Page 40 of A Bride for the Wicked Highlander (Daring a Highland Laird #2)

O livia did not wish to disagree with Laird MacDonnell. Though kindness had occasionally slipped through his intimidating demeanor, she was still wary of leaving her safety to chance.

So, without another word, the decision had been made, and she went to sleep that night beneath the cloak of her kin’s sworn enemy, his one eye staring at her, seemingly unblinking, throughout the night.

Her dreams shifted between burning light and icy darkness, the kind that threatened to drag her down and swallow her whole. But morning eventually dawned, and it dawned with a wet tongue lapping against her cheek.

“Heel, Maesie!” Laird MacDonnell snapped.

The deerhound gave Olivia one more quick lick before hurrying to her master’s side, leaving her alone to wipe her face and sit up. Their camp had been cleared of their tracks, nothing but scattered ash and the bloody bones of hares to indicate their presence.

The Laird hoisted his gear on his shoulder, giving Maesie a pat on the head before holding out a folded bundle of clothes.

With a soft sigh, Olivia rose to her feet and accepted her now-dried garments, though she hesitated to shrug her makeshift blankets off her half-naked body.

“I’ll scout ahead,” the Laird said. “Make sure none of yer clansfolk found us.”

“N-Nothing happened last night, then?” Olivia dared to ask.

The Laird stepped into the brush, his loyal deerhound hot on his heels.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” he replied over his shoulder, before vanishing into the woods.

Olivia furrowed her brow.

The reply wasn’t as reassuring as the Laird seemed to think. Still, there weren’t any visible signs on her body that he’d… tried anything last night, and whatever ache lingered in her muscles was simply from nearly a day of running.

She glanced over her shoulder, catching the glint of sunlight on the tarn’s surface.

“I suppose I dinnae have any other options right now,” she groaned.

She moved to slip her arms through her vest, her mother’s instruction ringing in her ears.

“The convent, huh?”

She quickly laced up her vest and fixed her arisaid, gathering the Laird’s cloak into her arms with a shiver. She hated to admit it, but it had been excellent insulation against the cold.

Given the torn hem, her arisaid wasn’t quite as effective at keeping the chill at bay anymore. Though that also might be due to the lack of shoes on her feet.

“Seems the way is clear, selkie.” Laird MacDonnell appeared moments later, Maesie bounding around him excitedly.

“A-Aye.” Olivia held out his cloak, only for him to wave his hand. “It’s yers, though. And it’ll get awfully cold.”

“All the more reason ye should hold onto it. And as for yer lack of footwear…” Laird MacDonnell produced a pair of hunting boots seemingly out of nowhere. “They’re big, but I figured ye’d prefer yer feet in one piece when we arrive at the keep.”

Once more, Olivia furrowed her brow. Still, the Laird wasn’t wrong, and she quickly wrapped his cloak around her, accepting the boots with a quiet thanks .

Their journey to the coast had, indeed, taken well over three days.

Olivia did her best to keep pace with Laird MacDonnell, though it was difficult to ride on horseback for such a long period of time.

Then, there were her boots; she’d wrapped a bit of string around the cuff, which at the very least stopped them from falling off her ankles.

But the shoes had obviously been made to fit MacDonnell’s feet, not hers, and they occasionally hung loosely against the horse’s side as it galloped across the fields.

A few times, she tried striking up a conversation, in particular about her mother’s last wishes.

While a nagging voice in the back of her head said that her poor mother had been captured and killed by those she had once considered kin, Olivia had to believe that she would be waiting at the convent instead.

And the Laird had seemed fairly reasonable thus far.

Surely, he would understand her need to go and check? If only for hope’s sake?

However, he hardly seemed one for conversation this time.

Whenever they’d stop for some rest, he’d slip wordlessly into the forest. His pace was quick but cautious, hardly making a sound.

Even Maesie seemed to be blessed with ethereal grace, slipping in and out of the brush, hot on her master’s heels.

It was honestly quite the sight to behold, like Cernunnos himself visiting her in the flesh. And yet Olivia never once lost sight of him, knowing full well in which direction he’d headed and, thusly, which direction she should follow if she needed his help.

The forests thinned into rolling hills, which in turn dropped off into sheer-sided cliffs. A salty tang now hung permanently in the midnight air, and Olivia couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose at the unfamiliar scent.

Far below them, white-peaked waves crashed into the rocky outcrops, clawing against the cliff in a desperate attempt to reach their traveling band and sweep them further into the sea.

On instinct, she leaned away on the horse as much as she could, nearly losing her balance, before Laird MacDonnell moved to catch her.

“Ye’re nae afraid of heights, are ye?” he asked, his tone somewhat serious.

“J-Just taken aback, is all!” Olivia snapped, though she was still pressed against his chest.

Maesie let out a cheerful yip in reassurance, bounding beside the pair with a breathless pant.

“Aye, Maesie agrees with me,” the Laird scoffed.

“With what?”

“That ye’re full of it.” He smirked, glancing towards the cliffside with his good eye. “What sort of selkie’s afraid of the water, anyway?”

“One that isnae a real selkie, ye bampot.” Olivia scowled. “And I told ye me name already!”

“Aye, lass.” The Laird nodded. “Ye did.”

Olivia waited impatiently, feeling her temper begin to burn in her cheeks. “And?!”

“And…” The Laird tugged on his horse’s reins before jumping off the saddle and offering her a hand. She begrudgingly took it, sliding down and staring nervously at the drop to the beach below them. “It looks like our journey’s over, selkie.”

Olivia’s eyes swept over the area, catching sight of a narrow stretch of land acting as a bridge between them and an isle almost completely cut off from the mainland.

Torchlight flickered across the way, illuminating the vague shape of what she’d originally believed to be a rock climbing towards the sky.

But no. Worn but perfect stonework held the foundations of MacDonnell Keep. The moon’s pallid light occasionally bathed it in an ethereal glow, the sight sending a violent shudder down the length of her spine. And she’d be staying here for the foreseeable future.

The trio made their way silently across the bridge, the keep looming higher and higher above them the closer they got.

Warriors greeted them wordlessly at the outer wall, showing proper respect to their Laird and casting curious glances at Olivia.

Torchlight flickered within the keep, and expectedly, there wasn’t another soul wandering about this late at night.

But as they climbed up the front steps, the large, double doors creaked open, and a much older woman hurried out to greet the pair. Her silvery hair was partially done up and out of her face, and her warm brown eyes widened at the sight of them.

“There ye are, Arthur!” she sighed with relief, immediately moving to embrace as much of the Laird as her arms would allow.

His mother, Olivia reasoned. She couldn’t think of any other woman except for a wife who would be so bold as to embrace a laird in such a way.

“Ye had me worried sick—I thought ye were just chasing down an injured buck.”

“He had a bit more fight in him than I anticipated.” The Laird—Arthur, Olivia realized with a start—returned the hug warmly.

Maesie excitedly circled the pair, a skip in her step.

Arthur…

No, that was entirely too familiar.

Olivia grimaced, silently promising herself that he would remain Laird MacDonnell. So lost was she in her mind that she completely missed the rest of their conversation, though she suddenly found herself the center of attention.

His mother’s expression had shifted from relief to curiosity as she approached her with a welcoming smile.

“Ah… g-good morning,” Olivia managed.

Lady MacDonnell chuckled lightly, extending her hand for Olivia to take. “I cannae believe me son crossed paths with ye. Something powerful must be keepin’ ye safe, lass.”

Olivia wasn’t so sure about that. “A-Aye. I suppose it… must be.” She paused before quickly adding, “I’m grateful to yer son for his help, Lady MacDonnell.”

“Aw, ye sweet wee thing.” Lady MacDonnell laughed with surprising warmth and moved to take her hands. “‘Tis Elspeth for ye, love. Or ye can call me Ma!” She then gasped, her hands now covering one of Olivia’s and rubbing it furiously. “Gracious, love! Yer hands are cold as ice!”

“Ye have us standin’ out in the cold, Ma,” Laird MacDonnell teased.

“Oh, aye, I do. Well, come in, then!” Elspeth gently tugged on Olivia’s arm, ushering her inside the keep. “We’ll find ye a maid to draw ye a warm bath—ye dinnae worry about her, Arthur! I’ll get her all set up.”

Admittedly, a bath did sound heavenly right now. And the long day of walking, coupled with last night’s escape from her clansfolk, put Olivia in quite the persuadable mood.

So, without any fuss, she let Lady MacDonnell lead her down the hall, leaving her savior—her enemy—alone in the entryway.

It didn’t take long for Arthur to get comfortable himself.

After handing the horse to his stable hands and dropping his string of hares at the kitchen, he released Maesie for the rest of the night, watching as the deerhound bounded through the castle in search of his sister, if he had to hazard a guess.

Chuckling to himself, he made his way to his room, changing out of his bloodied, dirt-smeared hunting gear before splashing his face with a nearby bucket of water. It wouldn’t be as effective as a bath, but he wanted to ensure he had finished before Olivia had.

Just as he finished belting his plaid, a gentle series of raps sounded at his door. “Come in.”

The door creaked open to reveal his mother standing outside, positively beaming. “She looked so relaxed in to water, Arthur.”

Arthur chuckled again, greeting his mother halfway before planting a kiss on her cheek. “Aye. A real selkie, that one.”

“What happened to her?” his mother asked, worry creasing her brow. “I ken ye didnae cause those bruises on her arms and legs—and her poor feet! She looked as if she’d been running for dear life.”

“She was,” Arthur agreed. “Supposedly, her clan chased her and her kin out of their keep. That’s Olivia MacLarsen, Ma. From Clan MacCulloh.”

His mother gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. “Nay… it cannae be.” She shook her head, and Arthur immediately reached out to steady her. “Ye’re certain?”

“I found her just outside their territory,” he explained. “She told me herself.”

He helped his mother to a nearby chair and went down on one knee to continue speaking face to face.

“To think, they exiled their Laird’s only daughter…” his mother sighed, her face a touch pale. “Thank God ye were there, Arthur.”

“Let’s hope she sees it that way,” Arthur replied softly.

“Why wouldnae she?”

Now, it was Arthur’s turn to sigh. “Because she owes me her life now. And I always collect me debts, Ma.”