Page 20 of The Highlander’s Fake Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #4)

T he sun beat against Olivia’s bare back as she laid strewn across the sparring grounds, elbows and arms smeared in dirt and bruises from the number of times she’d been thrown down that morning.

It had been a little under a week since she’d properly arrived at MacDonnell’s keep, a little under a day or two since she’d begun her training with Arthur.

As expected, she’d gone to bed that first night tired and aching, and she felt much the same this morning, too. Especially now, having been tossed over the laird’s shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

“Come on, selkie!” Arthur laughed, his bare chest slick with sweat. “That’s not all ye have to offer, is it?”

It was not. Olivia let out a grunt, shoving herself back up to her feet and tightened her ponytail. At the very least, she was starting to grow more comfortable in the trousers, and the initial embarrassment over wearing nothing but a breast band had all but faded away.

Arthur had been right; maneuvering in a dress would have been entirely impractical, and it was far easier for Olivia to master the movements he demonstrated if she could move as freely as he could.

She dug the boot of her heel into the ground and sprang forward, keeping low as to try and stay out of his grasp.

Arthur’s hand shot toward her, and she re-directed her momentum into a forward shoulder roll, darting around his side and springing back to her feet.

“Not bad,” Arthur mused. “But yer still runnin’ at me without a plan of attack. ”

Olivia gasped, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Isnae the point to simply knock ye off-balance? I daenae have to actually hurt ye–I daenae even have to take ye to the ground, much as ye seem to enjoying doing similar to me.”

Arthur snorted with laughter. “Aye, but ye willane accomplish even that simple goal wit yer body and mind at odds. Ye gotta be thinking while running at me; where are ye aiming fer, and why?”

Olivia gritted her teeth, darting forward once more as her hand stretched out to smack Arthur’s ankle. Mere seconds later, she let out a pained squeal as Arthur’s hand grasped her ponytail and flung her away, resulting in her on the ground, once more, face-down in the dirt.

“T’will be an impressive showing against yer clan, lass,” Arthur scolded. “How do ye expect to last against any o’yer own warriors like this?”

“I dinnae want to train for revenge against me clan, Arthur,” Olivia clarified.

“They betrayed ye.”

“They’re scared,” Olivia insisted. “I willnae prove their fears right. Only that I am deserving of their respect.”

Arthur didn’t look too pleased by her response, but he said nothing further on the subject. Instead, his eye fixated on her legs, letting out a sigh and a shake of his head.

“What now, ye nit-pickin oaf?” Olivia snapped. “Ye could offer something more than just criticism and witty banter.”

“Olivia, I ken ye can do this.”

“‘Tis impossible, Arthur!” Olivia tore out her ponytail, hair coming undone in a display as wild as the anger spewing out from her chest. “Ye’ve had years o’practice, and I’ve barely held a bow, let alone wrestled a man twice me size.”

Olivia snorted, running her hands through her hair and shaking it out to get some airflow between the thick strands.

“I’m serious,” Arthur insisted. “Ye need to stop thinkin’ o’this as something ye can fail. In a real fight, the only option is to win. Otherwise, ye might as well lay down an’ make it easier fer yer opponent. Do ye wanna die, Olivia?”

Memories of the tarn rushed past Olivia, sending a cold shudder throughout her body. Her chest briefly tightened, and she shook her head furiously.

“Then, come at me like ye have no other choice!”

Olivia’s gaze narrowed, scrutinizing Arthur as she began to tie her hair back once more.

He was perfectly balanced, a massive frame of a man she had no hope of knocking over.

And he had years of experience under his belt, meaning whatever strategy she thought of, he’d likely already anticipated. Which meant…?

It felt terrible to admit, but Arthur adored seeing his little selkie unapologetically furious.

She glared daggers at him from across the field, sweat glittering against her face and occasionally pooling between the exposed parts of her bosom.

Truly, he hadn’t expected her to so willingly strip herself down to the bare essentials of clothing (not that he was complaining, of course), but it really was far easier to ascertain her fighting prowess.

Without the restriction of stiff and layered clothing, Arthur could fully observe the power she had behind her legs, the way her body could twist and move as she darted out of his range.

And, yes; he found himself mesmerized at the way she moved, as if she were fighting against the roaring current of the ocean’s pull.

He hadn’t wanted to speak so cruelly to her, either.

But sympathy got you killed in a fight, and Arthur had to instill that sense of urgency into Olivia.

Throughout the days she spent in his keep, it became more and more obvious to him that, perhaps, the cold hadn’t been all that stopped Olivia from swimming across that tarn.

He’d never openly said it, though–never brought it up in conversations, even when it was just the two of them–because what occurred in the woman’s mind wasn’t his business to judge.

All he could do now was give her the tools to better herself, supply that burning desire to fight with everything one had.

Suddenly, she began to move. But this time, Olivia didn’t sprint across like a wild beast catching the scent of blood.

She almost…slunk? It was the only word that came to Arthur’s mind; her steps appearing nonchalant, the sway of her hip and the shift in her shoulders appearing as if she were preparing to perform a dance, not take him off his feet.

A quizzical raise of the brow and a bemused smile crossed Arthur’s face. “What are ye doing, selkie?”

Olivia didn’t reply. Her gaze remained light, neutral, with a touch of a smirk that only added to her building mystique.

She’d closed the distance between them fairly quickly, brushing a strand of hair away from her breasts with such flourish, Arthur couldn’t help but stare.

And then, suddenly, she stopped, just out of arm’s reach.

Her hands folded behind her back, and she tilted her head upward to catch Arthur’s eye.

“I–?”

And she closed her eyes, beautiful lips pursing expectedly.

Arthur blinked. Blinked again. He wondered if, perhaps, this was her way of waving the white flag.

Maybe he had been a bit too rough with her; after all, it was only their second day of training, and he’d expected quite a bit from her already.

Besides, he wasn’t entirely against the idea of claiming this particular victory.

Perhaps she had finally loosened up on her rules?

Arthur chuckled lightly, shifting out of his stance as to start towards her. And then, suddenly, he found himself staring up at the sky, dropping to the ground with a breathless gasp.

The moment Olivia heard his foot step forward, she dropped to the ground, her foot striking out and catching against Arthur’s ankle.

He stumbled forward, unable to catch his balance, moment throwing him forward as she slipped out of the way.

Then, as he rolled onto his back. Olivia dropped onto his chest and pinned his arms to the ground, a triumphant smile flashing across her lips.

The world was silent for a brief moment, as if paying its respect to the newly-born warrior.

Olivia couldn’t help but notice how defined his muscle really was, how rigid and stiff his core was as she sat against it.

Without clothing between them, it was impossible to notice the strength of his arms, the sweat that left his skin slick and…

aesthetically pleasing. Olivia hadn’t even noticed the look on his face until now; surprise, yes, but there was a burning pride behind his seafoam gaze. An unmistakable yearning for…for…?

“Arthur! They’re back!”

Olivia blinked, suddenly aware of the laird’s arms around her waist. He set her aside and quite easily stood up, souring the takedown a touch in Olivia’s mind.

But the thought quickly left as she followed after Arthur, finally noticing the commotion down the hill and at the center of the keep.

A group of horsemen rode through the center path, quickly making their way toward the castle entrance.

Elspeth was already at the castle’s back entrance, holding the door open for Arthur as he quickly ran past.

“Are those,” Olivia asked, her heart beating wildly against her ribcage.

Elspeth offered a hopeful nod, ushering Olivia inside as they all dashed throughout the castle.

A cavalcade of horses greeted her as Olivia made it beneath the front doorway, Arthur immediately pulling Nathan aside for a full report.

Him, and every man behind him, looked absolutely haggard, heavy bags hanging beneath their bleary eyes.

And yet, every one of them looked ready to strike out again at a moment’s notice, should their laird command it.

But Olivia’s attention only lingered on the warriors.

She craned her neck, trying desperately to spot her mother against the wave of men.

Elspeth held her hand tightly, equally searching with a frantic vigor, until she suddenly squeezed Olivia’s hand and pointed farther back.

There, a small crowd of horses began to part, allowing a rider from the middle position to trot forth.

And there, sitting up at the front of the saddle, was Olivia’s mother.