Page 33 of Wedded to the Devilish Highlander
Archer sat in the chair to Eileen’s left and leaned back, his eyes still on her. “I’ll do as I have said I would. But we do it right. If yer braitherisactually bein’ held, we cannae give O’Gunn reason to act first.”
She was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. I trust ye.”
The words sent a strange ripple through him.
He stood and moved to a small table near the wall. A wrapped bundle lay there, bound in cloth. He picked it up and turned to face her. “I’ve got somethin’ for ye.”
Her eyes lit up in surprise. “Truly?”
He stepped closer and held out the bundle. She took it and unwrapped it slowly.
Inside was a dirk. The hilt was carved with the crest of Clan MacLennan, the blade sharp and gleaming. A near-exact replica of the dagger he had given her before they came across the dead guard.
Her brow creased. “A weapon? As an engagement gift?”
He shrugged. “Better than flowers. Lasts longer.”
“Aye, but we only need them to last ‘til the end of our betrothal, which is supposed to be incredibly short,” she mumbled lightly.
Archer huffed a laugh under his breath. “I noticed how skittish ye are,” he said, his voice low. “And I figured, maybe ye would feel safer carryin’ this.”
She stared at him, her lips parted slightly. “Ye thought I was skittish?”
“Aye. Brave, aye, but wary. Like a doe in a field full of wolves.”
Her jaw tightened. “So, this is just anotherjest.”
“Nae in the slightest.”
She made to place the weapon back in his hands, but he stopped her, gently curling her fingers around the hilt.
“Denyin’ a gift from yer betrothed would berude, would it nae?”
She narrowed her eyes, a flush blooming across her cheeks. “Ye ken I ought to loathe ye.”
“Aye, ye ought to, sure,” he said, stepping back. “But ye dinnae.”
She huffed and turned on her heel. “Thank ye for thedirk, dearest.”
As she walked away, her hips swayed with each deliberate step, and Archer couldn’t keep his gaze from lingering. Perhaps it was the humor and sharp wit she showed with so few words. Or how her damned skirt moved like it had a mind of its own, like it knew exactly what it was doing to him.
Saints above, he was going to lose his wit if she kept walking around his keep like that, acting as though she hadn’t just flushed and burned at his touch.
“Eileen,” he called, his voice lower than he had intended.
She paused. Just a moment. Just long enough. “Aye?” she asked over her shoulder.
He crossed the space between them in two long strides. She half turned, her eyebrows raised as though she hadn’t just shaken every thought out of his head.
“Do ye ken what ye looked like when ye took that blade from me?”
Her eyes rolled to the back of her skull with great effort, and Archer fought to hold back his laughter. “Like a damned fool, apparently.”
“Nay,” he said, his voice rough. “Like ye have never used one before. Have ye?”
“Well, nay. This would be the second time I’ve held a knife.”
“And the first?”
