Page 60 of Wedded to the Devilish Highlander
The healer nodded and left the room.
The door closed with a soft click, sealing the two of them away from the world. The moment it did, he went to her. Her small frame was swallowed nearly whole by the layers of blankets and bedding around her, and he smiled at the sight.
Eileen’s eyes fluttered open, and she sat up slightly.
Archer sat next to her on the bed. “Are ye well, lass?”
He watched the blush creep onto her cheeks as she nodded bashfully.
“Ye have nothin’ to be ashamed of. Can I get ye anythin’?”
“Nay, nothin’,” Eileen said quickly before rubbing her temples with her thumbs and middle fingers. “Just—I need to tell ye… but it…”
“Gently now,” Archer soothed, lowering his voice. “Ye can tell me anything, Eileen. I swear it.”
Her brown eyes rose to his, wide and luminous in the low firelight.
“It’s Mack,” she said again, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. “I finally remember where I ken him from.”
Archer’s spine stiffened slightly, and his blood turned to ice as he remembered the odd interaction she and Mack had in front of the council room and then tonight.
“He was there,” she continued, her voice gaining strength as the words tumbled free. “The night Piper and I snuck into yer lands.”
“I remember the tavern, but he wasnae there, lass.”
“It was before that. We were in the woods. Smugglers. Near Branloch. I heard his voice and his laugh. I remember it. I swear it on me life, I do. It’s him.”
For a long moment, the room was utterly silent.
“Ye’re sure it was him?” Archer asked.
“It was him,” Eileen replied defiantly. “If I ken one thing, I ken that. Ye have me word and that of me family.”
“Did ye see what he was smugglin’?” Archer asked.
“I remember the clangin’ metal as they moved the crates. I’d bet me life it was swords.”
“Swords from me own smithy,” Archer said, aghast. “Is that why a man’s dead? Did he catch wind of the scheme? I should have ignored Calum and locked Mack up in the dungeons.”
He inhaled slowly through his nose, the sound more a growl than a breath. His fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body tightening. Coiling. Like a bowstring drawn to its limit.
The urge to storm out, to find Mack, to gut the treacherous bastard where he stood, shot through his veins.
“I need to go,” he spat.
Eileen leaned against his large pillows and placed a soft hand on his heated forearm. “Please,” she whispered, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. “I didnae tell ye so ye would get yerself killed. I told ye because I care about ye and trust that ye will ken the right way to handle it.”
Aye, his head on a spike on the outer wall of the keep.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing her in. Her lavender soap and that unique scent that was just… her. When he opened them again, his fury did not abate.
“Aye,” he muttered. “I’ll handle it. Proper. He willnae be actin’ alone, and if Calum has eyes on him, he might lead us to others.”
He brought her hand up to his chest, trapping it there. The feel of her fingers trembling under his palm did something to him—stripped away his armor, left him bare and aching.
“Ye were brave to tell me. Is that why ye?—”
Her mouth curled into a small, wobbly smile. “I just about fainted. I was panickin’.”
