Chapter 9
The corridors of this blasted castle all look the same!
Eileen had taken one wrong turn—or perhaps three—and now she was certain she was lost. The grey stone halls twisted and bent like a maze meant to trap wandering souls.
It didn’t help that it was still quite dark out and the torchlight played tricks on her eyes.
She thought that she had passed the same tapestry at least twice, a faded scene of some long-forgotten battle between men with swords too big and expressions too grim.
She even spent a good long while studying it at one point in the morning.
Her slippers made no sound against the stone, but her heart thudded loud enough to echo in her ears.
“Saints preserve me,” she muttered under her breath, wrapping her arms around herself. “Could this place nae be built with a proper layout?”
A chill lingered in the air, carried by the drafty corners of the ancient castle. Each flickering torch offered too little warmth, too little comfort, and the light danced on the walls like mocking shadows. She missed her room.
She turned again, this time into a long hallway dimmer than the last, lit only by guttering sconces and the faint glow of moonlight seeping through narrow windows.
The scent of damp moss clung to the walls, and she began to wonder if she’d somehow ended up in the lower levels of the keep—perhaps near the stores or the cellars.
Her stomach twisted. It wasn’t fear, exactly. But she didn’t like not knowing where she was. As she stood there, debating whether to retrace her steps or keep pressing forward, a voice sounded from the shadows.
“Lost, are ye?”
Eileen jumped, her hand flying to her chest as she spun around. Her heel slipped slightly on the uneven stone, and she stumbled back against the wall.
“Good heavens!” she hissed, one hand braced on the cold stone. “Ye nearly gave me a fright, ye big oaf!”
Archer stood in the shadows without a care in the world, when everyone around seemed to be against him. If she’d seen him before hearing him, she wouldn’t have been scared a bit by how pleasant he looked, but it was the disembodied voice that scared her.
So, ye can be agreeable and nae completely menacing when ye want to be?
He did look handsome in the shadows, with his tight breeches containing his tree-trunk legs and his shirt taut across the chest she’d laid her hands on far too many times now. But it was surely the lack of light playing tricks on her.
Archer stepped into the light from a nearby archway, laughter barely contained in the curve of his mouth.
Eileen tried not to stare as the blasted Laird only became more handsome in the light, the quiet strength of his jawline, the richness of his green eyes like the grass on the moors, the way he held himself tall with confidence while not looking down on her.
She could feel his warmth—the same warmth that had seeped into her body when she’d pressed herself to him in fear.
He looked far too pleased with himself. “Nearly?”
“Och! I was barely perturbed by yer sneakin’ presence,” Eileen scoffed, swatting at him and missing, completing the action more to stifle her desires in the dim hallway than anything else.
“Ye should see yer face,” he said, his voice brimming with mirth. “Like a startled lamb, ye are.”
Her heart stuttered in her chest, but she clenched her jaw and lifted her chin. “Ye think yerself clever, sneakin’ around like that? Do ye like to stalk around yer castle in the shadows and scare the life out of poor lassies?”
“That depends on the lass,” he replied with a smile. “And I would hardly call ye poor. If any lass can take care of herself, I’d bet coin it would be ye.”
“Aye, yer thoughts and words are as sneaky as yer wanderings. Is that how ye get so many women into yer bed?”
“How do ye ken how many women I get into me bed, and why are ye thinkin’ so hard about that?”
“Och,” Eileen gasped. “I’m nae thinkin’ about ye in any such way.”
“Are ye jealous? Is that it?” Archer teased, his smile widening. “Ye dinnae want to pretend to be betrothed to a man who kens how to have fun?”
“It doesnae matter to me what ye do,” Eileen shot back.
“Are ye tryin’ to work out how ye can get into me bed?” Archer pressed.
Eileen choked on her words as she tried to get them out. She would be remiss if she denied thinking about the Laird’s body or how it would feel to be pressed to him naked. But it was one thing to think, and entirely another to do it. She would rather… She couldn’t think of what she’d rather do.
“Nay, I have nay intention of ever bein’ in yer bed,” she declared.
“That’s a shame,” Archer drawled. “I suppose ye cannae have everything.”
Still, he kept the cheeky smile on his lips as if he were confident that he could get what he wanted.
She was glad for his overconfidence; it only helped her keep her desire at bay.
He might have been kind to her and more attractive than almost every man she’d met, but she would not become another of his conquests.
She deftly tried to change the subject. “Ye still havenae told me why ye’re sneakin’ around the castle.”
Archer chortled as if they were engaged in banter, when she only wanted answers.
“Nae that I need to answer ye, but I wasnae sneakin’ around. I merely appeared. It’s nae me fault that ye wander the halls like a specter.”
He walked toward her, his arms crossed and his eyes glinting with amusement. “I think it strange that someone with as much fire as ye finds herself helpless in a corridor nay less.”
“I wasnae helpless. Just… contemplating’ me route.”
He arched an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Ah, a strategic wanderer, then.”
She huffed, crossing her arms and turning slightly. “Are ye followin’ me, then? Or is this just yer pastime—terrifyin’ wayward lasses for fun?”
He came to a stop in front of her, close enough that she could see the golden flecks in his green eyes. “I came lookin’ for ye.”
Eileen blinked. “Ye did?”
“Aye. We have unfinished business.”
The cold air between them shifted, thickening with something much hotter. Gone was the teasing tilt of his lips, replaced by something steadier. Sharper.
She straightened, her heartbeat suddenly louder in her ears. “Ye mean the arrangement.”
He nodded. “Ye havenae said nay, but ye havenae exactly said aye either, and I need to ken if ye intend on sneakin’ away when me back’s turned. Mayhap we are a match if we both enjoy sneakin’ so much.”
“It’s differed, and ye ken it,” Eileen stated. She hesitated, her hands clenching and unclenching. “If I accept, I want more than just words. I want action. Immediate. I want me braither found. Nae weeks of waitin’ and plannin’.”
His expression darkened, his shoulder stiffening. “I dinnae make empty promises. But if I act too soon—if we accuse O’Gunn without proof—he could bury yer braither in a ditch before we even cross into his lands.”
“He’s probably already sufferin’,” she snapped, her voice sharp with pain. “Every hour we waste, whether he’s with Lachlan or nae.”
Archer’s jaw ticked. “And if we go blind into his lands, Reid’s fate may be sealed.”
She swallowed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do ye truly mean to help me? Or am I just a pawn in yer schemes? Ye need a bride, and I happen to be just desperate enough. Do ye have any intention of rescuin’ me braither?”
He stepped closer.
She froze as his tall frame filled her vision.
He smelled of rain and leather, sharp and grounding.
Her breath hitched as her eyes fell to his lips—full, slightly parted, and far too tempting.
She lingered there, longer than was proper, imagining what it would feel like to press her lips to his.
The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning.
She shifted her gaze back to his, only to find him already watching her intently. His pupils dilated, and something inside her twisted in response.
He didn’t stop. Another step forward, and her back hit the cold stone wall behind her, the chill a stark contrast to the heat blooming between them.
His arms came up, bracing against the stone on either side of her head, caging her in without ever laying a finger on her. Yet, somehow, it felt like the most intimate touch she’d ever known.
“When I told ye I was a man of me word, I meant that, and I warn ye nae to test me. If I tell ye I’ll do what I can to rescue yer braither, I mean that. I also mean for us nae to go needlessly to war. I’ll help yer braither, but nae at the expense of me clan,” he said, his voice soft but firm.
The space between them shrank, charged with something that made her skin hum. Her breath came quick and shallow, her chest rising and falling with every heartbeat that thundered in her ears, and then his gaze dropped to her neck.
She was doing this for Reid. If Archer was a man of his word, then she was a woman of hers. If she had to pretend, then she would pretend. She would convince everyone around her that she was betrothed to the Laird, no matter what it cost her.
Shite.
Archer was close enough now that she could see the faintest shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way the firelight from a distant sconce caught in his lashes, and the line of a small scar near his temple. Her eyes drifted again, this time to his neck, to the pulse thrumming steadily there.
She swallowed hard.
“Ye think I dinnae ken desperation?” he murmured. “I lost me faither in me arms. I’ve led this clan through famine, plague, and rebellion. I dinnae have the luxury of playin’ games, Eileen Kilmartin.”
The words were sincere, yes. But his tone… it licked down her spine like a warm blanket.
Her breathing quickened, a tremor running through her limbs. The wall felt unforgiving against her back, but it was nothing compared to the pressure building in the space between them.
“Me word is absolute, lass. If ye accept me proposal, I’ll find yer braither. I swear it. But if ye dinnae… then I will see ye safely home, and Laird McFair can take over.”
She could barely process what he was saying. The sound of her name on his lips was a caress. Her knees wobbled under the weight of it. Her eyes dropped again to his mouth, unbidden. It would take just the slightest movement. A tilt of her chin. A breath. One slip.
And then, just as quickly, he pushed away from the wall and turned, his cloak fluttering behind him as he strode off down the corridor. Leaving her breathless. Trembling.
Still pressed to the wall, Eileen stared after him, her lips slightly parted. Her cheeks burned, and her mind whirled.
Did he mean it? Can I trust him?
Am I truly willing to risk everything on his word? A promise?
She pushed herself off the wall and resumed walking, slower now, her thoughts tangled.
“Well, that went well,” she muttered dryly to herself.
She was still trying to figure out which turn led back to her chambers when a cheerful voice called out, “Lady Eileen?”
Eileen turned and found herself face-to-face with a young woman hurrying toward her. Auburn hair braided neatly, cheeks pink with exertion, and eyes bright with curiosity.
“Ye must be Eileen,” the girl said with a broad smile. “I am Ivy. Ivy Fleming. Archer’s sister.”
Eileen blinked. “Oh!”
Ivy leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “He sent me to find ye. Said ye might be wanderin’.”
Eileen groaned softly. “He did, did he nae?”
“Dinnae fash, he sends me after everything that gets lost in this place. Includin’ himself, sometimes.”
Despite herself, Eileen laughed. The thought of Archer being lost in his own castle seemed quite outlandish, and yet it also was not. Ivy was like a fresh breeze, light and charming.
The girl looped her arm through Eileen’s with no hesitation. “Come on, then. I will show ye the way. And mayhap a shortcut or two.”
As they walked, Ivy chattered about life in the keep, how miserable Archer had been the past year, her hatred for cabbage stew, and her dog, who kept sneaking into the kitchens.
Eileen found herself smiling. Even relaxing.
Yet the truth clung to her, quiet and persistent.
I have to accept his offer.