Page 13 of The Highlander’s Fake Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #4)

A s the crowd began to disperse for nightly activities, Olivia found herself watching Laird MacDonnell himself start towards her. It would have been far too convenient for him to simply exchange pleasantries with his sister, so Olivia prepared herself mentally for conversation.

“Och, brother," Flora chuckled lightly, pulling him in for a quick embrace. “Ye didnae have to be so rough with me dear husband.”

“Me?” Arthur’s face twisted into shock, putting on quite the act as the victim of the scenario. “Yer giant of a husband nearly crushed me!”

“That’s nae what I saw,” Flora chided, offering an encouraging smile Olivia’s way before going to see said husband next. Olivia stared awkwardly at her shoes, occasionally glancing up to catch Arthur’s eye.

“So, selkie?”

“Aye?”

A slight smirk crossed the laird’s face. “Did ye enjoy the show?”

Olivia snorted as she crossed her arms. “I’ve seen better.”

“Have ye?”

She turned her nose upward, voice thick with exaggerated contempt. “Perhaps.”

“Och; ye wound me, selkie!” Arthur’s hand grasped his chest, as if her words had struck his heart directly. “I dinnae ken if I’ll ever recover from such barbs.”

“Aye; ye’ve recovered from worse, I’m sure.

” The pair stared at each other for a beat, Olivia briefly getting lost in his seafoam gaze.

She wanted to tell him off about the string of lies she’d been forced to spin so far, but then Arthur cleared his throat, glancing about as folk continued to trudge back into the setting dark of the keep.

“I noticed yer wearin’ some of the garden flowers,” he began.

Olivia blinked, fingers brushing against the petals in her hair.

“Aye–yer sister put ‘em in for me.” It was such a strange shift in mood; Arthur’s usual sway and braggart nature seemed absent, replaced with a gentle stillness that allowed some of his softer emotions freedom.

As still as glass, Olivia thought to herself, though quickly pushed the idea aside. “What, did she do a poor job?”

Arthur’s gaze narrowed slightly. “I ken a trap when I see one, selkie. Ye willnae get me to shame me own sister.”

Olivia giggled and offered a nod of respect.

“I just mean–if ye were interested in putting a few more in there…” Arthur’s sentence trailed off, and Olivia almost couldn’t believe this was the same man who’d just taken down an opponent twice his size.

“Laird MacDonnell,” Olivia gasped. “Are ye tryin’ yer hand at proper courtship?”

His returning smile seemed…far more genuine than before. “Well, we are meant to be betrothed. Should appear as if we enjoy each other’s company.” He offered his hand, which Olivia hesitantly accepted.

He was right, of course; they needed to sell their infatuation, and there was no better proof than spending intimate moments together. It immediately worked as a number of clansfolk whispered and grinned to themselves as the pair walked past them, hand in hand.

Olivia allowed herself to be led towards the rear entrance, a myriad of wildflowers stretching their petals out beneath the moonlight.

Arthur directed her to sit amidst a small cluster of wood sorrels, their bright yellow buds the perfect contrast to her hair.

“Yer experienced with doing a lass’s hair, then? ”

Arthur scoffed, immediately taking a small strand of her hair before weaving a tight braid with impressive speed and precision.

He wove a number of sorrels between each twist, tying off the end before eventually moving on to another lock of hair.

Olivia debated telling him off for touching her, but this wasn’t…

exactly ‘touching’ her, so to speak. And she was enjoying the personal care…

not that she would ever admit it to his face.

“Ye didnae think ‘twas our Mam who taught Flora how to braid so well?” Arthur suddenly asked.

“Oh, so ye willane disgrace yer sister, but yer maither is an open target?” Olivia admonished.

“Aye, she kens how terrible her braidwork is,” Arthur chuckled, finishing up another before starting on a third. “But she also kens I’d fall on me own sword to keep her–and Flora–safe from harm.”

The words settled heavily onto Olivia’s shoulders, and for a moment, she allowed silence to stretch out between her and the laird. Arthur seemed hardly bothered, entirely focused on the task at hand as Olivia occasionally came out of her thoughts from a light tug on her head. “Arthur…”

“I wanted to apologize fer before,” Arthur interrupted.

He pulled her hair into a larger bunch, weaving the braids into one thick mass while peppering in flowers here and there.

“Back in yer room–I hadnae meant to phrase me words as I had.” He gently tied off the last braid, placing it over Olivia’s shoulder as to allow for her inspection.

“But it still hurt ye, and I dinnae want that to linger between us. Yer not a prize for me to win, and maybe,” he put extra emphasis on the word, a tinge of humor returning to his voice.

“Maybe, I did enjoy the idea o’being a hero for once. Instead of…”

“...instead of a beast?” Olivia asked softly.

Arthur didn’t have a response, and Olivia’s fingers gently brushed against her new hairdo.

It really was exquisitely done, each smaller braid perfectly made, each flower lovingly and carefully placed.

She could feel the care and hard work radiating off the hairstyle, and she turned her head upright to meet Arthur’s eye.

“If I were to judge you on yer hand in a war, I would have to judge me own family’s involvement, too.

” She blow a stray strand of hair off her forehead, moving to stand upright from the ground.

Arthur moved to grasp her hand, an act that hardly surprised Olivia, even within the short time she’d known him.

“I daenae think yer that black an’ white, m’laird.”

“Oh?”

Olivia nodded, a slight blush creeping across her face. “Though, I do think yer fascination with fighting makes ye a bit strange.”

“Och, nay; ye just never experienced it like I have. That rush ye get when ye draw yer sword for the first time, when steel clangs and bites into yer enemy’s skin,” Arthur sighed, a somewhat dreamy expression crossing his face. “‘Tis what I live for, selkie.”

What he lived for…Olivia never considered such a violent pastime could bring joy to someone. But during the skirmish, while Arthur was engaged against the younger boy and his man-at-arms…he really did seem to be in a state of contentment.

“Aye, ye know what?” Arthur clapped his hands together, as if a bolt of inspiration had just struck him down.

“Ye oughta experience it for yerself! I ken ye got experience with a bow; meet me here tomorrow, after ye’ve had something to eat.

And wear something comfortable,” he added with his unique way of winking. “Yer likely to get awful worked up.”

Olivia felt her face flush hotter, watching as the laird had–at some point–closed the short distance between them.

He still smelled heavily of sweat from his brawl, yet the musky odor didn’t seem to bother her as much as she expected.

If anything, Olivia was eager to test that ‘legendary’ stamina for herself.

Perhaps with a swim in the ocean, a run through the hills, a wrestling match of her own in the confines of their–!

“Y-Yes!” Olivia took a healthy step back, offering a quick curtsy before making a dash for the castle’s back entrance.

“I’ll see ye in the morning, then! Goodnight for now, m’laird!

” As she grasped the doors and quickly ducked inside, her legs nearly gave out at the hearty laughter that trailed out from the laird, still standing in the makeshift garden without a care in the world.

As Arthur watched the door close behind his little selkie, he couldn’t help but sigh softly, his chuckles ebbed.

He wished there wasn’t so much to care about in his world, but as laird of the keep, his day didn’t fully end until every matter had been resolved.

So, willing his own resolve to complete his duty, Arthur started towards the front of the castle, ensuring his little selkie had the time to recover after their intimate meeting.

An apology…the Laird of MacDonnell apologized for nothing–it would make him look weak to his kin and enemies, after all–but Arthur would do just about anything to ensure that beautiful sea goddess held him in good terms. He wanted her to hold far more than that, of course, but Arthur couldn’t afford such distractions.

Right now, his main task was hunting down the whereabouts of Olivia’s mother, a task he was certain could be accomplished.

“The only problem is the part I cannae control,” he mumbled under his breath, pushing through the front gates and entering the castle proper. And that…was if Olivia’s mother had made it to the convent at all.”

He reached the large double-doors, Maesie immediately leaping to her feet as she circled him enthusiastically. “Och, ye fearsome beast,” Arthur chuckled, kneeling down to give the deerhound a proper rub-down. “Ye havenae followed after Flora to her room?”

Maesie let out an excited yip, licking her master’s hand furiously.

“Aye…well, thanks for waiting up.” Arthur stood upright once more, holding the doors open for Maesie to trot in first. He followed close behind, bidding a polite, ‘good night’ to any passing servant or kinsfolk.

One of his councilmen stopped in mid-step, offering a nod to the laird before continuing his journey to his quarters.

“Ye think they bought my wee little trick, Maesie?” Arthur asked under his breath.

The deerhound replied with a slight tilt of her head, tail wagging furiously at the mere mention of her name.