next to her instead.
“Why would ye say that?” she asked. “Out of everyone in the castle, who could be more deservin’ of happiness than ye?”
“Well…ye, for one,” River said. She had never met anyone as kind, as bright as Layla, and she doubted she could be compared to someone like her. “Layla, there’s...there’s things about me ye daenae ken.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure we’re makin’ it greater in yer mind than it truly is,” Layla assured her. “Ye can tell me anythin’, me lady. I will never tell another soul.”
“Aye, I ken that,” River assured her with a soft laugh. Then, she fell silent for a long time, contemplating the best way to tell Layla the truth about her past, about the children.
There was no other way to say it other than to simply come out with it.
“Me faither was never faithful,” she said through a deep, trembling breath. “Everyone kent it. He kept mistresses for years, and when me maither found out...there was nae stoppin’ her. I never thought...I never thought her capable of everythin’ she did, but rage and jealousy blinded her.”