Page 29 of Wedded to the Devilish Highlander
“I wasnae helpless. Just… contemplating’ me route.”
He arched an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Ah, a strategic wanderer, then.”
She huffed, crossing her arms and turning slightly. “Are ye followin’ me, then? Or is this just yer pastime—terrifyin’ wayward lasses for fun?”
He came to a stop in front of her, close enough that she could see the golden flecks in his green eyes. “I came lookin’ for ye.”
Eileen blinked. “Ye did?”
“Aye. We have unfinished business.”
The cold air between them shifted, thickening with something much hotter. Gone was the teasing tilt of his lips, replaced by something steadier. Sharper.
She straightened, her heartbeat suddenly louder in her ears. “Ye mean thearrangement.”
He nodded. “Ye havenae said nay, but ye havenae exactly said aye either, and I need to ken if ye intend on sneakin’ away when me back’s turned. Mayhap we are a match if we both enjoy sneakin’ so much.”
“It’s differed, and ye ken it,” Eileen stated. She hesitated, her hands clenching and unclenching. “If I accept, I want more than just words. I want action. Immediate. I want me braither found. Nae weeks of waitin’ and plannin’.”
His expression darkened, his shoulder stiffening. “I dinnae make empty promises. But if I act too soon—if we accuse O’Gunnwithout proof—he could bury yer braither in a ditch before we even cross into his lands.”
“He’s probably already sufferin’,” she snapped, her voice sharp with pain. “Every hour we waste, whether he’s with Lachlan or nae.”
Archer’s jaw ticked. “And if we go blind into his lands, Reid’s fate may be sealed.”
She swallowed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do ye truly mean to help me? Or am I just a pawn in yer schemes? Ye need a bride, and I happen to be just desperate enough. Do ye have any intention of rescuin’ me braither?”
He stepped closer.
She froze as his tall frame filled her vision. He smelled of rain and leather, sharp and grounding. Her breath hitched as her eyes fell to his lips—full, slightly parted, and far too tempting. She lingered there, longer than was proper, imagining what it would feel like to press her lips to his. The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning.
She shifted her gaze back to his, only to find him already watching her intently. His pupils dilated, and something inside her twisted in response.
He didn’t stop. Another step forward, and her back hit the cold stone wall behind her, the chill a stark contrast to the heat blooming between them.
His arms came up, bracing against the stone on either side of her head, caging her in without ever laying a finger on her. Yet, somehow, it felt like the most intimate touch she’d ever known.
“When I told ye I was a man of me word, I meant that, and I warn ye nae to test me. If I tell ye I’ll do what I can to rescue yer braither, I mean that. I also mean for us nae to go needlessly to war. I’ll help yer braither, but nae at the expense of me clan,” he said, his voice soft but firm.
The space between them shrank, charged with something that made her skin hum. Her breath came quick and shallow, her chest rising and falling with every heartbeat that thundered in her ears, and then his gaze dropped to her neck.
She was doing this for Reid. If Archer was a man of his word, then she was a woman of hers. If she had to pretend, then she would pretend. She would convince everyone around her that she was betrothed to the Laird, no matter what it cost her.
Shite.
Archer was close enough now that she could see the faintest shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way the firelight from a distant sconce caught in his lashes, and the line of a small scar near his temple. Her eyes drifted again, this time to his neck, to the pulse thrumming steadily there.
She swallowed hard.
“Ye think I dinnae ken desperation?” he murmured. “I lost me faither in me arms. I’ve led this clan through famine, plague, and rebellion. I dinnae have the luxury of playin’ games, Eileen Kilmartin.”
The words were sincere, yes. But his tone… it licked down her spine like a warm blanket.
Her breathing quickened, a tremor running through her limbs. The wall felt unforgiving against her back, but it was nothing compared to the pressure building in the space between them.
“Me word is absolute, lass. If ye accept me proposal, I’ll find yer braither. I swear it. But if ye dinnae… then I will see ye safely home, and Laird McFair can take over.”
She could barely process what he was saying. The sound of her name on his lips was a caress. Her knees wobbled under the weight of it. Her eyes dropped again to his mouth, unbidden. It would take just the slightest movement. A tilt of her chin. A breath. One slip.
