Once again, there was no response. Archer frantically looked around, trying in vain to push the smoke away with his hand as he searched for River. It soon occurred to him, though, that he was looking at the wrong place.
He crouched down, and there she was, not too far from the door—and not just her but Layla, too, the two women laying unconscious side by side. Fire surrounded them from all sides—everything was burning, from the tapestries to the furniture, the wood succumbing to the flame. In the few moments Archer had been in the room, he had been drenched in sweat, his shirt sticking to his band as he grabbed the two women, slinging each one over one shoulder.
Archer stumbled out of the room, the fire and the smoke burning his lungs. He could hardly draw a breath, but he could still walk, and he walked with River and Layla down the corridor, carrying the two women to safety. He refused to stop. He refused to stop and rest until they were out of the eastern wing entirely, until they were back with the guards and the servants who were running around, trying to find something to do to help.
When Keir saw him, his face paled and he rushed to his side, gingerly picking Layla up and laying her onto the ground.Archer did the same with River, and then held her hand in his, desperately looking for a pulse.
“She’s alive!” Keir said, a sudden laugh escaping him. Archer looked at him as he was bent over Layla, cradling her face, but he couldn’t spare more than a fleeting thought to it before returning his attention to River.
She was covered in soot, her face, her hands, her clothes—all of it blackened with smoke. Her hair was a mess around her head and her wrists were rubbed raw, one of them still sporting a length of rope around it.
“Come, River,” Archer said. “Come now…wake up.”
Her eyes remained closed. But just as panic threatened to bubble over, she drew in a deep, shuddering breath—the sweetest sound Archer had heard in his life.
30
The castle was quiet. Archer had sunk in a chair in his bedroom, an old, worn book in his hand. He had been on the same page for over an hour, his eyes simply scanning the page without taking in any of the words.
It was getting cold. Summer was quickly fading now and the first of the autumn was creeping in, its chill seeping through the stones when the sun wasn’t hitting the room. Archer stood and pulled another blanket over River’s sleeping form, before bracing himself against the mattress and hovering over her.
“Wake up, River,” he said softly, as he ran a hand through her dark hair. River didn’t stir, though. She only lay there, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and steady as if she was simply asleep.
Was she, Archer wondered? Was this simply some form of deep sleep? Would she wake?
“Me Laird.”
Jenson’s frail voice surprised Archer. He hadn’t realized the man was in the room, which was entirely unlike him. Archer had been trained to recognize signs of someone’s presence, to expect sneak attacks at all times, and yet now he was so preoccupied with River that he didn’t even know they weren’t alone in the room.
“Aye,” said Archer as he sat back in the chair. Jenson approached slowly, his aging knees carrying him with difficulty, and sat down next to River.
Ever so slowly, ever so gently, he began examining her. It was the third time that day that he had come to the room—once when Archer had first found her and brought her there to keep her safe, once no more than two hours earlier, and now.
And each time, he said the same thing.
“She seems fine to me,” said Jenson, giving Archer a reassuring nod, though Archer didn’t know if he was trying to reassure him or himself. After all, Archer hadn’t been the one to call Jenson there three times in the span of a few hours. The man had done that on his own, as if he wanted to ensure that River was safe.
“She’s nae wakin’,” Archer pointed out, rather unhelpfully.
“She will,” said Jenson. “It must be due to the shock that she is still sleepin’.”
Archer could only hope that was true. His gaze drifted back to River, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the gentle fluttering of her eyelids. Though she was not responsive, she was still full of life and that, Archer thought, had to count for something.
“The bairn is well too,” said Jenson, and Archer nodded in response.
“That’s good to hear,” he said, though in that moment, he was far more worried about River than he was for the child.
All that mattered now was her. All that mattered was that she would wake up and be fine, that she would have no lasting damage from this.
“The fire has been fully extinguished, too,” said Jenson, and Archer nodded again. He had had no doubt that his men would manage to put it out. Now all that was left was to rebuild the eastern wing, but that was hardly on his mind now. It wasn’t a priority, not when River was not waking up.
“I’ll leave ye to it, then,” said Jenson, and just as quietly as he had slipped into the room, he slipped out of it.
And Archer was alone with River once more.
The hours passed slowly, torturously so. Archer couldn’t distract himself, nor could he find any comfort, any relief. The sun lowered itself, and by the time it was dark, he had not even gotten up to light any candles. Instead, he had allowed the roomto be plunged into darkness, the only thing bringing some light being the small fire that burned in the hearth.
The first thing that alerted him to something changing was a sound, soft and pained, nothing but a quiet moan. Archer sprang out of his chair and rushed to River’s side to find her eyes glinting in the dim light when she fluttered them open. Then, he sprang up again when she sat up abruptly in bed, suddenly drenched in sweat, looking around her with a frantic gaze.
