Archer’s mouth popped open in surprise. Marcus had barely been around since the wedding, and Archer had deliberately been keeping him busy.
“How do ye ken about how things are goin’?” he huffed, unable to keep his curiosity under control.
Archer had leveled the question at Marcus, but it was Paisly who answered.
“The maids talk,” she explained. “The maids also ken how to move without bein’ seen. And they’ve seeneverythin’.”
Paisly stressed the final word, and Archer felt his stomach plummet.
What did she mean by ‘everything’?
Ever since the afternoon before, when they’d shared the kiss at the cliff’s edge, Archer had been able to think of little else.
He hadn’t meant to kiss Emilie. But as the moment between them had unfolded, he had not been able to contain himself.
And, as much as Archer could not bring himself to regret the fact that his lips had tasted hers, he also knew that it was an act that couldn’t happen again.
As of yet, he had not found a way to bring it up to his wife, as he was certain that Emilie would demand an explanation. So, he had been trying to avoid her as much as possible ever since then and had been holed up in his study.
“What did they go blatherin’ about to ye?” Archer pressed, narrowing his eyes at Paisly.
She rubbed her stomach absentmindedly, giving him a wide smile.
“Everythin’,” she said coyly, prompting her husband to laugh and shake his head at her.
“We ken about the kiss,” Marcus said quickly, amusement evident in his tone. “One of the maids saw ye from the window and told Paisly all about it.”
Archer cursed out loud, shaking his head in exasperation. He knew better than to ask Paisly which maid it was that had reported this gossip directly to her. The woman was a vault when it came to protecting her friends.
And, somehow, despite the difference in their stations, Paisly had found a way to befriend every single one of the women in Archer’s employ.
They adored her, fawning over the woman every time she set foot inside the castle. And Paisly soaked it all up.
She also reported every tidbit of information that she gleaned to her husband.
“Ye gossip more than any woman I ken,” Archer groaned, shaking his head at the two people sitting across from him.
Marcus just grinned at him. He didn’t try to argue against the accusation. He couldn’t. They all knew that it was true.
“So,” Paisly pressed after a few silent moments. “What happened? Tell us all about it. Marcus said that yer new bride came and found ye in the whisky cellar, tittering about paintin’ the walls and that ye seemed annoyed. And the next thing we ken, we’re hearin’ all about ye kissin’ her face off by the sea.”
“I wasnae kissin’ her face off,” Archer argued.
His head throbbed, and he glanced down at his desk. He rubbed his temples.
His headache had been bad before Marcus and Paisly had shown up. But now? Now it was nearly unbearable.
Archer didn’t want to talk about this. Didn’t want to rehash everything with two of the people he loved the most. He didn’t need to. Archer was already well aware of what they were going to say.
“It was a weak moment,” he grunted, his attention still focused on the grain of the wood in front of him. “I wanted to kiss her, so I did. Can a man nae kiss his own wife in the comfort of his own home without gettin’ flack for it?”
“Nae when the man swore up and down he was only marryin’ her so she could be a maither to his bairns,” Marcus chided.
Archer raised his head, glaring at his man-at-arms.
“I should banish ye to scrubbin’ the piss pots,” Archer grumbled.
Marcus threw his head back and laughed.