Chapter 4
Ahand clamped over her mouth, and she screamed into the warm flesh, slamming her fists against the rock-solid chest of the mountain of a man.
The warm breath in her ear terrified her as he pulled her close to whisper, “I’ll let ye go if ye stop screamin’.”
Eileen calmed down for a second before her anger flared. She huffed out a breath and wriggled out of his grasp, glaring at him in the dim hallway.
Laird MacLennan stood before her with a smirk.
He stepped back and leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded, one boot propped against the stone. He looked amused, but his eyes glinted with a warning.
“What do ye think ye’re doin’?” Eileen hissed.
“Do ye really want to scream at the top of yer lungs when ye’re tryin’ to sneak out behind yer maid’s back? What was it? A lover’s tiff?”
“Ye dinnae have one ounce of sense, do ye?” Eileen scoffed.
She wanted to shout at him, but he was right about her sneaking out, and it only made him more frustrating—something she didn’t think possible only an hour ago.
“Where were ye goin’, Kilmartin? If ye were sneakin’ out without yer maid kennin’, I assume it’s somewhere she wouldnae want ye to go.”
Eileen drew herself to her full height. “It’s none of yer business. Out of me way—”
He pushed off the wall and took a step forward. “Who do ye think ye are, Kilmartin? It’s me castle, so it is me business. I dinnae even ken yer name.”
She stiffened. “What does that matter? I’m Kilmartin, just as ye said.”
“Do ye have a first name?”
“I dinnae have time for this. Move!”
“I’ll move when ye give me a proper introduction.”
Her mouth moved before her mind could catch up. “I’m Eileen Kilmartin, Laird McFair’s youngest sister.”
He stepped forward then.
Eileen stepped back instinctively. “Wha—What are ye doin’?” she demanded to know, her eyes wide with fear.
“This isnae the time to be sneakin’ around. Back inside. Now.”
“Ye said ye would let me go if I told ye who I was.”
Archer smirked. “I said nay such thing. I told ye I would move. I’m a man of me word. I’m movin’, and ye’re movin’ with me back into yer room.”
“A man of yer word, but ye are nae a man of honor,” she spat out, but continued retreating one step at a time until her heel hit the rug in her room.
She expected the Laird to stop at the door, but he continued to advance on her as she backed into her room.
“I’m in me room so you can leave me be,” she stated, her hands defiantly clenched at her sides. She tried to keep her voice down, so Piper wouldn’t hear and discover what she’d been up to.
“If I leave now, ye might still do somethin’ foolish,” Archer drawled.
With a soft thud, the door shut behind him.
“Why do ye care? I said I was sorry earlier, but me braither is gone. I only wanted to check yer dungeons. If I can save him—”
He reached for her hands and placed them flat against his chest. The warmth of his body seeped through her palms.
“Ye’re lyin’. Ye could have asked to go to me dungeons at any time. If ye wish to leave, then ye will have to go through me. Go ahead, lass. Give me a shove.”
She stiffened at first, taken aback by his request, and then—banking on the element of surprise—she gave him the hardest shove she could muster.
In true annoying fashion, he didn’t budge an inch.
“Argh!” She tried again, ramming her shoulder into his chest.
Nothing.
“Christ Almighty. What the—” She cursed and threw her hands, only for a bolt of pain to shoot up her arms when her palms connected with his hard chest.
He smirked. “Is that it, then?”
She growled in frustration. “Why are ye doin’ this?”
Her eyes dropped to his trousers, and she sucked in her bottom lip. Never before had she injured a man in such a way, but she thought very seriously about doing it now just to get past him.
“Dinnae even think about it—that’s cheatin’.”
There was laughter in his voice, but he didn’t move away from her. It was as if he knew, no matter what she pulled, that she wasn’t capable of injuring him… or moving him.
Arrogant. Arse.
“Ye are the cheater!” she hissed, attempting a blow to his gut. Which turned out to be equally as marbled as his chest. “Argh! Damn ye!” she cried out, panting for breath.
A lump formed in her throat, overwhelmed by her effort and swarming thoughts.
Focus. Ye can find another way out. He cannae stay awake forever.
“Calm yer breathing, lass,” he said, grabbing her hands again and placing them on his chest. “Again.”
“What kind of sick game is this? Do ye make all yer prisoners fight for their freedom?” she snapped, changing her stance slightly.
“Aye,” Archer said plainly, not answering her questions but approving of whatever moves she was making.
Her eyes flashed up to his, but he was looking down at her legs.
“Ye are little. Ye cannae expect to match me in a fight. Use what ye have, lass.”
Eileen knew what he was talking about. She had seen Thomas and Reid wrestle in the courtyard many times.
Her eyes flashed down to assess which side his dagger was on.
Left. The hilt is facing forward, which means he grabs it with his right hand.
“Good,” she heard him say, but his voice seemed far away.
Her hands slid to his left side, one high just under his shoulder and the other low on his lowest rib.
She felt him hum with approval, but he made no other noise. His body tensed, and he leaned into her touch slightly.
Eileen slid her left leg out behind her, and she braced her weight forward as she jabbed her lower hand into the soft part of his side. She watched as he staggered forward, losing his balance, and her high hand pushed up with all of her might.
He stumbled back slightly, giving her a window to dart away. But the first step she tried to take was fully airborne.
Archer had twisted around, picked her up off the ground with one arm, and pulled her against him. Her back was now flush against his torso, and she was irate.
“Let me go! Ye brute! Ye cheater!” She thrashed fruitlessly as his other arm wrapped around her tightly, effectively holding her in place.
“I never said I wouldnae try to stop ye,” he pointed out.
His warm breath caressed the thin skin of her neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“Wh—Why are ye doin’ this? Let me go!”
“Because if me own sister ever pulled such a foolish stunt, I’d hope there was a man out there willin’ to stop her.” The gravel in his voice raked down her spine devilishly.
She blinked, caught off guard. “So, this is what? Chivalry?”
He shrugged. “I reckon we are past chivalry. I already ken how ye feel under me—”
The reality of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks. She was alone in her bedroom with a large brute. He owed her nothing, and no one knew she was here. She was all too aware of every single point of contact their bodies made, and her eyes went wide as he took a small step forward.
“What are ye—What are ye goin’ to do?” she asked, trying to mask the nervousness in her voice by wriggling again.
“Quit buckin’ around like a wild beast, lass. I’m tryin’ to put ye down without ye causin’ any injury.”
She inhaled sharply before her breathing slowed. “Ye willnae hurt me?”
“I never had any intention to harm ye,” he said softly.
She noticed how evenly his chest rose and fell against her shoulders. He was calm. Not crazed.
“Fine,” she said firmly.
She had no choice but to trust him, so she relaxed in his arms as he walked them over to the hearth. Eileen let him adjust his grip easily so he could lower her into one of the warm armchairs.
“McFair owes me a favor now,” Archer said as he pulled another chair closer to hers and fell into it. Their eyes remained locked in a stalemate. “Nae bad for a day’s work.”
She stiffened. The last thing she wanted to do on this journey was to make her other brother indebted to the MacLennans.
“I could—” Her eyes flicked to the small leather pouch on the floor where they had just stood.
I dinnae have much, but I…
“I could return it. Name yer price.”
“I dinnae need yer coin.”
“Then I can return the favor when—”
Archer leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs as if he had anticipated her very thoughts.
“When I become Lady O’Gunn, I could speak in yer favor… to Lachlan.”
His gaze darkened instantly, and the air between them shifted. “As if anyone could reason with that lunatic.”
Eileen stiffened slightly, unsettled by the way his presence filled the room even as he sat down. She wasn’t afraid, though. Not exactly. But her pulse hammered, and her stomach fluttered faster than it had any right to.
“Ye think ye ken him better than me?” she snapped.
“Have ye ever met the man?”
“Well…”
Archer smiled humorlessly. “I ken well enough, lass,” he said, scooting to the edge of his chair to close the distance between them.
Her eyes dipped first, taking in the slow rise and fall of his chest and the pulse fluttering just at the base of his throat.
“Ye willnae be marryin’ him, Eileen Kilmartin.”
They were close again. Too close.
She tried to break the tension with a jab. “It seems to me that ye just want to be the hero. So, go on then. Rescue me.”
He reached out and grabbed her chin. His touch was gentle but unyielding, forcing her gaze to meet his once more.
“Rescue ye?”
“Aye, be the hero.” She rolled her eyes.
As if he doesnae ken what he’s doin’.
“I’m nae a hero,” he countered, his chiseled features growing menacingly dark.
The silence that clung to the space between them was a burden.
“Arenae ye, though?” she said through gritted teeth, a sneer that he didn’t miss tugging at her lips.
“Nay,” he said, his emerald-green eyes glinting in the firelight. “But I do have a better idea.”
Her brow creased. “What are ye—”
“Ye dinnae wish to go home. And I cannae let ye go to O’Gunn.”
“Cannae?”
“Nay. I dinnae like what he’s up to. Ye’re right about the trap he’s settin’. Refuse to marry him, and yer clans go to war. Accept, and he gains power and… ye.”
“Reid was goin’ to sort it out,” Eileen argued. “He would have.”
Ignoring her reply, Archer continued, “Ye’ll stay here and pretend to be me betrothed. For one month. I’ll help ye get yer braither back.”
Betrothed?
She scrambled through the possibilities flooding her mind.
If I marry him, Thomas willnae owe him a favor, and he’ll help me find Reid, and we would be protected from O’Gunn… Would we?
“I cannae wed ye,” Eileen declared, standing tall with her hands on her hips. “This isnae… I dinnae ken what this is. What’s in it for ye?”
“Come with me,” Archer ordered. “Ye’re goin’ to the dungeons for yer own good.”