Chapter 6

6

M arrying the Highlander isn't such a terrible thing to do.

Maeve spent the entire trip since they resumed their journey out of England convincing herself that it was okay to wed the Highlander.

Archer helped her brother rescue her and her sisters from the Earl, and he had been nothing than kind since then.

The Highlanders are barbarians…No proper lady weds a Highlander. Do you understand me? You know what happens if you do wed a Highlander?

She recalled Archibald's words as he showed her the whip in his left hand, dangled it in front of her, then went ahead and struck the table hard to instill his warning in her head.

A cold tremor rocked through Maeve, and her breaths seized in her throat because her reaction to those memories were always the same.

Mind-numbing fear. She was no longer enclosed in the warmth of the Hampton manor. She didn't need to see Archibald or his son Gilbert anymore. That alone was a relief.

The past few weeks before their escape were quiet because of Gilbert's trip to his family's country estate. Thankfully, she didn't need to ever see him or his smug smile ever again.

Now she took in the beauty of the Highlands, admiring the still and clear blue waters that always reminded her of the peace and serenity her home had.

When she heard footsteps thud close behind her, she jerked out of her thoughts and spun around immediately.

Archer stood there watching her, his sword drawn in one hand and one leg set in front of the other.

"I thought ye had gone missin'," he said without moving from that spot. "It isnae safe out here in the wild. Ye dinnae want to wander around and risk being eaten by any animal that lives out here."

He marched towards her after that then stuck out a hand to her. "Ye shouldnae be out here all by yerself while the rest of yer family are over there."

He was right. Ayda and Erin were excited to see Flynn, and she was happy too…probably the happiest woman on earth at the moment, but she could not keep up with their chatter because her entire body ached.

Maeve stared at his large palm for a long moment, hesitating because she did not think it was right to let him touch her. She finally pushed away her resistance and placed her hand in his.

The moment she did, he pulled her to him and swooped a hand around her waist. Maeve gasped from the shock of his movement, and her hand moved up his chest for balance.

"What are you doing?" she queried, eyes flaring wide, and brows furrowing together from her confusion."

"You are still burnin' up," he simply said to her, and she tensed further when he lowered his head to the croon of her neck and inhaled her deeply. "I can feel the heat comin' from ye and that stiff way ye carry yerself…."

He looked at her again, eyes searching, and Maeve's insides turned to mush when he moved his hand up her back and tugged at the sash holding her corset in place.

"What are you…"

He did not give her the chance to speak as he spun her around quickly and loosened the sash some more.

"Laird Devlin!" she yelled now and pulled away from him, staggering back till she neared the tree rooted into the ground near the lake.

Maeve wrapped her arms around her body. "Have you gone mad? You do not treat a lady this way. It is barbaric."

He cocked his head to one side. "Aye it is," he answered and marched towards her again. "But ye are to be my wife, and I prefer that ye make it to the weddin' alive."

When he reached for her and tried to loosen more of her corset's sash, she struggled against him, shrieking till she broke free, then struck his left cheek hard without thinking.

The slap made his head loll to one side. His eyes closed, and he groaned. Maeve's mouth fell open from shock, and her muscles went numb.

What have I done? Her skin tingled with discomfort as she watched him rub a hand over his reddened cheek before he looked at her again.

She saw a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, but he still stayed calm, his nostrils flaring as he drew in deep breaths.

Maeve closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting to feel the sting of his retaliating hand on her cheek.

"What are ye doin'?" he asked her after some time, and she peeked at him with one eye open first before she slowly opened them both.

"I…" Her words failed her, and she shook her head, snatching back the apology about to leave her lips. She held her chin high. "You do not treat a lady this way. I understand that I am now promised to you, but you must respect my virtue and wait until I am rightfully yours."

"What?" Archer scoffed as he stared at her, then his own eyes slowly widened. "Did ye think that I …" he stopped. "Ye think I would take ye out here? In the wild? With no respect to ye or yer family who are out there waiting for ye?"

Her chin stayed high, her insides racing because she could inhale his scent as he came closer to her. Maeve knew the scent. When he first carried her back in England, she had smelled the blend of lavender and bergamot. She believed it was his hair that had that scent. Whoever prepared the oils he used was an expert at mixing them.

Her gaze raked over his face. "Is that not what you were about to do?"

"Nae! That would be barbaric, and I am nae rogue," he denied her words, squinting as his brows lowered. "I've been watching ye," he continued. "Ever since we left that household, ye have been in pain. Ye have a high fever, yer posture is rigid, and ye willnae admit that ye are in pain, but I see ye wince at intervals."

He stepped away from her two paces. "I believe it is that ridiculous corset ye are wearin'. It is causin' ye pain, and ye are too stubborn or proud to admit it."

Her hands fell to her sides as she noticed his green eyes glistened with what she would call tears. "Are you about to cry?" she asked him, her body still trembling as she walked to him again.

His frown returned deeper now, proving she was wrong. "Nae! Why in the heavens name would I cry?"

"Your eyes."

He looked away from her briefly, and when his gaze landed on hers again, it caused a tingle. Maeve slowly felt her riled up insides unwind, and the tension ebbing through her slowly began to fade.

"If you wanted to help me, then why did you not simply say so?"

"Would ye have let me if I told ye I was going to help ye take off yer dress?" he retorted.

"No," she replied stiffly and licked her lips.

"Exactly."

Archer released a low growl then rubbed a hand over his face. "Just take off the ridiculous thin' and feel at ease. I believe ye can wear the dress without the corset stickin' up yer sides."

"You seem to know a lot about corsets and lady's clothing," she said to him, lowering her eyes to her feet when she recalled she was never to look a gentleman in the eye while speaking.

Maeve realized now that he was a gentleman. He was not trying to hurt me, she thought, her heart easing out as a sigh escaped her lips.

"I understand that ye might be proud, but out here in the wild, ye need to be tough to survive…Nae proud like English women are taught to be."

"I am not English," she denied hotly, and when he arched a brow, she insisted. "I am not."

"Then why do ye act so? Ye speak like them, ye dress like them…Ye are stiff and proud like they are, and ye seem to think that ye are better than the rest of us, so ye cannae marry a Highlander."

"That is not true." Maeve felt a flush swamp through her as she shook her head. The rising urge in her to convince him of her plight shocked her. The man made her feel things she had never had to handle before.

I cannot risk him disliking me already. If she was to spend the rest of her life with him, then she had to make sure he did not hate her.

Like the way Archibald and his son did. Shuffling down the bile that rose in her throat again, she continued, "I am not proud. I do not think I am better than you…I certainly do not."

"Then why must ye never marry a Highlander?" His question rocked through her hard. There was only one answer Maeve could give him right then, and she knew it would only convince him further that she was some unlikeable English lady who cared only for her reputation.

"I…"

"Just take off the corset and return to camp. We leave before dawn, and I do not want to leave with yer shredded body after I just risked me life to save ye."

His words were harsh as he turned away from her, and Maeve jerked into action and touched his wrist to stop him instinctively.

"Wait," she whispered when he slowly swirled around to look at her again. She nibbled on her lower lip, feeling the tightness at the corners of her eyes increase. Her breath quickened before she stumbled over the words. "Help me."

He stirred around to face her fully, and Maeve stomped down her pride in order to ask for help again.

"With the corset," she explained. "I need you to help me take it off. I cannot ask my sisters to do it because then they would…I do not want them to see."

"See what?"

Maeve swallowed hard when he questioned her, and she dropped her hand from his wrist. "Never mind, I shall handle it on my own."

She moved to turn away from him again, but he grabbed her wrist, pressed a finger to her lips when she was about to speak, then shook his head. "Come with me, now!"

His order made her stiffen, and he led her away from the clearing, deeper into the shrubs before releasing her again.

"What are you…"

"I will help ye with the corset," he said. "Ye dinnae want anyone else to ken somethin'. I understand, and I will help ye." His words silenced whatever she was going to say next.

For the first time in Maeve's life, she felt like she could trust someone. As she stared deep into his eyes, her nerve endings rose with a new rush of energy she had never felt before. She felt soft warm flow through her till her head felt lighter than ever.

Maeve's resolve melted away, and she sensed his understanding.

Like he knows what it feels like to have some things you want to keep to yourself.

"All right," she breathed out, nodding as she swallowed multiple times to hold back the fluttery nervousness growing inside her. "All right," she repeated, and slowly turned her back to him to give him access to her sash.