Chapter 9

9

T wo days later, the wedding feast was held as planned. Archer watched Maeve's sisters as they danced in a circle around the others celebrating with them. It was a small feast to mark their wedding, and he was enjoying every moment of it because he got to watch Maeve smile for the first time since he first saw her.

She did not dance with the others, but she seemed happy. He glanced towards where she sat with her mother and found Blair Gibson glaring at him again.

Archer was used to the hardened stares he got from people each time he was in a crowd. Feasting was not something he enjoyed because he could never find a way to enjoy the moment while some people stared hard at him.

As he released a sigh and picked his quaich, he caught Maeve toying with the simple jewels she wore on her wrist.

He could tell she was nervous from her paleness. Her lower lip twitched a couple of times, and she angled her head to her right, meeting his gaze briefly before she looked away.

Archer cleared his throat and leaned closer to her. "It is yer last night in O'Kane. Ye should celebrate with yer family and enjoy the feast."

When she still didn't respond to him, he placed a hand over hers. "Maeve."

"I do not recall the last time I danced," she told him. "The Celtic dance, I mean… I do not recall the last time." Her words ended in a low mumble before she offered him a forced smile.

"Come," Archer said as he rose to his feet and took her hand. He could not recall the last time he danced either but sitting and watching her do nothing while everyone else celebrated at their wedding feast was a bit too hard.

"I do not think…"

"Follow my lead," he instructed, hushing her as he linked their fingers. Archer led the pace, showing her the leg moves of the famous Highland dance.

She stepped on his toe her first try and burst into a tiny giggle. "I am so sorry…I'm so clumsy."

"It's all right." Her cheeks gained a crimson shade that he liked as she breezed out another easy laugh and tossed her head back a bit.

"All right, try it with me," he told her and led her again.

In a matter of seconds, Maeve began moving to the steady drummer's beat and kicking each toe in front of her to the rhythm.

He let go of her when she started to enjoy herself. Her sisters danced closer to them and joined in the circle Maeve formed. Soon her mother and brother joined the group, and Archer slowly stepped away from the crowd, so they could enjoy the moment together.

As he watched her, a twinge of guilt slithered through his heart briefly. Maeve had only just reunited with her family, and he was taking her away again without giving her the chance to get used to her home.

Hopefully, she will come to see me clan as home someday.

The hopeful thought only lasted in his mind a second before he recalled the reality of what life in Devlin was like.

Archer's insides chilled at the thought of Maeve looking at him differently once she found out the truth about his clan's history. He did not intend to hide his history from her, but a part of him wished she would not find out either.

Archer suddenly gasped when she hurried towards him again, eyes dancing with an excited gleam as she took his hands.

"Dance with us."

He did not get the chance to refuse her because she had already drawn him into the midst of the crowd.

The drummer's song slowed and most of the dancers left the middle of the great hall where they feasted, leaving him and Maeve to dance alone.

She raised her chin to stare at him, and he hesitated in pulling her close because Flynn and her mother monitored his every move.

Archer was never nervous. He had marched into battle with the confidence of a god every time. He had faced men of different ages and sizes, conquered villages in his father's name, and evoked fear in the hearts of many Highlanders.

These were not attributes he was most proud of, but they were his reality.

He was nervous now, but in that moment, he shivered with an unexplainable and delicious tingle.

"In the morning, we leave for Devlin," he said to her because speaking helped calm the fluster sliding over his nerves. Her nearness made him inhale her scent, and his lungs raged with the strain of his labored breathing.

Archer wanted to run his hand down her back. Was her pain gone? Or did she still hide it from everyone?

"Yer back," he whispered before he could stop himself. Her wide eyes latched onto his, and she shook her head. "Maeve…"

"Everyone is happy," she pleaded, her words raspy but still tantalizing to his ears. "We are together, we are happy, and I do not want to ruin it."

When his brows furrowed together, she drew in a shaky breath. "A lady never burdens others."

"Where did you learn that?" he queried and pressed her closer to him when they reached the point in their dance where they ought to switch partners.

Archer could not imagine passing her over to anyone else, even if there was another man on the dance floor. Her body fit perfectly over his, her softness flush against his hardened planes.

"Lord Hampton…"

"Never speak of him," Archer silenced as their swaying came to a halt. "Ye are in Scotland now, and I do not need ye to be perfect. I need ye to be ye."

His eyes stroked her briefly, and he contemplated stroking her chin with his finger as he stared at her lips. The flood of heat sweeping all through him was enough to have his insides riled into tight knots that pulsated steadily.

Archer didn't think the feelings she invoked in him would dwindle anytime soon, even if he intended never to act on them.

With great effort, he shoved down his rebellious desire and filled his stomach with air. Maeve swallowed hard before he stepped away from her. "Say goodbye to yer family. We ride out at dawn."

The silence stretched between them for hours unending as they journeyed around the base of the great mount Torrach to the other side where Devlin lay.

Devlin's village was directly at the base of the mountain, and as soon as they got around the mountains base, it would be over half a day to the main castle.

Archer journeyed with Jensen and three of his other men that he took with him for the mission. They trotted along their path at a steady pace, each of them taking note of their surroundings.

While Archer stayed silent for most of the ride, Jensen and Maeve conversed to their hearts contents and even shared a few laughs.

"My wife will be thrilled to meet ye," Jensen spoke yet again, interrupting the silence.

Archer enjoyed the ride because it came with a stillness. When everyone was quiet, including Maeve, he could admire her to his heart's content and not feel guilty about it.

"Your wife sounds like a lovely woman, sir. I would love to meet her," Maeve answered Jensen with another smile.

She sat astride her horse with poise and an elegance Archer rarely saw in Scottish lasses. Her hair was covered by a black hat, and the riding habit she wore was the same shade. When she adjusted the gloves on her hands and turned to Jensen to speak again, Archer tore his gaze from her and stared at the road ahead of them instead.

They had only a few more hours left to get to the other side of the mountain, and he could not wait till they arrived at Devlin.

I need to put as much distance between us as possible.

It was the only way he could stay sane and protect the lady from his ravishing thoughts.

As they neared the final turn that would lead them into the first Devlin village, Archer heard rustling in the bushes around them and light footsteps.

He froze in his tracks, his nerves suddenly alert to the core.

"Halt," he ordered, raising a clenched fist in the air at his command. "We are being followed," Archer added as he listened closely to hear the sounds that caught his attention again.

His keen gaze swept around their surroundings like a hawk in search of its prey. Jensen dismounted his saddle first, and just as Archer did the same, the first arrow came flying in their direction.

The rest happened in a flash. Maeve's scream was all he heard as a dozen men charged out of the bushes around them, swords drawn in their attack.

"Shield her," Archer yelled to Jensen as he rushed towards their attackers, swung his sword over his head, and cut down the first man in his path.

In battle, he was in charge. Archer could control his own fate, and his emotions as he fought to stay alive.