Page 2 of The Highlander’s Fake Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #4)

A rthur wasn’t entirely sure what he’d just borne witness to. It had started as a flicker of movement from the corner of his good eye, pulling the string of his hunting bow as he let out a low, sharp whistle. A low growl answered his command as the forest’s brush shifted beside him.

Soon after, a massive deerhound stalked out from the dim, ashen coat practically pearlescent beneath the moonlight.

She stood stiffly at her master’s heel, poised and fixated on the shadow now tumbling down the ravine.

It let out a tremendous splash as it hit the water, though what he assumed to be a head quickly broke through the surface.

Arthur squinted, trying to discern the shape as best he could.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d watch a clumsy deer fall over itself, though the size of its head bobbing in the tarn wasn’t quite the right shape.

At the very least, he was certain it wasn’t a buck, meaning the one he’d been hunting all night had likely–finally–given him the slip.

“Still, a meal’s a meal,” he muttered, drawing his bowstring back. “Ready yeself, Maesie.”

His hunting companion let out another growl, fur standing stiff along her shoulders as she prepared to sprint on command.

“Of all the bloody–!”

Arthur froze, blinking furiously at the unexpected curse emitting from the tarn.

It took a moment to process it as a voice–a woman’s, no less–and he immediately cast his bow aside and began sliding down the slope.

His cloak billowed out behind him, callused hands dragging against the dirt to slowly control his descent; he’d be of no use to anyone if he, too, fell into the frigid waters.

Maesie was quick to follow after, finding her footing first and bounding across the bank as Arthur followed closely behind, shrugging off any extra clothing to make himself as light as possible for his impromptu swim.

He glanced up just in time to watch the deerhound hit the water, swimming furiously towards the shape as it, too, drew closer to the bank.

There was no mistaking it, now; Arthur watched as a woman’s head bobbed across the surface, her arms occasionally breaking free as she frantically swam to safety.

Then, suddenly, she went under without a sound, prompting him to simply kick his boots in whatever direction and sprint for the water. “Maesie, retrieve!”

The deerhound let out a howling reply, immediately diving beneath the water where the woman had vanished. Soon, Arthur himself dove into the tarn, the shock of cold only pushing him forward faster. It was a murky sight as he opened his eyes; he could barely see his own hand in front of his face.

But, eventually, that hand caught hold of something other than empty space, and Arthur yanked against the fabric, bursting once more to the surface with another head in tow. Maesie followed soon after, jaw clamped around the woman’s sleeve as she struggled to hold her upright.

“Aye, lass! Ye with us?” Arthur hadn’t genuinely expected a reply, working quickly to shift her deadweight beneath his body. She refused to budge further, clearly snagged on something far beneath the water’s surface.

“Maesie, hold!”

The deerhound let out a strained whimper, kicking furiously to keep the woman’s head above.

Arthur soon dove back underneath, working his hunting knife free from his belt as he grasped around the woman’s body.

Eventually, his hand caught against fabric once more, and with a yank, it became clear that this was the anchoring point.

His blade quickly sawed through, and he pushed beneath the woman to surface her further, finally able to drape one arm around his neck.

“Maesie, release!”

The deerhound obeyed, snout pushing the woman’s arm to her master as he pulled it similarly over his shoulders.

The smell of a burning torch ripped Olivia from semi-consciousness, a scream clawing its way out from the depths of her soul.

Something behind her let out a panicked yelp, a series of sharp barks indicating the thing’s displeasure for her outburst. Olivia blinked furiously, head craning to catch the face of a deerhound curled up behind her, acting as an impromptu pillow.

Her fur was a beautiful silver that shimmered blue beneath the moonlight, crisp and wiry beneath Olivia’s fingers.

It was as if she’d lived her entire life running against the salted sea air, and Olivia couldn’t help but be utterly fascinated.

A cracking snap pulled her attention forward, the flickering heat of a fire–not a torch–unexpectedly warming the frigid chill from her face.

Or, whatever chill remind; she found herself wrapped tightly in an oversized cloak, hair strewn out against her back and already dried.

As if someone had carefully rubbed a cloth through it, or kept her close enough to the fire as to dry it quickly.

Hesitantly, she pulled the cloak away and gave her body a quick inspection.

To her horror, someone had stripped her almost entirely from her outerwear, though curiously–and with incredible reassurance–had left her proper dress intact.

The linen felt crunchy against her skin, still rough and somewhat damp from her tumble into the tarn.

Olivia pulled the cloak tighter over her body, gaze lingering back to the rather large dog still curled up beside her.

“Where on earth did ye come from?”

The deerhound tilted their head slightly, as if the answer was quite obvious.

“Dinnae gimme me that look,” Olivia scowled. “And I suppose yer the one with started this fire?”

“Nay; that was me.”

Another shriek slipped out from Olivia as her head spun, watching as a man broke through the shadows, pulling on the reins of a horse. Heart pounding in her chest, she forced herself to breathe and scrutinize, running through memories for any sign of this newcomer’s face.

Much to her relief, she came up empty; whoever this was, he hadn’t come from MacCulloh’s keep.

He didn’t even look to be from this stretch of Scotland; his skin a surprisingly deep tan with sharp features and thick facial hair that reminded her of black rocks jutting out from a stormy sea.

One seafoam-green eye stared straight through her, while the other was covered by a worn leather patch that wound the length of his head and vanished behind long strands of dark, loosely-bound hair.

If she wasn’t so terrified, she might have commented on how similar an appearance he had to the fachans of myth.

“Glad to see ye roused, though,” One-Eye continued, tying his horse to a nearby tree’s limb before pulling a string of hares from the saddle. “Thought I wasted me time with draggin’ a corpse out of the tarn.”

Olivia shifted her posture, trying to lean away as much as she could. Once more, the deerhound let out a snappish yip as her back pressed into them, and the beast quickly got up and trotted to One-Eye’s side.

“Aye, be nice, Maesie,” One-Eye scolded lightly, producing a hunting knife from seemingly nowhere. “The wee selkie’s a bit groggy, still.”

She really was. Olivia ran a hand across her forehead, catching stray hairs and pushing it all back while exhaling loudly. The world refused to stop spinning around her, and she couldn’t help but gravitate towards the man’s voice.

There was an obvious edge–a gruffness every highlander carried alongside themself–but there was an unusually smooth undertone that kept taking her by surprise.

Again, her mind drifted to the past, to picture books and tapestries depicting the sea.

Wrathful and dangerous, yet at times, still as glass itself.

“Ye all right, there?”

Olivia glanced back upward, staring at the man’s churning eye. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead of answering, her own question tumbled out. “‘Wait; what did ye call me earlier?”

“What, ‘selkie’?” One-Eye chuckled lightly, skinning the beast with an obviously honed skill, “Couldnae call ye, ‘corpse’, could I?”

“N-Nay, I just,” Olivia shook her head, debating if she should offer her real name to him. Even if he wasn’t part of MacCulloh proper, he could’ve had friends waiting behind the wall. Best not to chance it, not when every ‘chance’ she’d taken tonight ended in disaster. “I…was taken aback, is all.”

One-Eye shrugged, sticking a skewer through the beast as he stuck it over the fire. “Seemed to fit well enough. Less ye feel like offerin’ another thing to call ye?”

Olivia shook her head, hair bobbing and coming slightly undone at the act.

“Good.” One-Eye hand stroked the length of his deerhound–his ‘Maesie’--as his brow furrowed with a scowl. “Then maybe ye can tell me what yer doin’ out here in the middle of the night?”

The snapping crackle of animal fat hitting the flames broke the long silence between them. Olivia did her best to avoid eye contact, futzing with a loose string she’d discovered on One-Eye’s cloak.

“Fer…the same reason as ye?” An awful excuse. Probably the worst she could’ve come up with. Admittedly, she wasn’t feeling as witty as usual, due in part to her mind still fogged over from the lingering cold.

“Good effort, selkie,” One-Eye chuckled humorlessly. “But yer attire completely gives ye away. Never met a fellow hunter who thought to trek bootless and with no supplies.”

Olivia bit her lip, eyes lingering towards Maesie in some hope she’d find a better excuse.

The deerhound let out a large yawn, stretching her front paws across the ground before standing upright and trotting towards one of the untouched hares.

With a greedy snap, she brought it into her jaw and partially dragged it towards the dim, intent on enjoying her own meal away from the growing tension.

“Yer no help at all,” Olivia grumbled under her breath.

“I’d say I was plenty helpful,” One-Eye remarked. “Yer the one beatin’ round the bush, here.”

She could feel her temper begin to slip through the cracks. “Does it matter? I’m only a wee twig compared to ye.”

“A wee twig can still pierce flesh,” One-Eye retorted, hand gripping the hilt of his hunting knife. “Yer not exactly makin’ yerself sound anymore trustworthy.”

She couldn’t help herself; a harsh, somewhat crazed laughter escaped from Olivia, the kind that left her feeling lightheaded after the fact.

“Trustworthy? Dinnae lecture me about ‘trust’! I’ve spent the whole night runnin’ from folk I thought I could trust!

I nearly drowned just now because of misplaced trust, and if ye think I’ll just–!

” She froze, suddenly bolting upright from beneath the cloak.

“Me arisaid; where did it go? I–I fell in the tarn with it–where is it?”

“Aye, it just about dragged ye down in the depths, selkie.” One-Eye shifted behind himself, producing a familiar cloth that now billowed with a ragged edge. “Sorry, but I had to cut ye free from yer seal’s coat.”

Olivia’s lip twitched, and she quickly rounded the fire to snatch the cloth out from the stranger’s. “Ye think it’s funny, do ye? Laughin’ at another’s misfortune? I oughtta–I-I oughtta throw yer cloak in the fire!”

Maesie’s head lifted briefly, eyeing her master as One-Eye simply rose a brow. “Would it make ye feel better?”

Olivia stood over him for a moment, the nighttime air catching against her clammy skin as a shiver ran down her spine. She grasped her arisaid tightly, thoughts of her mother’s fate threatening to crush her lungs. “N…nay. I–I’m sorry–that was horrid of me to say.”

“‘Tis an ugly cloak, wee selkie,” One-Eye teased lightly. “Old an’ worn; if ye did burn it, I’d finally get a new one.”

That managed a weak chuckle from Olivia. “Even so, I am sorry. Me misfortune isnae ye fault.”

“Will ye at least tell me whose it is?”

Olivia sighed heavily, wrapping her arisaid as best she could around her shoulders. “Laird MacDonnell, I suppose.”

This time, the crackling of animal flesh failed to break the silence between them. Olivia watched as One-Eye pulled the roasting hare out from the fire, gingerly tapping its meat before his seafoam gaze bore right through her. “So, what did I do to cause yer misfortune?”

Olivia blinked, certain she hadn’t heard correctly. She watched as One-Eye stuck the hare back onto the fire, a low growl emanating from the shade where Maesie laid. Every hair on the back of Olivia’s neck stood upright, the light atmosphere suddenly snuffed and replaced with a sour, heavy anxiety.

“Go on, then,” ‘One-Eye’ insisted. “Tell MacDonnell straight to his face what troubles he’s made in yer life, ye wee selkie.”