Chapter 15
Eileen stood on the other side of her door for a good, long while before she even took a breath. She could definitely see how easily Archer had seduced women.
That voice. Those eyes. His smooth talk…
She pushed off the door and twirled around her room. The sounds of a crackling birch in the background lulled her into an easy waltz in her bedroom.
Piper was the only other person with access to the room through the servants’ entrance. Eileen was safe here—completely safe—and she smiled to herself.
As if on cue, the maid emerged from the hidden stairwell with an armful of dinner gowns, and Eileen thumbed through the stack of fabric before landing on a dark grey swatch.
It was then, in the low firelight and setting sun, that she noticed a change in her bed linens.
“Piper?”
“Aye, Me Lady?”
“Did ye change the linens this mornin’ or today?”
“Nay,” Piper, who had busied herself with tying and fastening her mistress’s dress, replied.
Eileen waited until Piper departed before she glided over to the bed, her suspicions rising. She pulled back the heavy quilt and found herself grinning like a fool.
There, tucked neatly under her pillow, lay the dirk.
She snatched it up and ran her fingers over the leather sheath, her heart fluttering in her chest.
The stubborn man. He’s nae lettin’ me brush it off so easily.
“I ken exactly where ye sleep, lass.”
Slipping it into her pocket, she turned as Piper returned. Barely a few minutes passed before the gong sounded for dinner.
“Piper,” she said with a conspiratorial smile, “I need yer help.”
Piper arched an eyebrow. “This will be trouble, will it nae?”
“Maybe just a wee bit. But it willnae take long.”
Together, they roamed the castle corridors, looking for the perfect hiding place. It needed to be somewhere Archer would eventually stumble upon—a quiet, little reminder that Eileen was every bit as stubborn as he was.
Piper suggested a nook behind one of the large tapestries, but Eileen shook her head. “Too easy. He’d find it by accident.”
They were creeping along the main gallery, whispering and giggling, when Ivy rounded a corner, nearly making Eileen jump out of her skin.
“What are ye two doin’?” she asked, her hands on her hips, suspicion written all over her face.
Eileen laughed, a little breathless. “Schemin’.”
“Clearly.” Ivy’s eyes narrowed on Eileen’s hands. “What’s that?”
Eileen showed her the dirk, explaining how she wanted to hide it for Archer to find.
Ivy’s eyes widened. “He gave that to ye?”
“Aye.”
Ivy looked as though she wanted to say more, but she bit her tongue, only smiling. “Come wit’ me. I have a better idea.”
She led them down a series of narrow, twisting hallways until they reached a door nearly hidden behind a rotting tapestry.
“In here,” she said, pushing it open. The hinges groaned in protest.
Inside was a forgotten music room. Dust motes floated in the shafts of light filtering through tall, grimy windows. Several instruments were scattered about—a harp, a few lutes, a battered drum, and a massive piano.
“Me faither and Archer used to play in here,” Ivy revealed softly, her smile tinged with sadness. “Before Da passed and Archer… changed.”
“How did he change?” Eileen asked.
“He…” Ivy’s smile faltered as she spoke. “It’s nae me place to talk about any of that. Ye might be better waitin’ for Archer to talk to ye about it, even if it takes years.”
Years is somethin’ Archer and I dinnae have.
“Do ye mind if I take a look and play?” Eileen asked.
“I would love that!” Ivy gushed. “This room shouldnae be silent, after all.”
Eileen crossed the room to the piano, running her fingers reverently over the keys. She pressed one down; the note rang out, surprisingly clear.
“Aye, play somethin’,” Ivy urged.
So, she did.
Soft, lilting notes filled the room as Eileen moved her fingers over the old keys. Ivy retrieved a violin, tuned it quickly, and joined in.
The music floated down the corridors, and soon enough, people started to gather—maids peeking around the doors, Lyla stepping slightly into the room with a wistful smile.
Ivy caught Eileen’s eye at some point and sneakily gestured for her to look at her mother. The message was clear: Look what ye did! She’s smilin’ again.
It felt like a dream.
Then, Archer appeared in the doorway.
He froze.
His expression was unreadable. For a heartbeat, Eileen feared he’d turn away. She stopped playing the piano, and Ivy halted on the violin, both of them looking toward the door.
“I apologize,” Eileen said. “I didnae ken whether this room was off limits or nae.”
“I begged her to play, Archie,” Ivy added.
Eileen noticed Lyla looking sternly at Archer.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, he stepped inside.
“It’s been a long time,” he admitted. “Ye should keep playin’. It sounded braw out there, and it must sound even better in here.”
Eileen smiled, and her fingers danced over the keys once again. Ivy tapped the violin with her finger to get the beat, then joined in.
The music swelled once more, lively and bright, and someone—perhaps one of the maids—grabbed a passing lad and spun him around, laughter erupting.
Soon, an impromptu dance began. Couples whirled, skirts flared, and the room pulsed with life.
Eileen let herself be pulled into the center when someone took over playing the piano, laughing, breathless. Archer’s gaze never left her.
She spun around, her skirt flying, her hair coming loose, her cheeks flushed with joy.
And Archer—hard, brooding Archer—looked utterly undone.
Eileen danced with a young man she’d never seen before, but she didn’t care. As the music swirled around her, she felt free and without a care in the world.
The only thing that could possibly make the dance any better was if Archer stepped in and danced with her. She caught his eye as she spun around the room. He looked happy, content, but he didn’t move from his spot close to the door. Still, his eyes followed her wherever she went.
She begged him with her eyes to come and take her hand, but he stood stoic and still, only watching. It was not enough for her, but at the same time, it was.
She spotted Lyla at some point on the edge of the dance floor, just like her son, but her foot tapped along with the music, and it felt like an act of defiance against the woe that had plagued her for so long.
And then there was Ivy, the most exuberant dancer in the room, who flitted from partner to partner, men and women, not caring who she danced with, only caring that she spread the joy far and wide.
Dinner that night was lively, full of chatter and lingering smiles. Eileen sat beside Ivy and across from Archer. The warm light from the hearth played in her hair, and she felt something akin to fire stirring between them again.
“Tell her a story, Archer,” Ivy requested after the meal. “Ye tell ‘em best.”
Archer shot his sister a look of exasperated fondness but agreed. Eileen watched in awe as he relaxed into the attention he was receiving.
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as if settling in for a long tale. The room grew quiet, the crackling of the fire filling the space as all eyes turned to him.
“Long ago,” he began, his voice low and rich, “Clan MacLennan wasnae the stronghold it is now. We were a scattered people—farmers, smiths, and crofters—fightin’ to carve a life in the rocky Highlands. It was Alasdair Fleming, me great-great-grandfaither, who gathered the people under one banner.”
He paused, his eyes glinting in the firelight.
“Alasdair was nay grand warrior. Nay, he was clever. He spoke to the clans feudin’ over cattle and land, and he made promises—fair ones.
He built alliances with words sharper than any sword.
But when the neighboring Clan McNab tried to break faith and raid our stores, Alasdair took up his faither’s broadsword and led the first attack in MacLennan history. ”
Eileen noticed she wasn’t the only one who had leaned forward, hanging on his every word.
“They say that the river by the border ran red that day, but he didnae falter. He fought like a man possessed, like every breath he drew was for the survival of his people. He struck down Laird McNab himself, and with that, secured nae just our lands, but our pride.”
Archer’s voice softened, his gaze turning distant momentarily. “He built MacLennan Castle with his own hands, stone by bloody stone. And every year, he threw a great feast to remind us that strength is forged nae only by blade, but by loyalty. By family.”
He looked across the table, his eyes meeting Eileen’s. “Aye, and by stubbornness strong enough to move mountains.”
There were cheers from around the table, and Archer pushed his shoulders back as he accepted the adulation.
Eileen realized with a jolt that he was changing before her eyes. She hadn’t been in the castle for long, but he was not the man he was when she had first arrived. She found herself smiling despite herself, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks.
She cast a glance at him. He was lounging in his chair, his arms folded loosely, that damned smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He caught her looking.
“What?” he drawled, his eyes gleaming wickedly in the firelight. “Are ye thinkin’ about somethin’ in particular?”
She huffed a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “More like wonderin’ how a man with such a thick head managed to keep from crushin’ the poor stones beneath him.”
The table chuckled quietly, but Archer leaned closer, his voice low enough for her ears only.
“Careful, lass,” he murmured, “mockin’ the size of a man’s head could get ye into trouble.”
Eileen tilted her chin up, pretending to inspect him thoughtfully. “Aye, but I’ve seen thicker skulls on sheep, and they’re good for naught but buttin’ walls.”
Archer laughed—a deep, rich sound that made her insides quiver deliciously.
“Walls, aye. Though I daresay ye havenae seen all the parts of me worth praisin’.”
Her cheeks burned so fiercely that she was certain they must be glowing like beacons.
The man is insufferable… and devastating… and far too good at this game.
“I’ve seen enough to ken that yer ego is bigger than any castle yer great-great-grandfaither could have built,” she shot back sweetly.
Archer’s smile turned wolfish. “Careful, lass,” he purred, his voice laced with amusement. “One of these days, ye will say the wrong thing, and I’ll nae be so gentle with ye.”
Eileen’s breath caught at the dark promise in his words, at the glint of something hotter, more dangerous in his green eyes.
Do I want him to be gentle?
She opened her mouth—whether to fire back or to surrender, she wasn’t sure—but a shadow loomed behind him.
The dark cloud himself. Calum.
His normally cheerful face was drawn tight, his mouth set in a grim line. He bent low, whispering in Archer’s ear, too quiet for her to catch the words.
Archer’s eyes never left hers as whatever Calum told him caused him to stiffen. Slowly, the flirtatious smirk disappeared, as was the lazy amusement. In its place was the sharp, cold mask of the Laird.
He stood up without a word, towering over her now, his eyes scanning the room before glancing back down at her. Eileen could read that look immediately.
I’ll be right back.
Before she could speak, Archer turned and followed Calum out of the hall, his shoulders tense, his stride purposeful.
“Ye look like a cat waitin’ for a boot to drop,” Ivy said with a grin.
Eileen chuckled weakly.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, before Ivy leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “When I’m worried, I go to the stables and talk to the horses a bit.”
Eileen smiled genuinely then. “I used to do the same with our dogs back home. Me favorite is an old hound named Bramble. Daft as a blasted fencepost, but sweet as anything.”
Ivy laughed, a soft, musical sound that eased some of the tightness in Eileen’s chest.
“We’ve got a goat here that Archer cannae stand,” she revealed, mischief dancing in her eyes. “The wretched beast headbutted him right into a trough when he was a lad. He still holds a grudge.”
Eileen laughed, picturing a young, surly Archer dripping wet and furious. “I’d pay good coin to see that.”
Ivy grinned wider. “Och, he’s nay different now. Just… bigger. And better at hidin’ when he’s hurt.”
Eileen blinked at the sudden revelation, but before she could ask what Ivy meant, the heavy oak doors swung open, and Archer strode back into the hall, Calum hot on his heels.
His expression was neutral, his steps easy, but there was an unmistakable new energy about him. He was like a man who had found a path forward through a storm.
“I’d like to make an announcement,” he boomed, his voice carrying across the room with commanding ease as he walked the length of the table back to the chair across from her.
“As all of ye ken, I’m to be betrothed. I am organizin’ an engagement feast to honor the union between meself and me bride-to-be, Lady Eileen Kilmartin.
Maither, Ivy, Calum, we’ll invite the council, some of the family of course, and any other clan members ye wish to have here. But it will be an intimate affair.”
There were joyful murmurs, delighted claps, and one sharp whistle of approval from the shadowed figure lurking at the edge of the hall, always angled and postured at the ready.
"Oh, Archie, can we please nae have a big feast?" Ivy begged. "We should invite everyone. It’s nae everyday that ye get married. Ye should be celebratin’ this!"
Archer tightened his lips and looked across the hall, calculating. "Aye, we’ll see," he replied.
There were more cheers and joyous shouts at the prospect of a big party being held in the castle.
"Three cheers for Laird MacLennan!" someone called out from near the back of the hall.
"And for his bride!" someone added.
Eileen smiled politely but sat rigidly in her chair, her hands clasped in her lap, her heart hammering against her ribs. Memories of their kiss and the banter between them flashed across her memory, as did his rakish behavior and the distance he put between them recently… and yet still no Reid.
"I would very much like to celebrate the union of me son and such a fine young woman," Lyla said quietly, her voice carrying like a butterfly flapping across the hall.
Eileen knew this put the Laird in a bind. A wedding was something to celebrate, but, really, there was nothing to celebrate.