Page 24 of Wedded to the Devilish Highlander
Thank Christ.
With the storm unrelenting outside, rain lashed against the leaded windows in sheets, and a low, menacing growl of thunder rolled in the distance like a wild beast pacing beyond the walls.
Archer strode silently to the head of the table, his boots clicking sharply on the flagstone floor. His expression was carved from stone, jaw tight, eyes narrowed with determination. Calum flanked him, ever silent and alert, a storm of his own in the body of a man.
Better have some answers…
Archer made eye contact with him. Calum nodded as if he had read his thoughts clearly.
Around the long table, the councilmen rose in deference, some stiffer than others, and Archer waved them off. “Please sit; we have much to cover.”
Mack was already seated before Archer finished his order, fingers steepled before him, his pleasant face unreadable as always. A small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes played on his lips.
Does Eileen really ken him? There was recognition in her eyes when she saw him.
Archer waited for Calum, who always made a point to sit right before him. Then, his mind turned back to Eileen.
He hoped she was on her way back to her room, or at least someplace where she couldn’t get herself into trouble. He winced as he realized that it would be the perfect opportunity for her to sneak out without him being there to stop her.
“Let’s get to it, then,” he said, his voice firm and clipped, reinforcing his commanding presence. “There are two matters we need to discuss today. Both serious. One grave.”
The room stilled. Not a cough or a shuffle among them. Just the wind howling loudly beyond the shutters.
“First matter. One of our guards was murdered in cold blood last night. Slain just outside me chambers, he was.”
Gasps rippled through the table. Fergus, the eldest among them, let out a curse. Dugal gripped the arms of his chair, his gnarled hands white-knuckled. Murmurs followed, and then silence.
“Cut down at sunset. Quietly. Efficiently. Whoever did it kenned the watch patterns. Kenned our routes and calculated their moves precisely.”
“Saints preserve us,” Dugal muttered, visibly shaken. His beard trembled.
“Have we reason to think that it was aimed at ye, Me Laird?” Fergus asked, leaning forward. His old eyes were sharp, despite his advanced years.
“Aye,” Archer said flatly. “The man guarded me door. There was nay mistakin’ it. They wanted to kill me.”
More muttering. Dark looks exchanged across the table.
“Was it the O’Gunns, then?” Mack asked loudly, voicing what everyone was thinking.
“Ye ken they have long hated us. This… this could be a prelude,” Dugal commented.
“They’re restless,” Fergus added.
Archer clocked several nodding heads. He cast his gaze across the room before speaking again.
They’d been restless for a long time, and he couldn’t help but think that a union between Laird O’Gunn and Eileen Kilmartin would add just enough additional power to tip the scales in his favor to start and end a war.
He was fearful of both O’Gunn killing her if she went to him and not killing her and drawing her clan into a war.
He didn’t want Eileen dragged into a war. No lass deserved that, and he couldn’t bear to think about that animal O’Gunn putting his hands on her, tossing her around like a sack of potatoes, and doing things to her that no sane man would inflict on a bonny lass.
“We cannae go to war—our coffers cannae support it!” Henry said quickly.
“Speakin’ of our coffers, that brings me to the second matter. There was another death. Two days ago. At the village forge.”
“Why werenae we told sooner?” Fergus asked.
“Because,” Archer replied, “we are goin’ to hear the full tale here and now.”
