Chapter 17
The Great Hall pulsed with life, a roaring beast of fire and stone. Laughter ricocheted off the high-vaulted ceilings. The massive hearths spat heat into the room, the flames painting the gathered clansfolk in strokes of gold and red.
Archer stood at the dais, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture deceptively relaxed. But inside, tension gripped him like a vice. Every breath he drew tasted of roasted meat, spiced wine, and barely veiled suspicion.
His people laughed. They toasted. They feasted. But he knew better than to take their merriment at face value.
Tonight wasn’t just a celebration.
It was a test.
At his side, Eileen sat straight-backed and poised, the very picture of noble grace. She wore a simple gown of deep blue that set her hair ablaze in the firelight. She smiled when needed, and spoke when spoken to, but Archer could feel the wariness thrumming under her calm exterior.
Is she enjoyin’ the celebrations?
A hush fell over the hall as Archer stepped forward, lifting a silver goblet high above his head. The movement was measured, deliberate. The noise died down instantly, every head turning toward him.
“Friends,” he boomed, his voice deep and sure, “and me kin.”
The room stilled. The fire crackled like the only sound left in the world.
“Tonight, we gather nae just to break bread and drink, but to forge a bond stronger than iron, older than blood.”
He let the words sink in, casting his gaze across the faces—loyal bannermen, skeptical elders, ambitious young men who would seize any opportunity to climb higher.
“Clan MacLennan and McFair shall stand united. I have asked for Lady Eileen’s hand in marriage, and she, in her infinite patience, has agreed to become me wife.”
There was a beat of silence, as if the crowd needed to absorb it. Then came the roar—cheers and whistles, tankards slamming against tables, boots pounding against the stone floor.
“To Lady Eileen!” someone bellowed, and the hall echoed back.
Archer turned slightly, extending his goblet toward her. Eileen rose with him, her movements graceful, her face an unreadable mask of courtesy as she lifted her cup.
They drank, and the hall erupted again.
Archer forced a smile, lowering his goblet, letting his people believe the image before them.
Let them see strength.
Let them see unity.
Let them think there is nay crack to be found.
Because deep down, he knew that cracks had already formed.
There were traitors here, hidden among his people. Men who would see him fall—perhaps even die—if it served their ambitions.
And tonight’s feast was meant to expose them.
Archer’s gaze swept the hall again, sharper now. Searching.
There—Mack, one of his councilmen, was laughing too hard, drinking too much. His easy charm stretched a little too thin.
Archer’s jaw tightened. He turned slightly toward Eileen, speaking low enough so no one else could hear. “Ye feelin’ all right, lass?”
She smiled at him, but her fingers trembled slightly where they rested by her side “A bit of a headache,” she replied, her voice soft but steady.
Archer studied her for a moment longer. His instincts prickled. It wasn’t just the crowd making her uneasy. Something else was wrong.
“What is it?” he asked quietly, stepping toward her and offering his arm.
Eileen hesitated for only a breath before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. He felt the faintest tremor in her touch.
Without another word, he led her through the bustling hall. Conversations paused briefly as they passed—curious glances, whispered comments, half-hidden smiles.
“It’s just… It feels wrong to be celebratin’ when Reid is still out there somewhere. I ken we have to do this and it’s all for show, but the last thing I want to do is celebrate, especially when it’s all for naught.”
“It’s all nae for naught,” Archer countered. “We need this now more than ever. We just buried two of our own. The people need hope.”
“And what of that hope when we go our separate ways? I’m already worried what it’ll do to yer maither and sister. Now, I have to worry about yer entire clan.”
“Nay, I need to worry about me clan,” Archer corrected out of the corner of his mouth. “Ye’ll be long gone and willnae need to worry.”
“Aye, but I’ll still think about it.”
“Think about gettin’ yer braither back and how doin’ this contributes to that,” he reminded her.
“That’s all I’ve been thinkin’ about, but are ye nae concerned about yer clan once we break the engagement?”
“Sounds like ye’re tryin’ to convince me that we should marry proper,” Archer jibed.
“I’m doin’ nay such thing,” Eileen replied quickly. “We are ill-suited for each other.”
“Aye, we are,” Archer agreed. “I’ll admit that ye surprised me with yer presence at the funeral this mornin’, and the clan has certainly taken to ye, but it’s nothin’ personal. I willnae wed anyone, so ye can stop yer beggin’.”
“Och, ye give me honey with one hand and vinegar with the other,” Eileen complained. “I’ve nay intention of marryin’ ye.” She folded her arms across her chest.
Archer furrowed his brow. It wouldn’t appear good if the guests saw Eileen looking annoyed on the day they were supposed to be celebrating their union, especially if they wanted to make it believable.
“How can I… smooth that crease formin’ between yer eyebrows?” Archer reached up and pressed the pad of his thumb to her forehead, gently sliding it down her nose.
He felt her attitude change then, and a Cheshire smile crept onto her lips. “Ye can ask me to dance.”
“Aye, Me Lady,” he obliged, nodding just over her shoulder to the band leader.
Archer took a step back from her and offered her his hand, which she took gracefully.
The crowd around them stopped to watch.
Smiling faces.
Raised goblets.
False loyalty.
He ground his teeth together.
Enjoy yer drink while ye can. Because soon, I’ll ken which of ye is rotten.
“Ye look nice tonight,” he complimented, his eyes traveling the length of her as he led her in a wide spin.
“It’s for show,” Eileen said simply as their faces got closer.
Archer tightened his hold on her hand as he continued twirling her around the Great Hall, realizing only then that he had misspoken.
“So, what is this really about?” she asked, her jaw set like stone.
“I suspect someone in this room is behind the murder in me chambers and the explosion at the forge.”
Her round eyes widened slightly with understanding. “Why didnae ye tell me?”
“Because I didnae wish to worry ye, and the goings-on in me castle are none of yer concern. Ye said it yerself—ye’ll soon be gone from here.” He paused briefly and then turned her again, his eyes fixed on the entryway.
“Aye, I will. But while I’m in yer castle, I care about the people in it, too. I care about yer clan. And ye’ve helped me stop beggin’ ye to marry me,” she said sarcastically. “Here I thought ye put all of this on me, but it’s another ruse—this time to try and flush out a traitor.”
“And here I thought all ye cared about was seeing yer braither return safely.” Archer raised an eyebrow.
“Then maybe we dinnae ken each other very well,” Eileen retorted.
“I ken ye enough,” Archer stated.
The fastest way to get her out of the room was just on the opposite side of where they stood. He swayed her to the music for a beat, turning her again to assess the other entryway. Even more people.
The thought had been in the back of his mind since the engagement. If the culprit wanted to really hurt him, they would go for his betrothed. With so many people in the Great Hall, it would be easy to get to her without anyone seeing or hearing exactly what happened.
I dinnae think I invited this many people tonight. I need to get her out of here…
“Look, lass. I’m nae sayin’ the right things. Follow me.”
He gripped her hand and guided her through the crowd toward the less crowded entryway.
“Me Laird. Lady Eileen. Congratulations,” Fergus offered, placing a hand on his heart and bowing.
“Fergus is on the council. And his wife, Moira,” Archer explained.
Eileen dipped her head with a smile. “A pleasure to meet ye both, and thank ye. We are quite happy.”
We are?
Fergus bowed his head and guided his wife away, sensing Archer’s eagerness to leave.
But then they were accosted by Dugal and Henry, and their wives, Catriona and Kenna. Last in the way, almost intentionally, was Mack.
“Me Laird. Lady Eileen. Joyful news, indeed,” he said.
Archer felt Eileen’s grip tighten on his hand.
“Where’s yer bride, Mack?” he asked, thinking that’s what she wished to know.
“Ach! Mairi is…” Mack looked around. “She’s standing just over there, near the post.”
Eileen’s grip tightened even more as she looked over her shoulder at the tall, thin woman with wild, inky black hair.
“Nae that we all didnae already ken that, since ye’ve gone and told us at the meetin’!” Mack continued, laughing boisterously.
Archer felt Eileen leaning into his side at that moment. Not understanding her reaction, he made their excuses and led her out of the Great Hall and into the adjacent library.
“What is it?” he asked, the hair at the back of his neck standing on end.
The door suddenly creaked open, and Calum slid inside, the noise causing Eileen to jump.
Archer put his hands on her small shoulders to steady her. “Eileen?”
Her eyes found his. “I dinnae feel well,” she said, her head lolling to the side. She quickly righted it before nearly collapsing right in front of him.
“I got ye, lass.” Archer scooped her up into his arms.
He was moving before he could think twice about it, taking the back staircase up to his chambers two steps at a time. Calum followed after them.
When they arrived, he opened the door, and Archer flew inside to lay her on his bed. The heavy door closed behind him, and he knew his man-at-arms stood guard just outside.
“Eileen? What’s happened? Are ye hot? Cold?”
She opened her eyes weakly. “Aye, perhaps I—” She inhaled sharply and winced as if she had been stabbed in the ribs.