Page 17 of The Highlander’s Fake Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #4)

O livia had never felt so angry in her entire life.

For a moment, she thought the laird had finally begun to open up to her, to soften those cutting edges of him and let her see a bit more of his personal side.

But the moment they’d ducked down into the brush, he’d done nothing but needle her, treating her as if she was simply one of his whelps to train for war.

And this time, she couldn’t stop her temper from completely boiling over.

She had expected Arthur to react. No warrior as seasoned as him would let a young woman take them by surprise, and thus, he had no problem snatching her by the wrist and pulling her around him, her momentum now throwing her to the ground as he quickly rolled to his feet.

But she wasn’t willing to forfeit just yet, digging her fingers into the ground and launching herself toward him once more.

This time, she darted out of his reaching arm, headbutting him straight in the stomach before the pair went tumbling to the ground.

Her hands quickly grasped his, pinning them to the ground as she gasped heavily, adrenaline making her head lighter than a cloud.

She stared at his singular eye, panting, managing to snap out, “Listen here, ye ugsome troll! Ye dinnae get to speak to me as if I were one of yer wee little soldiers. I didnae ask to come out here, and I didnae ask to be spoken to in such a way! And ye didnae get to decide what I do wit me emotions, or if they’re a weakness–I didnae ask fer yer opinion!

So if what ye live for is beatin’ me down and teasin’ a woman who’s still livin’ a wakin’ nightmare, ye best clam up, yer lairship! ”

She spat his title as if it were venom in her mouth, and Arthur found himself wishing for more.

She was hardly any weight against his wrists, and yet, he was perfectly content letting her stay as she was.

He fought the urge to take her there and then, to easily break her hold on him and flip her to the ground, pin her wrists and kiss her so deeply, she’d become breathless for an entirely different reason.

A sea goddess indeed; a wild, untamable force of nature he wanted nothing more than to keep for himself.

Arthur stared at her chest as it heaved heavily, her eyes bore holes through his head, the slender muscle of her arms strained to keep him under her grasp.

This was a new energy to her now, the kind he saw during every clash he’d had between another warrior.

That anger, that spiteful desperation to see your enemy’s back on the ground.

To have it done by your own hand; to be in control of some small aspect of one’s chaotic life.

And in that moment, something new bloomed in Arthur’s chest as well; regret. She was right, of course; Olivia wasn’t a grunt, but a woman who’d been through hell and back. “I…I’m sorry, selkie.”

Olivia blinked, taken aback by the apology.

“Yer right. I took ye out here to show ye something personal, and I havenae treated ye right.” Arthur shifted slightly, trying to shake the unfamiliar pang of guilt away. “Werenae right to tease ye like I did. And, ye’re right; ye didnae ask me fer combat advice.”

Olivia nodded, looking somewhat dazed as the adrenaline visibly loosened its hold on her. She blinked, staring back at Arthur as if she’d just woken from a deep sleep.

“Ye alright, selkie?

Again, Olivia blinked. “‘Twas like something inside me snapped. Wanted to smack that cocky attitude straight outta ye.” She blinked again, suddenly realized she was still on top of the laird, and quickly slid off to allow him to sit upright.

“Did it scare yeh?” Arthur asked.

“A bit,” Olivia admitted. “But…a part of me liked getting lost in it. That anger, that need to show ye I wasnae to be trifled with…” Realization settled across her face as she stared Arthur in the eye.

“Is that…what it feels like? When ye’re on the battlefield, when ye’re up against someone else…

is that what ye were tryin’ to show me, when ye wanted me to land a shot? ”

Arthur nodded. “Every time I get in a fight, that same feelin’ goes through me.

That raw, primal feelin’ to overcome any obstacle is addictive, and it comes about in so many ways.

Sometimes ‘tis a braggart, or an ultimatum ye cannae abide.” Arthur brushed his tunic of dust and debris, then ran a hand through his hair to slick it back out of his face.

His hand lingered against his eyepatch, and he found himself suddenly quite somber.

“Sometimes, ‘tis a warrior who tries to cut ye down, thinking their convictions are better than others.”

Olivia stared at his eyepatch, her own melancholy clear on her face. “D-did it…hurt?”

Arthur offered a small smile. “I would allow meself to be blinded rather than ever considering letting it happen to me kinfolk.

They are who I live fer; their pride, their safety, ‘tis all I need in life.” His smile widened, adding with a slight chuckle, “Ye were quite explosive back there; I think ye may have bruised me wrist a bit.”

Olivia’s stare narrowed, and she crossed her arms with a huff. “Now I know ye’re teasing me, m’laird.”

“Aye, perhaps a wee bit,” he chuckled lightly.

But ‘tis a new thing I live fer, Olivia.

Arthur blinked, somewhat taken aback by the thought.

This woman had hardly been in his life for a handful of days, and yet, she was pulling such strong feelings from the deepest depths of his soul.

Clearing his throat loudly, he moved to grab the bow and offered it back to Olivia.

She hesitated for a moment, but eventually took it. “Ye were right in one aspect of yer insane approach, m’laird?”

“Aye?”

Oliva nodded, a beautiful smirk crossing her face. “After all o’this…I want nothing more than to prove ye wrong .”

Arthur had been absolutely right; that feeling to overcome adversity was surprisingly addictive. As the day stretched on, he focused less on barking orders her way and genuinely helped her to improve. Whenever she missed a shot, Arthur showed her how to read the wind in order to be better prepared.

When he went to gather up her now very-bruised apple, he would have her hold it in her hand, test its weight, truly gain an understanding for what she was aiming for.

Briefly, their fingers brushed against each other, and Olivia admitted that her reason for missing that time had absolutely been due to… distractions.

“Hold on, selkie.”

Olivia froze, bow still pulled back as she glanced over her shoulder at Arthur. “Wh-what is it? I checked the wind, a-and I think I’ve got the arc timing down!”

Arthur chuckled lightly, tucking the bruised apple away before approaching.

“Nay, none o’that. Yer stance is a bit short; ye want to maintain a wider berth, and yer back is…

” his sentence trailed off, hands immediately settling against her waist as he gently coaxed her to turn.

A hot blush lit up across Olivia’s face, and she bit her tongue to keep a squeal building in her throat.

It didn’t help that he then touched her arms, grasped them in his strong hands, shifted her legs wider with his foot and stood right against her back.

“There…”

Olivia waited for Arthur to move away. And, when he didn’t–when the apple suddenly flashed across the sky–her fingers released hold of the string.

Her arrow flew true, whistling through the air until a sturdy thump came from the point striking through the apple’s core.

A flood of emotions rushed through Olivia; Startled panic that she’d actually landed her shot, a rush of delight that she’d finally done it, then a trickling of despair as the apple’s flesh shifting into something more… human, in her mind.

“Aye, yes! Gaun yerself, selkie!” Arthur gave her an excited hug around the waist, though quickly seemed to remember her request and quickly released.

He took a few steps back, leaving Olivia to sway slightly.

God, but the smile on Arthur’s face was beautiful–he sounded so proud of her–and yet, the longer Olivia stared at the newly-skewered apple, the more it twisted into the chest of a warrior.

Of a loyal member of MacCulloh, dead on the ground as her home burned around her.

“I…” Her bow dropped out of her hands, and she found herself reaching out to catch her balance against a nearby tree’s trunk.

What was going on? It was suddenly difficult to catch her breath, like some terrible thing had wrapped its hand around her neck as well.

She couldn’t quite get her heart to slow down, now panicking that it would smash through her ribs and splatter across the ground.

Just like the juices of that apple–of the blood of that warrior, whose lifeless eyes still stared at her as she coward beneath the wagon.

If she had a bow, then, would they be alive?

If she had a bow, could she have fought back?

Could she have protected her mother? What if her mother–? !

“–Olivia!”

She blinked a few times, acutely aware of Arthur’s face.

He’d at some point closed the distance between them, his hands firmly against her shoulders in an attempt to hold her now-trembling body upright.

The look in his eye didn’t hold its usual mischievous glint, or the soft sheen she’d gotten to see every so often.

If anything, Arthur looked as worried as…

as she felt, right now. “S-sorry,” she began to apologize.

“‘Tis alright,” Arthur reassured. He helped her settle into a sitting position, pulling at her arisaid as to cover her face and upper body completely. Then, after a beat of consideration, he undid his cloak and draped it around her as well.

“Arthur…”

“Keep it,” Arthur insisted, blinking rainwater out from his eye as rivets ran down the length of his face. “I trust a selkie knows how to keep a cape well-taken care of.”