Page 38 of A Bride for the Wicked Highlander (Daring a Highland Laird #2)

A rthur wasn’t entirely sure what he’d just borne witness to. It had started as a flicker of movement out of the corner of his good eye. He pulled the string of his hunting bow as he let out a low, sharp whistle. A low growl answered his command, and the brush shifted beside him.

Soon after, a massive deerhound stalked out, its dim, ashen coat practically pearlescent beneath the moonlight.

She stood stiffly at her master’s heel, poised and fixated on the shadow now tumbling down the ravine.

It made a loud splash as it hit the water, though what he assumed to be a head quickly broke through the surface.

Arthur squinted, trying to discern the shape as best as he could.

It wouldn’t be the first time he watched a clumsy deer trip over its legs, though the size of the head bobbing in the tarn wasn’t quite the right shape.

At the very least, he was certain it wasn’t a buck, meaning the one he’d been hunting all night had likely—finally—given him the slip.

“Still, a meal’s a meal,” he muttered, drawing his bow. “Ready yerself, Maesie.”

His hunting companion let out another growl, her fur standing stiff along her shoulders as she prepared to sprint on command.

“Of all the bloody?—!”

Arthur froze, blinking furiously at the unexpected curse.

It took him a moment to realize it was a voice—a woman’s voice, no less—and he immediately set his bow aside and began sliding down the slope.

His cloak billowed out behind him, his calloused hands dragging against the dirt to slowly control his descent; he’d be of no use to anyone if he, too, fell into the frigid waters.

Maesie was quick to follow, finding her footing first and bounding across the bank as Arthur followed closely behind, shrugging off any extra clothing to make himself as light as possible for this impromptu swim.

He glanced up just in time to watch the deerhound hit the water, swimming furiously towards the shape as it, too, drew closer to the bank.

There was no mistaking it, now; A woman’s head bobbed over the surface, her arms occasionally breaking free as she frantically swam to safety. Then, suddenly, she went under without a sound, prompting him to kick his boots in whatever direction and sprint for the water.

“Maesie, retrieve!”

The deerhound let out a howl in reply, immediately diving beneath the water where the woman had vanished. Soon, Arthur himself dove into the tarn, the cold only pushing him forward faster.

It was a murky scene as he opened his eyes; he could barely see his own hand in front of his face.

But, eventually, his hand caught something, and he yanked at the fabric, bursting once more to the surface with another head in tow. Maesie followed soon after, her jaw clamped around the woman’s sleeve as she struggled to hold her upright.

“Aye, lass! Ye with us?”

Arthur wasn’t really expecting a reply as he worked quickly to shift the woman’s body. But she refused to budge further, clearly snagged on something far beneath the surface.

“Maesie, hold!”

The deerhound let out a strained whimper, kicking furiously to keep the woman’s head afloat.

Arthur dove back under the water, pulling his hunting knife from his belt as he grasped around the woman’s body.

Eventually, his hand caught fabric once more, and with a yank, it became clear that this was the anchoring point.

His blade quickly sawed through it, and he pulled the woman above, finally able to wrap his arm around her neck.

“Maesie, release!”

The deerhound obeyed, her snout pushing the woman’s arm towards her master as he draped it over his shoulders.

The smell of a burning torch jolted Olivia from semi-consciousness, a scream clawing its way out of the depths of her soul. Something behind her let out a panicked yelp, followed by a series of sharp barks that indicated the thing’s displeasure at her outburst.

Olivia blinked furiously, tilting her head to catch the face of a deerhound curled up behind her, acting as a pillow.

Its fur was a beautiful silver that shimmered blue beneath the moonlight, crisp and wiry beneath her fingers.

It was as if the creature had lived its entire life running against the salted sea air, and Olivia couldn’t help but be utterly fascinated.

A crack drew her attention, the flickering heat of a fire—not a torch—unexpectedly chasing the chill from her face.

Or whatever chill remained. She found herself wrapped tightly in an oversized cloak, her hair hanging down her back and already dried.

As if someone had carefully rubbed a cloth through it, or kept her close enough to the fire to dry it quickly.

Hesitantly, she pulled the cloak off her and looked down at herself. To her horror, someone had stripped her almost entirely of her outerwear, though curiously—and with incredible reassurance—they had left her dress intact.

The linen felt coarse against her skin, somewhat still damp from her tumble into the tarn. She pulled the cloak tighter around herself, her gaze flicking back to the rather large dog still curled up beside her.

“Where on earth did ye come from?”

The deerhound tilted its head slightly, as if the answer was quite obvious.

“Dinnae give me that look.” Olivia scowled. “And I suppose ye’re the one who started this fire?”

“Nay, that was me.”

Another shriek escaped her lips as she twisted around, watching as a man emerged from the shadows, gripping the reins of a horse. Heart pounding in her chest, she forced herself to breathe, racking her brain for memories of the newcomer’s face.

Much to her relief, she came up empty. Whoever this man was, he hadn’t come from MacCulloh Keep. He didn’t even look like he was from this stretch of Scotland. His skin was surprisingly tan, with sharp features and thick facial hair that reminded her of black rocks jutting from a stormy sea.

One seafoam-green eye stared straight through her, while the other was covered by a worn leather patch that wound around his head and vanished behind long strands of dark, loosely-bound hair.

If she weren’t so terrified, she might have commented on how similar an appearance he had to the Fachans.

“Glad to see ye awake, though,” One-Eye continued, tethering his horse to a nearby tree branch before pulling a string of hares from the saddle. “Thought I wasted me time with draggin’ a corpse out of the tarn.”

Olivia shifted, trying to lean away as much as she could. Once more, the deerhound let out a snappish yip as her back pressed against it, and it quickly got up and trotted to One-Eye.

“Aye, be nice, Maesie,” One-Eye scolded lightly, producing a hunting knife seemingly out of nowhere. “The wee selkie’s a bit groggy, still.”

She really was.

Olivia ran a hand across her forehead, catching stray hairs and pushing them back while exhaling loudly. The world refused to stop spinning around her, and she couldn’t help but gravitate towards the man’s voice.

There was an obvious edge—a gruffness every Highlander had—but there was an unusually smooth undertone that took her by surprise. Again, her mind drifted to the past, to picture books and tapestries depicting the sea. Wrathful and dangerous, yet at times, still as glass itself.

“Ye’re all right, there?”

Olivia glanced back up, staring at the man’s sharp eye. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead of answering, a question tumbled out. “‘Wait. What did ye call me earlier?”

“What, selkie ?” One-Eye chuckled lightly as he started skinning a hare. “Couldnae call ye ‘corpse’, could I?”

“N-Nay, I just…” Olivia shook her head, debating whether she should reveal her real name.

Even if he wasn’t from MacCulloh, he could have friends waiting behind the trees. Best not to risk it, not when every ‘risk’ she’d taken tonight ended in disaster.

“I… was taken aback, that is all.”

One-Eye shrugged, sticking a skewer through the carcass and holding it over the fire. “Seemed to fit well enough. Unless ye want me to call ye something else?”

Olivia shook her head, her hair bouncing with the motion

“Good.” One-Eye stroked the back of his deerhound—his ‘Maesie’—and furrowed his brow. “Then maybe ye can tell me what ye’re doin’ out here in the middle of the night?”

The hiss of animal fat hitting the flames broke the long silence between them. Olivia did her best to avoid eye contact, fidgeting with a loose string on One-Eye’s cloak.

“For… the same reason as ye?”

An awful excuse. Probably the worst she could’ve come up with. Admittedly, she wasn’t feeling as witty as usual, due in part to the fog lingering in her mind.

“Good effort, selkie.” One-Eye chuckled humorlessly. “But yer attire completely gives ye away. Never met a fellow hunter who thought to trek bootless and with nay supplies.”

Olivia bit her lip, her eyes drifting to Maesie in a bid to find a better excuse.

The deerhound let out a large yawn, stretching her front paws across the ground before standing up and trotting towards one of the untouched hares. She snatched one greedily with her jaw and dragged it into the brush, intent on enjoying her meal away from the growing tension.

“Ye’re nay help at all,” Olivia grumbled under her breath.

“I’d say I was plenty helpful,” One-Eye countered. “Ye’re the one beatin’ round the bush here.”

She could feel her temper rise. “Does it matter? I’m only a wee twig compared to ye.”

“A wee twig can still pierce flesh,” One-Eye retorted, his hand gripping the hilt of his hunting knife. “Ye dinnae exactly sound trustworthy right now.”

Olivia couldn’t help herself; a harsh, somewhat crazed laugh escaped her lips, the kind that left her feeling lightheaded.

“Trustworthy? Dinnae lecture me about trust! I’ve spent the whole night runnin’ from folk I thought I could trust! I nearly drowned because of misplaced trust, and if ye think I’ll just—!” She froze, suddenly bolting upright. “Me arisaid; where did it go? I-I fell in the tarn with it—where is it?”

“Aye, it just about dragged ye down into the depths, selkie.” One-Eye reached his arm behind him and produced a familiar cloth that now billowed with a jagged edge. “Sorry, but I had to cut ye free from yer coat.”

Olivia’s lips twitched, and she quickly rounded the fire to snatch the cloth from his hand. “Ye think it’s funny, do ye? Laughin’ at another’s misfortune? I oughtta—I-I oughtta throw yer cloak in the fire!”

Maesie lifted her head briefly, eyeing her master. But he simply raised an eyebrow. “Would it make ye feel better?”

Olivia stood over him for a moment, the night air kissing her clammy skin and sending a shiver down her spine. She grasped her arisaid tightly, thoughts of her mother’s fate threatening to crush her lungs.

“N-Nay. I-I’m sorry, that was horrid of me to say.”

“‘Tis an ugly cloak, wee selkie,” One-Eye teased lightly. “Old and worn; if ye did burn it, I’d finally get a new one.”

That coaxed a weak chuckle from Olivia. “Even so, I am sorry. Me misfortune isnae yer fault.”

“Will ye at least tell me whose it is?”

Olivia sighed heavily, wrapping her arisaid as tightly as she could around her shoulders. “Laird MacDonnell, I suppose.”

This time, the hiss of animal fat failed to break the silence between them.

Olivia watched as One-Eye lifted the roasting hare from the fire, gingerly tapping its meat before his seafoam-green eye landed on her.

“So, what did I do to cause yer misfortune?”

She blinked, certain she hadn’t heard him correctly.

She watched as One-Eye held the hare back over the fire, a low growl sounding from the shadow where Maesie lay. Every hair on the back of her neck stood up, the light atmosphere suddenly snuffed and replaced with a sour, heavy anxiety.

“Go on, then,” One-Eye urged. “Tell MacDonnell straight to his face what trouble he’s caused ye, wee selkie.”