Chapter 19

19

M aeve waited outside for his return. The gusts of the icy snow blasted against her with full force. She shivered, nibbled on her lower lip, and tried desperately to hide her hands under the mittens Erin brought her as a gift.

She, however, could not get herself to head back into the keep where it was warmer and comfortable.

"Me Lady," a servant called, making Maeve turn around. The girl walked over to her with sure strides. "Ye shouldnae be out here, Me Lady. It is freezin', and the Laird willnae be too pleased."

When Maeve made no move to go with her, the servant urged, "Please, Me Lady…come with me. I shall prepare ye a warm bath with oils to keep ye calm."

"I am all right," Maeve answered with a smile. "I am wearing a cloak and mittens. I am all right. I shall stay here and await the Laird's return. You need not worry about me…" she trailed off because she did not know the servant's name.

"Dahlia, Me Lady," the girl supplied.

Maeve smiled at her again. "Go on in, Dahlia. I am all right. I shall await the Laird's return."

Dahlia did not look too convinced, but she finally withdrew and headed into the keep again. Maeve stared up at the dark sky after that and admired the stillness. The air smelled like pine and earth. It was relaxing, and she felt relief with her family here.

But Archer is going through something. Hearing that the feast was cancelled because none of the Highland clans cared to attend was devastating. She could only imagine the grief he felt right now. Archer had hoped this would be a turning point for his clan.

Maeve was still snuggling into the little warmth her cloak offered when she heard the snorting and hoofbeats of a horse approaching. A second later, she spotted him astride the saddle, his black hair blowing all around his face in the wind.

His posture stayed erect on the horse. Maeve had never seen such a magnificent sight. Archer posed on the saddle reminded her of a fairytale her mother told her as a kid. The powerful laird always rode his horse at night, and the heavens blessed him with the strength to defeat his enemies.

"What are ye doin' outside in the blisterin' cold?" Archer growled as he got to her. The gravelly texture of his voice made her gasp. His eyes landed on hers, and he did not bother hiding the scowl on his face.

Once he grabbed her arm, his fingers curled in and squeezed hard. Archer dragged her into the keep with him. "Ye dinnae care fer yerself. Standin' outside in the cold on a night like this? Do ye wish to fall ill? Catch a cold and have me worryin' about ye all the time? Is that what ye want?"

His harsh tone did not give her the chance to say a thing in her defense. Maeve, however, managed to pull free from him.

"I was worried about you; that is why I was outside in the cold waiting for your return," she yelled back. His brows snapped up, and she hiked her chin high, determined not to give him the satisfaction of acting like a brute simply because he was upset.

"Ye worried about me?" he asked in a lower tone to Maeve's surprise, and she did not know how to react to that first.

"I…"

"It is me job to worry about ye, Me Lady…nae the other way around. I went for a ride, and I would have returned. Ye could have worried about me from the safety of yer chamber!"

Maeve's breath hitched in her throat when his cheeks burned. "You are angry at me?" she asked. "I have done nothing wrong. All I did was try to comfort you about the canceled feast and…"

"I dinnae need comfortin'. The Highland lairds made their decision, and it is all right with me."

"Archer…"

"Enough!" he thundered. This time, Maeve recoiled from him, and her eyes widened in fear. She had never seen him this agitated. His eyes squinted at the corners, and a visible vein in his neck ticked.

She realized then that people had gathered around to watch. Maeve spotted her sisters and mother at the top of the stairway. Jensen held his wife close to his side.

They all watched with curious looks plastered on. Maeve sucked in a deep breath to steady her shaky insides. She had never been scared of him, but in that moment, for the first time since they met, she was.

"I am sorry," Archer apologized in a shaky, breathless tone that made her heart ache. He paled, his eyes softened, and his jaw dropped open. "I dinnae ken what came over me…I…" He licked his lips and shook his head.

Maeve noticed he was in a battle within himself, and she did not know how best to reach out to him. She took a step forward, but he backed away. "Nae," he whispered. "I am sorry."

She watched him storm away and stayed rooted to that spot until she finally picked up her courage.

"Maeve, are ye all right?" Her mother came running down the stairway to meet her. Maeve stayed limp as she hugged her mother tightly then ran her hands down her body. "Did he hurt ye? If he did then yer brither and I will…"

"He is nae the one who hurt me, mama," she answered coldly, realizing she used a Scottish accent again.

Maeve vaguely recalled the rules in that moment. A lady never speaks like a Highlander. If she does, she is no lady. A lady is perfect in every way; never forget that.

After Lord Hampton kidnapped her and her sisters from Scotland because of his feud with their late father and for years he spent his time trying to change their believes about Scotland.

As Maeve shivered on the spot, she recalled the letter from England and the scent of lavender he had the servants perfume his room with every day. That scent lingered in her memory, and she hated it.

"I am all right, mama," Maeve whispered and finally touched her mom to console her. "The Laird did not hurt me. He has never hurt me. He is not a bad man."

Her mother did not look too convinced, and her sisters still watched from the top of the stairway with wide looks in their eyes.

Maeve offered Lauren a shaky smile when she saw her watching to then she led her mother away.

Until the early hours of dawn, she lay awake in her bed thinking, mulling over the fact that Archer was in pain, and he would not let her comfort him.

Why does he do that? Why does he push everyone away? He seemed so lonely, locked away in his study all the time with no one to talk to.

Learning of his past…his burdens, she knew he needed someone. Maeve wanted to feel like he needed her. She rolled over to one side on the bed and heaved in a deep breath.

"He needs someone," she muttered to herself. "He needs someone."

She had a restless night, but she spent the hours of the next morning breakfasting with the family. Only Archer was absent again, and it hurt Maeve to learn he had enjoyed only a cup of Fraoch before ridding out at dawn.

She was alone in the afternoon reading a book she found in the great library when Quinn and Jensen came to find her.

"How may I be of help, sir?" Maeve loved how Jensen and Quinn held hands each time they were together. Quinn had a rosy smile on her cheeks now, and she kept her eyes glued to her husband as he spoke.

"Please, Me Lady, call me Jensen," he answered. "I want to show ye somethin'. The Laird isnae in the castle, so now is the best time to do this."

"Where did he go?"

"He dinnae say."

Maeve nodded, and she set aside her book, so she could walk with Jensen and Quinn out of the great library. They led her down the castle's stairways to the crypts beneath. The path was dark and dusty. She coughed after inhaling some of the musty air then Quinn offered her a napkin to cover her nose with.

When they reached the end of the hallway, Jensen turned to them. "Me Lady, there is a lot behind this door, and I want ye to ken everythin'; that is why I bring ye here. If the Laird finds out, he willnae be pleased. He might have me head for it."

"He wouldnae," Quinn argued in a hushed tone. "He would understand that ye are tryin' to help."

"He would be angry," Jensen replied to her, and they spent the next few seconds going back and forth before Maeve interrupted them.

"Can you two just show me what is behind the door please?"

Quinn pressed her lips together, and Jensen pushed the door open in one swing. It creaked as it gave way, and they entered the large hall that lengthened far down to dark ends that Maeve could not see.

Quinn lit a torch with the stones she held, and Jensen looked at her. "These are the crypts, Me Lady. It is where the secrets to Devlin's past lies. Archer has buried away everythin', but also in here is the key to the man he really is."

Maeve shook her head from confusion. "I…I am not sure I understand what you mean, Jensen. The man he really is?"

"He was ten summers old when his faither first trained him for war. He was ten and five summers when he fought his first battle and came out a victor. The Laird never had a childhood, a faither to love him, a maither to care for him…"

"Why, what happened to his mother, I thought …He told me his father…"

"Killed her, aye," Jensen cut in. "Before then, she was locked away most of the time. His faither dinnae care for her or his son. He cared for his legacy and all he could do with his son's strength and skills.

"His faither killed innocent people, Me Lady. He burned them alive because a voice in his head told him to do so. He betrayed his allies, stabbed them in the back, hung heads on spikes. Archer hates himself for his role in the mad war. He has never been able to forgive his compliance, and he's never gotten past the grief of loosin' his maither, the one person who had truly cared for him."

"He has never forgiven himself for killin' his faither, either," Quinn added in a teary voice.

"All he has ken is war, but he is a good man. He was a good bairn, too, once upon a time. He loved to paint, loved to sing. Me faither served as man-at-arms to his faither, and so I have ken Archer since we were wee lads. He is a good man…He saved me life in the war and fought to make sure I stayed alive."

Jensen waved the torch and showed her the pianoforte placed in a corner of the hall. "So, please Me Lady…dinnae give up on him because for the first time, we all believe that there is a way to bring back the boy he was once."

Tears filled Maeve's eyes as she listened to all Jensen had to say.

"He needs to be loved," she whispered as it finally dawned on her what Archer's roughness was all about. He did not dislike her or find her annoying. This was about him, and his demons. This was about the fear of becoming the man the Highlanders believed him to be.

The Mad Laird.