Page 39 of Wedded to the Devilish Highlander
Archer fought the urge to flinch.
“Ach! So, it is!” his annoying little sister exclaimed, her excitement plain. “I kenned there was a reason ye looked like a man struck by lightning.”
“I dinnae wish to discuss it, Ivy.”
“When have ye ever?” she challenged and crossed her arms tighter. “Come now, Archer. Ye cannae just leave me wonderin’. What’s truly goin’ on between ye and Lady Eileen?”
Archer shifted, the muscles in his jaw working.
Ye meddlin’ lass, wonderin’aboutall sorts of nonsense…
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m sure I can keep up,” she pressed, stepping closer to him. “Ye look at her like… like…”
Archer raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish her thought.
This ought to be good.
“Like she’s a sunrise ye thought ye’d never see. Did ye ken her afore she came to the castle?”
“Nay,” Archer admitted.
“Then ye’ve found somethin’ truly special. It’s as if ye’ve both kenned each other for years.”
“Och, ye’ve barely seen us together. We argue far more than we dinnae.”
Why am I sayin’ that like it’s somethin’ to be proud of?
“Aye, but it’s a different kind of fightin’.”
He huffed a breath, refusing to meet her gaze. “Lady Eileen is unpredictable.”
“Ah! So, ye admit it, then. She’s rooted herself in that thick skull of yers.”
“I admit nothin’,” Archer muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Is it true, then?” Ivy persisted, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Are yetrulyplannin’ to wed her? Maither is beside herself with joy, ye ken.”
Archer rubbed a rough hand over his face. “There are talks, aye. Agreements,” he said, offering a half-truth to appease her.
Ivy pouted, clearly sensing he was holding back. “Ye are a terrible liar, Braither.”
“And ye are a terrible gossip.”
“Aye, but only because I care,” she quipped.
He laughed under his breath, reaching out to ruffle her hair like he used to when she was younger. The regret was plain on his face. “I was out of line earlier. I didnae mean to take it out on ye. I apologize.”
She shrugged, though her eyes lit up. “Then make it up to me.”
Archer raised an eyebrow. “How?”
She grinned. “Come down for breakfast with me and Ma, and let her fawn over ye and gush about yer betrothal. And nay, ye dinnae have a choice.”
He chuckled despite himself. “Ye always were quite tyrannical.”
“Aye, and dinnae ye forget it. Ma is missin’ ye. We both are. I ken ye’re busy, but yer duties extend to bein’ a braither and son as well as a laird.”
