Page 16 of The Highlander’s Fake Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #4)
The pair raced past the secret cove and bounded up towards the forested part of MacDonnall’s territory.
Waves crashed against the sheer cliffs as Arthur pulled back on his reins, bringing òr into a canter, then a trot, and finally, a complete stop.
Olivia came mere seconds later, forced to slow Airgiod by taking a few, wide laps around the grove.
Finally, she directed him back towards Arthur, face flushed and smile as bright as he’d ever seen.
“Nae fair! Yer familiar wit the terrain, ye swick!”
“Aye, I was born here, selkie,” Arthur laughed. “Hard nay to have the advantage.” He slid off his saddle and moved towards Olivia, standing beside her horse with a slight smirk. She rolled her eyes in return, offering her hand as he helped her down.
“Do I really have to distinguish between the sort o’touching that’s allowed?” Oliva asked.
Arthur solemnly nodded in reply. “Aye, afraid so. Otherwise, I willnae ken when I’ve broken yer rule.” He chuckled as she gave him a one-armed shove, noticing she hadn’t yet let go of his hand. And…it remained as such, Olivia simply looking at him with curious expectation.
“Ah, right.” Arthur turned towards the denser part of the forest, testing his luck as he gave Olivia’s hand a gentle tug to follow after.
She did so, without complaint or attempting to wrench free, and Arthur felt pride begin to swell in his chest. It reminded him of his childhood, of a younger Laird who was absolutely clueless what the future held for him.
The pair eventually reached the end of the brush, rolling hills stretching out far past the drizzly horizon.
Arthur gently eased Olivia into a squat, the pair now obscured by anything–anyone–who wandered the woods alongside them.
“So, what is it we’re doing, exactly?” His selkie asked.
“Ye mentioned showing me what, ‘gave ye life,’ or somesuch.”
“What I lived for,” Arthur corrected. “And, aye, but it requires a bit o’ preparation.
” He glanced around, hoping to distract Olivia as his hand slipped into his belt pouch and palmed an apple.
“Usually, I do this wit Maesie, but she seemed awful content with Flora this morning, so…” He eyed a particularly overgrown patch of grass, loosening his arms up while cracking his neck. “Prepare yer bow, now…”
Olivia obliged, slipping it around her head and slotting in an arrow with one, fluid motion. Arthur took a moment to appreciate the professional grip she held on her weapon; she truly was more of a hunter than he’d first assumed.
“Get ready,” Arthur warned, reaching his arm back as he grasped the apple tightly.
“R-Ready fer what–?”
The fruit went flying through the air, Olivia letting out a startled squeak.
Her muscle memory seemed to take over as she quickly arched her shot, trailing the apple as it hit the peak of its arc.
Her arrow whizzed through the air, completely flying overhead as the apple dropped into the grass and let loose a flurry of mottled feathers.
A whole flock of pheasant scattered in a panic, some taking off deeper into the hills while others foolishly took to the skies, in hopes their predator was flightless.
Unfortunately for them, an arrow had no such problem.
Fortunately (for the pheasant, at least), Olivia was still taken aback by.
“W-What was that?!” She snapped, clearly annoyed. “What did ye throw just now?”
“Just an apple,” Arthur replied, as if the answer was the most obvious in the world.
Olivia shot him an incredulous look. “Wh–was I supposed to hit that, or was ye trying to get out of hunting fer dinner tonight?”
“Och, nay, lass; I wouldnae force ye to take a life unwillingly. Though,” Arthur added, hand already back in his pouch. “I would have been impressed if ye managed such a quick target. Grouse are notorious fer being a pain in the neck.”
“And ye didnae warn me of any of this because…?!”
“A real skirmish willnae give ye time to prepare,” Arthur replied curtly, hand grasping another piece of fruit.
“Well, I already ken what yer up to,” Olivia pointed out.
“So yer little, ‘trick’ willnae work again–!” She cursed wildly, whipping her bow around as Arthur once more threw something into the air.
It was a plum this time, and the unexpected change in size pulled an irritated snarl out from Olivia; she hadn’t even managed to fire an arrow off this time.
“Yer awful focused on mouthin’ off at me,” Arthur observed.
“Yer awful insistent on testin’ me patience,” Olivia hissed back. “What, do ye live fer irritating me, y’lairdship?”
Arthur shrugged, glancing up at the sky as he trailed the sun’s path for a beat. “‘Tis awful funny, but, no.” Subtly, he began to slip another fruit into his hand, adding almost as a forethought, “Did ye actually want to eat any o’these treats of mine?”
“Ye act like they’re always in season,” Olivia huffed. “I hadnae seen any apple or plum trees around the coast; does yer maither ken ye’re wasting valuable food?”
“I’m nay the one who keeps missing,” Arthur pointed out.
“Ye didnae tell me–!”
“Yer enemy willnae tell ye, either.” Arthur shook his head, fingers just barely brushing against another apple he had stored away.
“So ye better focus on the right target, selkie. Nobody cares if ye’re havin’ a hard time.
” He grasped the apple tightly, adding afterwards, “If anything, they’re counting on ye emotions to run wild.
‘Tis an obvious weakness fer women in a fight, so if ye dinnae wish to be cut down.”
Arthur froze, acutely aware that Olivia wasn’t staring at him anymore.
She was staring at his hand–or, more importantly, the hand slipped into his pouch.
He had expected her to yell at him, maybe shove or slap him against the shoulder for messing with her so incessantly.
What he had not expected was her throwing her bow into the brush and straight-up tackling into his chest.