“Me name is Marcus,” his cousin explained, his friendly grin widening. “I’m yer husband’s man-at-arms. So, ye’ll be seein’ a lot of me.”
He extended a hand to Emilie, one that she gladly took.
“It’s a pleasure to meet ye, Marcus. And that darlin’ lady that was with ye. I’m assumin’ that was yer wife?”
“Aye. Paisly.”
At the mention of his wife’s name, Marcus’s entire face transformed. It had been friendly just moments before, even jovial. But as he spoke his wife’s name, the love that he felt for the woman seemed to pour out of him.
“She’ll be wantin’ to meet ye soon, for certain,” Marcus continued, giving Emilie’s hand a shake in greeting before dropping it.
Archer shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He didn’t like anything about this.
He didn’t like that Emilie seemed to be different today. He didn’t like the attention that Marcus was now paying her.
And, most of all, he did not like how, despite all of that, he wanted to look at her more.
Her blue eyes were shining as they looked at Marcus, dancing with amusement and a familiarity that she certainly couldn’t feel, not when she had just met the man.
Archer couldn’t help but be enamored by it, the way her eyes seemed to gleam and express every bit of emotion that she was feeling. He wondered what those eyes might look like as they began to cloud with desire.
And even more so, what might they look like as she was writhing beneath him, how they’d glitter with pleasure as he buried himself inside her.
Nay. Nay. Absolutely nae. I cannae be losin’ meself in thoughts like that. I cannae love her, which means I cannae sully her.
He shook his head, glad that Emilie and Marcus’ attention was solely on each other. Archer knew he needed to get this conversation over with quickly.
The sooner that Emilie left this cellar, the better.
“What was it ye needed?” Archer growled, stepping around Marcus as he interrupted their conversation.
“Well, I wanted to talk to ye,” Emilie said, her eyes pointedly flicking to Marcus. “Do ye think that we might be able to speakalone?”
She emphasized the last word, giving Archer a simpering, pleading look.
Who was this woman standing before him? Surely it could not be the same timid, curious woman that he’d met the day before.
“Of course he can,” Marcus said, moving to push Archer toward his wife. “There is another room, just through the break in those barrels, there.”
Marcus pointed Emilie in the right direction, and she gave him a grateful smile.
“That will be perfect,” she tittered, grabbing hold of Archer’s wrist and giving it a leading tug. “What do ye think, Archer? Would ye like to go talk to me in here?”
Archer pulled his hand out of her grasp, planting his feet firmly on the stone of the cellar beneath him.
“I willnae be goin’ anywhere,” he growled.
Emilie’s face fell for a moment, and Archer could have sworn he caught a glimpse of the woman he’d met the day before shining on her face. But almost as quickly as the mask seemed to fall, itwas replaced again, her bright smile affixed almost immediately back into place.
“All right,” she said jovially, “we can talk here. It isnae that important.”
“If it’s nae that important,” Archer growled low in his throat, “then why did ye come all the way down here and interrupt me work? Why could it nae wait until supper or when I saw ye?”
Emilie took a step back, the tightness at the corners of her eyes becoming more pronounced. But through it all, her bright smile stayed fixed on her face.
“I can go,” Marcus said quickly, taking the focus off of Emilie and bringing it to himself. “I will go upstairs and talk to the stewards about makin’ the trip into Thrums. I’ll come back down in a bit.”
Marcus shot Archer a look. It was easy enough to read his friends’ meaning; they’d known each other for their entire lives.