Page 14 of The Highlander’s Fake Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #4)

“Aye…I think I’ll need to be more convincin,” Arthur agreed.

He paused at a stonecarved staircase, Maesie standing patiently at his side with the occasional glance upward.

As spirited as she was, it always brought him reassurance that the deerhound knew when to focus on her duties.

And she would have likely sat beside him for hours, stiff as a board and waiting for her next command.

“Release, Maesie,” Arthur said sternly. “Go an’ protect Flora.”

With a delighted bark, Maesie took off up the stairs, intent on getting to Flora’s room in record time.

It brought a reassuring smile to Arthur’s face, and as he turned to make his way toward his study, he wasn’t surprised at all at his man-at-arms’ sudden appearance.

As massive as he was, Nathan could be surprisingly silent when he chose to.

“Maesie’s on her way up,” Arthur informed him.

Nathan nodded curtly.

“She really is perfectly trained, Nathan.”

“Best dog to date,” Nathan replied. “Flora ken what she saw in that wee runt, and I strive to remain trusting o’her judgement.”

“Ye sayin’ that as respect to her title as laird’s sister,” Arthur inquired innocently. “Or because she’s yer wife?”

Nathan simply offered a raised brow in reply.

He followed his laird to the cellar as taking the chair closest toward the hearth.

Arthur wandered to a shelf filled to the brim with war memorabilia; scraps of tabards taken from now-decimated clans, bits of chipped weaponry from lairds he’d taken down, and a number of seashells carefully displayed highest of all, with a dried floral crown encircling it.

He reached behind for a small cask of whiskey, the strong scent of alcohol hitting the air immediately as he filled a pair of goblets.

“Yer special reserves, m’laird?” Nathan inquired.

“Feels like a special night,” Arthur replied, offering the cup towards his man-at-arms before taking a seat across from him.

The pair offered a silent toast between them, Nathan slowly nursing his drink while Arthur downed it in one go.

His man-at-arms raised a quizzical brow, but remained quiet on the matter.

Instead, he cleared his throat and set his cup against a nearby table, removing a folded slip of parchment from his vest.

“Missive came back from to warriors we sent out this morning,” Nathan began. “Seems the convent closest to our border had nay sign of Olivia’s mother."

As expected. Arthur blew out a heavy breath, filling his goblet once more.

If her mother had made it that far, there would have been quite a number of holes cut into his little selkie’s story.

Luckily for her–for his peace of mind–it seemed Olivia’s narrative held its weight in truth.

“‘Tis likely to be further in the MacCulloh’s territory. Send message back to tread with caution; we dinnae need anymore o’their blood on our hands. ”

Nathan nodded, though dug back into his vest once more. He presented another parchment, though this one was neatly rolled and faintly smelled of rose petals. “Duncan sent this one. ‘Tis for Rose; he’s havin’ a ceilidh when the moon’s nay but a sliver in to sky.”

A celebration, and amidst all the excitement at his own keep.

Arthur accepted the invitation, a dry chuckle escaping his lips.

“Aye, that sleekit…ken full well I wouldnae say ‘nay’ to wee Rosie.” He placed the letter beside him and glanced back toward his man-at-arms, who continued to look as if he had more to say. “What else, Nathan?”

Nathan’s expression hardly wavered. “‘Tis nay important, m’laird.”

“Go on, then,” Arthur insisted. “Ye ken I value yer opinion on matters.”

The briefest flicker of hesitancy, but Nathan spoke nonetheless. “Will ye be takin’ yer betrothed with ye?”

“To the ceilidh?”

Nathan nodded, quietly waiting for his laird’s response as his cup remained abandoned on the table beside him.

Arthur rolled the idea around in his head.

It would certainly help convince the council how ‘serious’ he was…

“I daenae see why not. Though, I’m certain Olivia willnae leave until her maither’s safe, so I’ll send a few kinsfolk ahead to let Duncan ken I’ll arrive late.

” He paused, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“Ye think Rosie would like a deerhound? Alison sang high praises fer Maesie last we visited.”

“The houndmaster’s finished training the latest litter,” Nathan said. “Ye can have yer pick o’the best.”

“Ye mean Flora can,” Arthur chuckled.

“Do ye think it wise, m’laird?”

“Aye!” Arthur insisted. “We both agreed Flora has–”

“--to bring Olivia MacLarsen with ye, m’laird” Nathan explained.

Arthur’s brow furrowed slightly. “Ye dinnae trust her?”

His man-at-arms remained silent.

Arthur sat forward in his chair. “Ye really think she can hurt me, Nathan?”

“I think it’s yerself that will cause pain, m’laird.”

A spark of anger flashed through Arthur’s blood, boiling over into his tone. “I have done naething to hurt her.”

“Recently, aye.”

Arthur shook his head, waving his man-at-arms to leave before his temper won out. Nathan did so with a quick bow, though he lingered at the laird’s door for a moment longer. “I passed a few lasses interested in ye tonight.”

“Send them back to their own quarters,” Arthur replied immediately. As the door closed, he stood and snatched Nathan’s unfinished cup, polishing off in one swig. This sea goddess intended to drive him mad.