Page 5 of Wedded to the Devilish Highlander
What a rake!
She felt a flare of irritation—and something else she refused to name.
Eileen shoved open the tavern door, stepping back into the night air like she was surfacing from underwater. Her heart was pounding faster than it ever had before.
2
The clang of steel and the shriek of sharpening metal filled the air just beyond the windows of MacLennan Castle, but Archer Fleming barely heard it. His jaw ticked as he sat in the council chambers, ink drying on a missive that he no longer remembered writing.
His mind drifted back to the busty blonde from the night before.
What was her name? Isla? Nay. Astrid? Aye, Astrid.
A smile played on his lips, remembering her… attributes.
And her friend with the strange horse-like name. Sorcha?
Both women had been so eager to please him, and he’d been glad for the distraction, if not the noise. Still, even the memory of Astrid’s lips on his ear and her friend’s wandering hands were not what held his attention that morning.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the strange woman who’d entered the tavern dressed as a man. She’d done a fine enough job of it, even though her acting was a little theatrical. Most of the patrons were drunk and could barely tell the difference between a man and a woman at that time of night, but he’d spotted her immediately.
It was not that he was attracted to her, certainly not with her hair hidden beneath a cap and in her plain breeches and shirt. Perhaps if he had seen what was below, he would have had better memories. Yet, there was something in her defiant gaze and the amusing way she thought she could fool him that was impressive and entertaining.
He’d bedded two busty women and had his way with them throughout the night, but it was the one dressed as a man who intrigued and plagued his thoughts. Recalling his recent conquests used to be enough to bring his mind back to the present, but for some reason, it just was not working.
Archer groaned quietly; stark ochre eyes flashed across his vision before he blinked his eyes open. His gaze shifted to the ink-stained paper before him, and he suddenly sat up, finally remembering what the devil he was writing.
This particular missive was a report for the council—a list of supply transfers between the outer villages. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.Of course.
Then came the ache again, a pounding that started behind his eyes and spread like fire through his skull as the shriek of metalechoed through the stone walls around him. He winced and rubbed his temples.
“Yeneedto get out more, Braither,” his sister, Ivy, said too cheerfully as she leaned against the door frame, her arms folded across her chest.
Her smile was mischievous, as always.
“Ye ken, take a walk. Speak to a bonny lass who might stick around longer than a few late hours. Or is Maither’s matchmaking wearin’ ye thin?”
Archer didn’t bother to look up. “Dinnae push me, Ivy. It’s too early for yer nonsense.”
“I’m only sayin’—”
“I ken what ye are sayin’. And I still dinnae wish to hear it.”
He finally looked at her, his eyes narrowed.
Ivy smiled wider, unfazed. She was sunshine wrapped in mischief, far too clever for her own good, and far too nosy for his.
“It’s just that ye are thirty-onenow. And Maither is right, ye ken. The council’s grumblin’ louder with each week ye stay unwed. Soon, they’ll start grumblin’ every day.”
“They can keep grumblin’. Let them grumble in their sleep, for all I care.”
“It’ll nae be long before they start sendin’ lassies straight to yer door to try and trap ye into marriage… Again,” she added, earning a glare.
He opened his mouth, ready to retort, when hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Calum appeared in the doorway, his tunic dusted with soot and worry clouding his face. He looked mighty fresh for a man who had been intent on drinking the tavern’s entire ale supply the previous night.
“Laird MacLennan,” he greeted, his voice clipped. “Ivy,” he added quickly, his eyes meeting hers before flitting back to Archer’s. “There’s been an accident at the main forge. A man’s dead. The fire caught too fast. Blacksmith says it smells of oil.”
