Page 52 of Wedded to the Devilish Highlander
“Alasdair was nay grand warrior. Nay, he was clever. He spoke to the clans feudin’ over cattle and land, and he made promises—fair ones. He built alliances with words sharper than any sword. But when the neighboring Clan McNab tried to break faith and raid our stores, Alasdair took up his faither’s broadsword and led the first attack in MacLennan history.”
Eileen noticed she wasn’t the only one who had leaned forward, hanging on his every word.
“They say that the river by the border ran red that day, but he didnae falter. He fought like a man possessed, like every breath he drew was for the survival of his people. He struck down Laird McNab himself, and with that, secured nae just our lands, but our pride.”
Archer’s voice softened, his gaze turning distant momentarily. “He built MacLennan Castle with his own hands, stone by bloody stone. And every year, he threw a great feast to remind us that strength is forged nae only by blade, but by loyalty. By family.”
He looked across the table, his eyes meeting Eileen’s. “Aye, and by stubbornness strong enough to move mountains.”
There were cheers from around the table, and Archer pushed his shoulders back as he accepted the adulation.
Eileen realized with a jolt that he was changing before her eyes. She hadn’t been in the castle for long, but he was not the man hewas when she had first arrived. She found herself smiling despite herself, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks.
She cast a glance at him. He was lounging in his chair, his arms folded loosely, that damned smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He caught her looking.
“What?” he drawled, his eyes gleaming wickedly in the firelight. “Are ye thinkin’ about somethin’ in particular?”
She huffed a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “More like wonderin’ how a man with such a thick head managed to keep from crushin’ the poor stones beneath him.”
The table chuckled quietly, but Archer leaned closer, his voice low enough for her ears only.
“Careful, lass,” he murmured, “mockin’ the size of a man’s head could get ye into trouble.”
Eileen tilted her chin up, pretending to inspect him thoughtfully. “Aye, but I’ve seen thicker skulls on sheep, and they’re good for naught but buttin’ walls.”
Archer laughed—a deep, rich sound that made her insides quiver deliciously.
“Walls, aye. Though I daresay ye havenae seen all the parts of me worth praisin’.”
Her cheeks burned so fiercely that she was certain they must be glowing like beacons.
The man is insufferable… and devastating… and far too good at this game.
“I’ve seen enough to ken that yer ego is bigger than any castle yer great-great-grandfaither could have built,” she shot back sweetly.
Archer’s smile turned wolfish. “Careful, lass,” he purred, his voice laced with amusement. “One of these days, ye will say the wrong thing, and I’ll nae be so gentle with ye.”
Eileen’s breath caught at the dark promise in his words, at the glint of something hotter, more dangerous in his green eyes.
Do I want him to be gentle?
She opened her mouth—whether to fire back or to surrender, she wasn’t sure—but a shadow loomed behind him.
The dark cloud himself.Calum.
His normally cheerful face was drawn tight, his mouth set in a grim line. He bent low, whispering in Archer’s ear, too quiet for her to catch the words.
Archer’s eyes never left hers as whatever Calum told him caused him to stiffen. Slowly, the flirtatious smirk disappeared, as was the lazy amusement. In its place was the sharp, cold mask of the Laird.
He stood up without a word, towering over her now, his eyes scanning the room before glancing back down at her. Eileen could read that look immediately.
I’ll be right back.
Before she could speak, Archer turned and followed Calum out of the hall, his shoulders tense, his stride purposeful.
“Ye look like a cat waitin’ for a boot to drop,” Ivy said with a grin.
