Page 11 of The Highlander’s Fake Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #4)
T he evening lights bruised the skies above Olivia as she stormed out the back entrance of the castle. She’d sworn profusely under her breath the entire time, finally letting out an irritated snarl before dropping into what appeared to be a bed of wildflowers.
Her fingers plucked the stem of a nearby sea lily, pulling out the petals as she gritted her teeth. “Ooh, that–that–I cannae believe I even considered–!” An angry huff escaped as she threw the torn-apart flower to the ground.
Folding her legs against her chest, Olivia pressed her forehead to her knees and continued to mutter incoherently–angrily–trying to work through her racing thoughts.
An absolute insult of a man–and she’d let him kiss her!
Him! The enemy of her people, the enemy of many clans in a stupid war between stupid men and–and–!
“And I let him kiss me?!” Worse; Olivia had wanted more out of it.
Her limbs flung outward like an arrow released from a taught bow’s string, and she flopped onto the flowering grass with one, massive exhale. She felt a bit lightheaded, the darkening sky spinning slightly as she tried to get herself to breathe normally once more. Stupid.
That man–Laird MacDonnell–she would’ve liked to have seen him drowning the tarn instead of her.
Flailing about helplessly with his massive arms, and kicking beneath the frozen waters with his defined legs.
And…the cold would probably cause the hair on his body to raise, and those muscles of his to tighten further, and certainly, once he swam out of the tarn (because obviously, he would), and when he’d strip, she could finally see if his size was as massive as that ego of his–
Olivia bolted upright, frantically patting her heated cheeks as a squirm ran down the length of her midsection.
“Olivia Catherine MacLarsen! He is the enemy, for God’s sake!
” Another loud sigh, and she managed to cross her legs, elbows propping against her knees as she hunched over slightly.
Her kinsfolk were her new enemy; the laird had done entirely too much for her safety and sake.
Her; the daughter of a laird whose clan leader threw life aside over a supposed insult to his pride.
“What was he supposed to do…?” Olivia murmured under her breath.
“Roll over an’ let the maithers an’ bairns…
” she shook her head, moving to push herself back up to her feet.
“Aye, but he still had a hand in the killin’.
What, am I supposed to just ignore that part?
Just,” she waved a hand in the air, as if to swat a particularly annoying fly away.
“Conveniently forget how he slaughtered me faither an’ braither? ”
A sudden peal of laughter pulled Olivia out from her self-ramble. She nearly lost her balance, embarrassment filling her very soul as she recalled this place not to be her own home, but a complete stranger’s. The enemy’s; and she’d just let loose a stream of killable insults towards their laird.
Covering her mouth, she strained to overhear the conversation held between the laugher and another, but it was entirely inaudible.
With the fire extinguished in her chest, Olivia moved as if she were slowly being turned to ice, trying to reach the source of the inaudible chatter without getting into any further trouble.
As she rounded the berry bushes and slipped her head around for a peek, she nearly let out a lough gasp in relief.
The only folks sitting amidst the attempts of a garden were Flora and her giant of a husband.
They had found a comfortable place on a stonework bench, chatting away as if they’d known each other for all their lives.
The same laughter as before slipped out from Flora’s mouth, causing the stone-faced man to actually crack into a smile.
Olivia blinked, uncertain what exactly she’d walked in on.
Then, she blinked more furiously, a wave of emotion striking her all at once as a choking realization. If the laird–if Arthur–had done nothing to stop her own kinfolk’s assault, there was a chance that Flora’s husband would have been killed.
Flora’s fate could have been in the hands of battle-high men, whose tendency to lean towards decency died alongside the first man’s chest they carved out. She stared at the loving couple harder, at the innocence Flora seemed to radiate alongside her husband’s adoration. If Arthur had rolled over…
“And what about Maesie?” she managed to choke out into a whisper.
What about the laird’s own mother?
“Olivia?” Is that ye over there?”
Olivia quickly rubbed her face, pushing through the brush and fully embracing the zings of pain from its thorny branches.
“O-Och, Flora!” She blinked back tears, rubbing her face as the new cuts on her face stung terribly.
“I’m so sorry–I was walking by and thought I heard you, and then, I tripped on something just now and… ”
“Crivvens, Olivia, yer an absolute mess!” Flora shooed her husband off with a wave of her hand.
“Nathan, go and find the salve for me, would ye?” She then gently grasped Olivia’s hands into her own, scrutinizing the scrapes along her knuckles and bits of thorn stuck under the skin.
“I’m sorry I startled ye. Sit tight; I’ve had plenty o’practice patching up wounds, thanks to me husband. ”
Olivia could only offer a grimace in reply. She noticed how colorful Flora appeared to be; even underneath the dim of twilight, a deep tinge of purple slipped between the strands of her hair, causing the green of her eyes to brighten considerably.
A world of only black and white; the phrase rang in Olivia’s head, causing her heart to grow heavy. She could never have seen Flora as her enemy; not in a million years. And yet, she held the name of the clan which Olivia should have hated more than life itself…
“Y’alright, Olivia?” Flora asked, a gentle crease of worry forming over her brow.
Olivia nodded weakly. “Aye…just a bit s-sore, I think.”
Eventually, Nathan returned with the salve in question, holding it patiently in his hands while his wife tended to Olivia’s scratches. The task was quick to complete, and soon, Olivia's nose was positively filled with the sharp smell of medicinal herbs.
“That should take care of the stingin’,” Flora reassured. “But I could make ye a tincture in to kitchen, if ye’d like?” She paused, glancing up towards her husband with an apologetic grimace.
“Ye should take care of our guest first,” Nathan reassured. “I’m not a wee bairn, Flora; I can walk to the sparrin’ grounds on me own.”
“Oh, nay,” Olivia quickly interjected. “I’m feeling much better now. I daenae want to cut in on yer time together as a family.”
Flora’s smile spun a mixture of relief and guilt in Olivia’s stomach. “We’ll be kinsfolk soon enough, ye and I. Ye have every right to join our ‘family time’.” She gently pulled on Olivia’s hand, and soon, all three were starting across the lawn.
Even with the invitation, Olivia felt entirely like an outcast; a bloodsucking tick, riding on the back of some great stage in the forest. It didn’t help that Flora’s claim of ‘family’ was based on a ruse between her and Arthur.
“‘Tis a terrible mess, I admit,” Flora suddenly said. “But I’m hoping to have it flourishin’ fer the men to enjoy, once all to fighting’s over wit.”
Olivia blinked, a quizzical frown crossing her face.
“Ye seem awfully fixated on something,” Flora’s husband offered gruffly. “Me wife thought it was the sorry state o’this here garden.”
Flora gasped, giving her husband a fair smack on the arm. “Nathan Bisby, the tongue on ye–!”
“Och, nay, fierce goddess,” Nathan chuckled dryly, catching his wife’s hand to pull her into a close embrace. “Forgive me for such blasphemous words.”
“Ye do this to yerself, dear husband o’mine,” Flora scowled, though the corners of her lips wobbled in a desperate attempt to hold back a smile.
Olivia watched as Nathan easily lifted his wife up by the waist, the pair sharing a sweet kiss between them before gently separating once more.
Noticeably, their hands remained intertwined, Flora’s completely engulfed by her husband’s.
“I think yer garden looks lovely, Flora,” Olivia offered.
Flora’s grin widened as her own giggles escaped her lips.
“Och, nay, Olivia; I know it needs much more work.” She paused beside a partially-constructed bed, the wood somewhat misshapen and the florals just barely held back by the flimsy perimeter.
“Much effort an’ resources goes to the wars between clans, so I try an’ work with what I have. ”
Her husband grunted, bending down to pick a primrose from the tangled bunch. “‘Tis a lovely effort, me wife.”
“Aye; Arthur said the same thing.” Flora giggled once more, standing patiently still as her husband began to weave a number of flowers into her hair. “Dear husband, yer going to keep yer laird waiting at to training grounds.”
“He can wait,” Nathan replied softly.
Soon, Flora’s head was braided and adorned with colorful flowers, and Olivia couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealous longing.
She would never expect Arthur to do something similar; she wasn’t even sure she’d have a chance at a husband anymore, what with no proper clan to back her.
But, at least for this moment, she could experience such tender love vicariously through her new friend, pretending alongside her that such a life was within her reach.