Page 17 of Wedded to the Devilish Highlander
Archer opened his mouth to speak, but Eileen suddenly clawed at his chest and pressed her body to his, her face buried in his chest so she wouldn’t have to see the horror.
He looked down. She wrapped her arms around him, her face as pale as winter milk. Her eyes were wide with the memory of the blood pooling beneath the fallen man. Her lips parted, her shaky breaths warming a small patch on his chest.
She looked more like a ghost than a woman at that moment.
The dagger slipped from her hand and fell to the stone floor with aclang.
Damn it all.
Archer wrapped his arm around her, his hand cradling the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her strawberry blonde curls. He pulled her tighter to him, shielding her from the awful sight. His eyes darted around the room wildly, searching for any danger. Her body trembled against his, and he tightened his grip slightly, grounding her.
“Come, lassie,” he said, voice lower now, gentler. “Ye dinnae need to see this.”
She didn’t argue, but her legs faltered as she turned around. He guided her away, the dirk still in his hand, his shoulders tight with tension.
Archer scanned every corner they passed, his mind split between the murderer guard and the woman beside him.
Back in her room, he eased her onto the edge of the bed. Her hands shook in her lap, her shoulders stiff with shock. He crouched in front of her.
“Are ye well, lass?” he asked, searching her face.
She nodded, but it was an automatic movement—absent and unconvincing.
“That was…” She swallowed hard. “He was just doin’ his duty.”
“Aye, and he didnae fail.”
She swayed slightly, and he rested his hands on her knees. Their gazes locked.
“Ye need to rest. I’ll have some men stationed outside yer door. Nay one will come near ye.”
Her brown eyes were glassy. “Why would someone kill one of yer guards? In yer chambers?”
Archer exhaled slowly through his nose. “That’s what I intend to find out.”
Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door, startling her. Archer shot to his feet, placing himself between her and the door.
“Me Laird?” came the voice of a younger soldier who poked his head around the door.
“Aye?” Archer barked.
“Ye are… needed, Me Laird.”
He turned to check on Eileen and watched as her glazed eyes wandered slowly from the blade in his hands, along the hem of his untucked tunic, up his arm, and finally up to his eyes.
“Ye are safe, lass. I willnae let anythin’ happen to ye. Ye ken?”
She nodded slowly.
“I must go,” he said, turning away from her. “Stay with her. She doesnae leave this room, and nay one enters unless I say so. Clear?”
The soldier gave a nod.
Archer turned fully around then, crouching in front of her again and resting his hands on her knees once more. “Ye’re safe,” he said, meaning it with every fiber of his being.
Leaving her was harder than he had thought.
He forced himself to shake the feeling as he moved through the corridor again.
