Chapter 12
Archer’s heavy booted footsteps echoed sharply off the stone floors. The study was his sanctuary of strategy and silence, but now it felt much too small. Too close.
A low fire crackled in the grate, casting long shadows that followed him.
“Bloody fool,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “What were ye thinkin’?”
The kiss.
It had burned through him like lightning cleaving the sky—bright, fierce, and impossible to forget. He could still feel the imprint of her mouth on his. Could still taste her.
I shouldnae have kissed her. Nae like that… So little control.
None of that had been part of their agreement. He was needed in the castle, the clan, and there were far more important things to think about, but all his mind could wander to was the suppleness of her lips and her taste as he explored her.
Their engagement was supposed to be a ruse. A simple means to an end, not an excuse to act like a starving man in the arms of a woman who made him forget his own name.
Saints…
He paused at the window.
She wanted it as much as I did. And she kissed me back like I made her feel the same…
He pressed his palm flat against the cool stone of the windowsill, trying to calm the fire roaring within him.
She was a storm, and he’d stepped into it willingly.
The door creaked open behind him, and he whirled around.
“What is it?” he barked.
Ivy poked her head around the door, her lips parted in surprise. “Well, good mornin’ to ye too, dearest braither.”
Archer grimaced. “Ivy… I didnae mean—”
She stepped inside, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed. “Did I do somethin’? Or are ye just shoutin’ at everyone today?”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nay. It’s nae ye. I’m just… preoccupied at the moment.”
She stepped closer, worry softening her features. “It’s her, is it nae?”
Archer fought the urge to flinch.
“Ach! So, it is!” his annoying little sister exclaimed, her excitement plain. “I kenned there was a reason ye looked like a man struck by lightning.”
“I dinnae wish to discuss it, Ivy.”
“When have ye ever?” she challenged and crossed her arms tighter. “Come now, Archer. Ye cannae just leave me wonderin’. What’s truly goin’ on between ye and Lady Eileen?”
Archer shifted, the muscles in his jaw working.
Ye meddlin’ lass, wonderin’ about all sorts of nonsense…
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m sure I can keep up,” she pressed, stepping closer to him. “Ye look at her like… like…”
Archer raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish her thought.
This ought to be good.
“Like she’s a sunrise ye thought ye’d never see. Did ye ken her afore she came to the castle?”
“Nay,” Archer admitted.
“Then ye’ve found somethin’ truly special. It’s as if ye’ve both kenned each other for years.”
“Och, ye’ve barely seen us together. We argue far more than we dinnae.”
Why am I sayin’ that like it’s somethin’ to be proud of?
“Aye, but it’s a different kind of fightin’.”
He huffed a breath, refusing to meet her gaze. “Lady Eileen is unpredictable.”
“Ah! So, ye admit it, then. She’s rooted herself in that thick skull of yers.”
“I admit nothin’,” Archer muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Is it true, then?” Ivy persisted, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Are ye truly plannin’ to wed her? Maither is beside herself with joy, ye ken.”
Archer rubbed a rough hand over his face. “There are talks, aye. Agreements,” he said, offering a half-truth to appease her.
Ivy pouted, clearly sensing he was holding back. “Ye are a terrible liar, Braither.”
“And ye are a terrible gossip.”
“Aye, but only because I care,” she quipped.
He laughed under his breath, reaching out to ruffle her hair like he used to when she was younger. The regret was plain on his face. “I was out of line earlier. I didnae mean to take it out on ye. I apologize.”
She shrugged, though her eyes lit up. “Then make it up to me.”
Archer raised an eyebrow. “How?”
She grinned. “Come down for breakfast with me and Ma, and let her fawn over ye and gush about yer betrothal. And nay, ye dinnae have a choice.”
He chuckled despite himself. “Ye always were quite tyrannical.”
“Aye, and dinnae ye forget it. Ma is missin’ ye. We both are. I ken ye’re busy, but yer duties extend to bein’ a braither and son as well as a laird.”
“Fine,” he relented, softening. “Call for her. We’ll eat in the solar.”
“Proper fancy, that.”
“Only the best for Yer Highness.”
Ivy beamed, kissed his cheek, and left with a skip in her step.
As the door clicked shut, Archer turned back to the window, his mind still a battlefield of tangled thoughts. He braced his hands on the stone ledge, staring out over the hills, the sky bruised with the threat of more rain.
He felt ignited by Eileen’s kiss, but he shouldn’t be thinking about her. He should be planning, strategizing, putting an end to the threats gathering at his borders. Yet every time he tried to pull his mind toward logic, toward duty, Eileen’s face swam back into view.
Those eyes, stubborn with fire… Her lips, swollen from our kiss…
He’d been around plenty of women before, all of them eager and willing, but never like this. Never someone who got under his skin, who made the thought of restraint feel like a slow death.
He shifted, his hands clenching into fists.
Duty, damn it.
He went to the table to straighten the stack of papers before they fell to the floor, and felt something heavy like a paperweight shift beneath them. He lifted the documents to see what was below and found the dirk he’d given Eileen. He couldn’t help but smile.
Ye are stubborn, are ye nae?
He left the room and headed for the solar before Ivy came back to drag him down there.
He tried not to smile as he walked. There was no reason to smile when two men had died recently, and there could be more to come.
The O’Gunn threat loomed larger with each passing hour, now that their engagement was announced formally.
And Eileen’s brother…
Where is Reid?
Archer growled low in his throat, trying to rip the feelings from his chest by force of will alone.
Then, the distant toll of the church bell reached his ears, solemn and soft from the village. It cut through his thoughts as he reached the solar to find his mother and Ivy sitting at the small table by the large window. His mother raised her eyebrows and smiled as if she were surprised to see him.
“See, Maither,” Ivy said. “I told ye he would come and eat with us. Archie’s a family man now.”
Archer rolled his eyes, straightening his tunic as the tension left his shoulders. Sunlight, weak but persistent, pierced through the mist and struck the corner of his table.
“Archer, come and sit,” his mother said wearily. “Yer faither would be so proud to see ye with such a fine woman at last.”
“Ye dinnae even ken her,” Archer complained. “How do ye ken she’s fine?”
“Are ye tryin’ to convince us ye chose a harlot or a strummer?” Ivy asked with glee.
“Nay, nay, nay,” Lyla Fleming said. “Archer has the wisdom of his faither. If he chose her, then she’s good for the clan. I ken that more than anythin’.”
The mention of his father struck his heart like an arrow, but a smile still crept onto his lips.
“The wisdom of Faither?” Archer asked. “Which means that he had chosen ye wisely, Maither.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
Lyla chuckled, a high, shrill noise, but one that caused Ivy to grin from ear to ear.
“Maither, it’s so nice to hear ye laugh,” she gushed.
Archer finally sat down. “Aye, it’s braw to see ye happy, Maither.”
“When someone leaves the family, it’s a dagger of darkness to the heart, but ye’ve brought someone new into the fold, Archer. A bonny lass who lights up the castle. It brings some balance—the light against the dark.”
Ivy still smiled, but it was a tight, guarded smile. She reached out across the table and took her mother’s hand. “I miss him every day.”
“So do I,” Lyla admitted. She reached out and took Archer’s hand, too.
It was part of why he didn’t like intimate gatherings with his family, like the one he was caught in—like a fish in a net.
It was not that he didn’t like being with his mother and sister or that he didn’t love them—he loved them more than anyone or anything in the world—it was that it forced him to confront his father’s death.
Archer slowly pulled his hand away and reached for some toast, taking the small pot of marmalade and the dish of freshly churned butter, prepared to spread lashings of both until they were thicker than the slice of toast itself.
“This is just wonderful,” Ivy said, wiping tears from her eyes. “I wish Faither were here to see this.”
Archer almost slammed his fist on the table. “Will ye please stop talkin’ about Faither?”
“I can talk about him if I want,” Ivy scoffed.
“Aye, but I’m tryin’ to have breakfast, and I dinnae want to think about how I failed to fight hard enough for him. Can I just have a moment to think about our current problems?”
“That wasnae yer fault,” Lyla stated, not looking at him.
“Ye werenae there, so ye dinnae ken,” Archer countered.
“A Maither kens things. Now, we’re here to breakfast together, and I dinnae want to hear about the sadness that’s plagued our castle for far too long. This is a time of celebration, is it nae?”
“Aye, Maither is right,” Ivy said, brightening instantly. “Archie is to be wed, and I’ll have a new sister, and then there’ll be bairns, and I already ken I’ll be a wonderful aunt. Archie, have ye spoken to Eileen about namin’ one of yer bairns after me? Wee baby Ivy?”
Archer chuckled through his misery. “Och, one of ye in the castle is more than enough. I dinnae want to risk another lass runnin’ around here just like ye.”
“Ye dinnae want that much joy in yer life?” Ivy asked.
Archer shook his head and sighed as he bit into his toast. He glanced to the side to see his mother looking out the window, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. She often smiled, but it was a melancholic smile put on to pretend she was happy, so other people would not be uncomfortable.
She was deeply unhappy—had been since her husband had died by the swords of brigands. But that morning, as they sat in the solar together, a hint of her former self slipped through.
Me pretendin’ means she doesnae have to pretend so hard.
Archer wanted nothing more than for his mother to be happy.
She was happy that morning, very slightly, and likely very briefly.
He held the power of her happiness in his hand.
For as long as he was betrothed, she would be filled with joy at their family growing bigger and the prospect of the castle filling with the sound of children playing.
The pang of guilt shot through his body like a fish darting downstream.
Soon, he would bring the hammer down. He would never tell his mother or sister, or anyone else, that it had all been a ruse to stop them from pestering him, but he would still have to ‘break off’ the engagement.
When he did, he would watch as his mother returned to the shell of the woman she’d been for the past six years.