Chapter 18
“How is it that nae one saw anythin’?”
It was far from the first time Keir had asked him this question. In fact, ever since the attack, he had repeated the same thing every single day, in disbelief none of the guards had seen anything.
Archer had to admit that the same question plagued him.
Whoever had attacked him had to have known the castle like the back of his hand to be able to slip past the guards—or to have bribed some of the guards, though he was loath to entertain such a possibility.
His men were loyal to him; he knew that now.
But even those who appeared the most loyal to their Laird could have their price, and though Archer was reluctant to think of his men that way, he couldn’t discount the possibility altogether.
“It’s more concernin’ to me that nae one has found any clues,” Archer mumbled through gritted teeth as he stared out of the window of his study.
It was a dreary day, like most of them seemed to be, and the early summer sun was not enough to warm the room.
A fire roared in the hearth, bright like the rage that burned through him at the thought that they had an enemy among their ranks.
How could he have missed it?
I couldnae remember...I couldnae remember, so I couldnae have kent who it was.
But even now that I remember, I have nae idea who attacked me.
Everything was clear once more in his mind; everything but that cursed day when he had been attacked. Had he recognized his attacker? Had he seen who it was or were his efforts to remember in vain?
What if he ended up remembering everything about that day and it wasn’t enough to reveal the truth to him?
“What are ye thinkin’?” Keir asked after Archer had remained silent for too long.
“Naethin’,” said Archer. “Just all this.”
He hadn’t told anyone yet that he remembered everything but that one night—not Keir, not even River.
If he acted like he didn’t remember and if no one else knew he remembered, then it would be easier to fool the killer and catch him.
The moment he showed even a hint of recognition regarding his past, then the killer would know to make himself scarce, and then there was no telling whether Archer would manage to find him.
But then there was something else, something he could hardly admit even to himself.
He didn’t want to reveal he remembered because the moment he did, everything would change between him and River.
He had promised her he was a different man now, and in a way, he was.
She had changed him. She had softened the sharp edges of him.
She had warmed something inside him that had long since been encased in ice.
And yet, now that he remembered his past, it was impossible to ignore everything he knew about himself.
Slivers of the Archer without his memories still existed in him, in everything River had helped shape, but he was not that man anymore.
He was once again the man he had told her was gone forever.
What will she do when she finds out? I cannae keep this a secret forever. Eventually, it will be obvious I remember.
Would she turn cold towards him again? Would she avoid him, locking herself up in the eastern wing? Archer had moved his entire bedroom there to be close to her, but if she truly didn’t want him near her, it would be unfair for him to force it.
And yet the thought of being away from her again weighed him down like a stone in his stomach.
“Do ye still think River is innocent?”
The question caught him by surprise and his eyes snapped up to Keir, who had come to stand near him, quiet as a gentle breeze.
Archer couldn’t help but scoff at that. It was far from the first time Keir had suggested that River had had something to do with the attacks, but Archer kept telling him the same thing every single time—there was nothing to suspect.
“Of course I do,” he said. “I have no doubt. She was sleepin’ at the time of the attack.”
Keir’s head whipped back to face him. “How do ye ken that?” he asked, but just as Archer was about to respond, he added, “Actually, I daenae wish to ken. Ye can spare me the details.”
Archer might have found it amusing had it not been for one thought that burrowed its way into his head. It was a terrible thought and one he wished he could banish forever from his mind, but now that it had found its way inside him, that doubt would spread like poison.
Why is Keir insistent on accusin’ River?
Now that he had his memories back, he remembered that Keir had never been fond of River, and vice versa.
But to insist that she was the one behind the attacks when there was no evidence pointing to her was ridiculous.
It was as if he was trying to shift the blame there, as if this went past mere dislike.
Where was he when the attack happened? Why was he the last one to come to me chambers?
Keir would have been one of the first to be notified, if not the first. As his second-in-command and confidant, his guards knew to call Keir if something happened to him, and he was never far—save for that one night.
Could he truly suspect Keir? The two of them had grown together side by side. He was one of the few people Archer remembered when he had lost his memories, even if he didn’t remember everything about him.
All his life, and even when he was burdened with amnesia, Keir was the one person he could trust; a constant in his world, an anchor. How could he suspect him now?
But how could he not?
Before he had enough time to chase that train of thought, there was a knock on the door of his study, and when it opened, a maid walked in timidly.
“Me Laird...what ye requested has arrived,” she said. “I instructed the servants to put it in yer chambers, but if ye wish—”
“That’s alright, thank ye,” said Archer. “If I need it moved, I will have it done meself.”
With a bow, the young woman left the room, and Archer turned to see Keir raise a curious eyebrow.
“What?”
“What did they bring ye?”
“Why must ye ken?”
“Because if this is makin’ ye nae only remember but also spend gold from the coffers without good judgement, then I must ken to stop ye,” said Keir, and Archer didn’t know whether he should take it as an insult or be glad Keir was looking out for the clan.
Nor did he know whether he should take it as some sort of sign of guilt from his part.
I am overthinkin’ everythin’ now. How can I speak to him about anythin’ when I daenae ken if he’s guilty or nae?
“It’s naethin’,” said Archer with a dismissive wave of his hand, but Keir didn’t seem so convinced. His eyes narrowed as he regarded Archer, and he leaned back against the nearest wall, crossing his arms over his chest.
“If it’s naethin’, I’m sure ye wouldnae mind sharin’ what it is with me,” he said.
Archer let out an impatient sigh, shaking his head. “Cannae ye trust it is naethin’?”
“I would if ye hadnae been hit in the head twice,” said Keir, which all things considered, was a good point, Archer figured.
“If it makes ye feel any better, I asked for this before I was hit the second time,” he said.
“It doesnae,” Keir insisted.
“Well...isnae that too bad?”
The two of them stared at each other in silence for a long time, like two bulls facing each other.
In the end, Keir threw his hands up in the air in exasperation, though Archer knew it was more of a performance than any real gripe with him.
If he was truly concerned, then he would have been much more insistent.
And the truth was, Archer could easily tell him what it was he had ordered. It was not so much a secret as it was, in a way, embarrassing for him now.
How could he explain this to Keir? Even hiding behind the excuse that he had lost his memories, this gesture was entirely unlike him.
He was walking a thin rope, teetering over the abyss.
On the one hand, he was trying to hide the fact that he remembered from everyone, and that meant he had to keep acting like this Archer who was gentler with his wife, who took care of more than simply her basic needs.
On the other, having his memories back made it so that every loving gesture came with a side of embarrassment.
Everythin’ was so much easier when I didnae remember any of this.
Now, if he was meant to keep the fact that he had regained his memory a secret from everyone, he had to keep up their deal of spending seven nights with her, and where would that lead them?
Could he keep himself away from her? Could he resist that overwhelming pull he felt towards her, that unbridled passion that had kindled itself deep within him?
He had already tasted her; he had already felt what it was like to be with her, and.
Now those memories plagued his mind until all he wanted was to be back in her chambers, to hear her moan his name.
He stood no chance. The moment he’d see her, he would crumble.
Sooner or later, we would have to provide an heir to the clan anyway. What’s the harm in doin’ it now?
He could think of many reasons why he shouldn’t.
For one, someone was after him—though that made it even more important to have an heir, someone to take over should something happen to him.
There was too much turmoil, too many lies.
The clan was in times of uncertainty, and that was one of the main reasons why he had never wanted to have children with River in the first place.
Children didn’t fit his plans. And yet, he couldn’t help but have this sense of foreboding, this certainty that children were not too far from his future.
Either way, I’m still performin’ me duty. That’s all that matters.