Page 23 of The Highlander’s Fake Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #4)

O livia’s mother hadn’t left her room since arriving.

Olivia found herself inconsolable, wandering the halls of the castle with a stormcloud hanging over her head; as dark and heavy as the ones that gathered outside.

Flora and Elspeth did their best to comfort her, but in truth, their presence only reminded her of what she may have just lost not hours ago.

So, Olivia wandered, milling about the makeshift garden or holding up in her own room, tucked beneath the heavy furs of her bed and spiraling in the warm, stuffy darkness.

Eventually, a gentle knock forced her upright, blankets sliding off her body as she tried to quickly put herself together.

A fleeting hope in her chest wanted to believe it was her mother, but it was Arthur’s mother waiting on the other side as she opened the door.

“A-Ah. G-Good afternoon, yer lady…M-Mam.”

Elspeth offered a sad smile, gesturing to be invited in. Olivia did so immediately, offering a nearby chair for her to sit in.

“I daenae wish to disturb ye fer too long,” Elspeth admitted. “I feel as if I’ve invaded yer personal life far too much already.”

Olivia’s heart broke just a bit further. “Y-Ye did nay such thing. If it werenae fer ye, I daenae think I would feel as welcomed.”

Elspeth sighed loudly, nervously wringing her hands as she spoke. “Ye very sweet fer saying that, but I shouldnae have told yer maither about yer engagement so soon. And ye…” her voice trailed off, blinking furiously. “Oh, Olivia–ye said such wonderful things about me son.”

She had. And she was certain now she’d meant every word of it. “Me maither…” Olivia swallowed painfully, determined not to tear up anymore. “Too much has happened to break our bond so easily. I…she just needs some space, I think.”

Elspeth hesitated, then held her arms out wide.

Olivia smiled weakly, accepting her invitation and went in for an embrace.

It was the first time in hours she felt truly grounded–safe–and she wanted nothing more than to honor the trust this practical stranger had gifted her. “Do ye ken when Arthur will be back?”

Elspeth pulled away slightly, stroking Olivia’s hair tenderly away from her face.

“I daenae think he’ll be long. Rain’s coming down something awful–I’ll send him yer way when he arrives, sweetness.

” She gave Olivia’s forehead a gentle kiss, pulling away with a remorseful smile on her face.

“She’ll come around, Olivia. I ken she will–that hen fought far too hard to get back to ye. ”

Hearing someone else say it was…far more reassuring than Olivia had realized. With a slight nod, she managed to hold herself together long enough for the door to shut behind Elspeth . Then, she dropped into the armchair herself, allowing a moment of tears to wash over her in this moment of privacy.

Arthur had never moved so quickly in his life.

He’d barely registered the rest of his mother’s greeting before he took off through the castle, leaving puddles of water in his wake and hoping to reach Olivia’s room in time.

In time for…what, exactly, he couldn’t rightly say.

In time for his own talking points to stay fresh in his mind?

In time to catch her before she decided to go back on her word?

His selkie had, more or less, chosen him over her own mother; if he were put in such a position, Arthur was certain he’d be equally as furious.

Demand to be released from such a ridiculous facade.

He finally stumbled to a halt before Olivia’s door, lifting to knock furiously before reconsidering.

As far as he knew, the poor woman was already asleep, perhaps finally able to do so after tossing and turning from all the terrible thoughts in her head.

The rain pounded loudly against the castle walls, and for a moment, Arthur considered turning around and leaving their conversation for tomorrow.

Fate had other ideas, however, as the door suddenly swung open, Olivia standing on the other side with a startled gasp. “A-Arthur!”

He blinked, completely forgetting why he was there in the first place.

“Gracious–yer soaking wet, m’laird!” Olivia quickly ushered him inside, closing the door behind him as she went for the linens. “Here, take off yer clothes–shirt,” she quickly corrected herself. “Shirt! I meant just yer shirt.”

Arthur did so, unable to hold back a smirk as Olivia’s voice audibly squeaked. Her face flushed terribly, doing her best to hide it behind said linen as she handed it his way, and Arthur decided not to tease her over the fact. It was hardly the time, at any rate.

“Do ye have a moment to spare, selkie?” Arthur asked, rubbing his hair down and moving down to dry his chest. He watched Olivia’s gaze focus intently on him for a moment, then blink and nod frantically, her face a far brighter shade of pink than before.

“A-Aye, m’laird,” Olivia stammered. “I…have plenty of time fer ye.”

He knew she hadn’t meant it that way, but Arthur’s heart couldn’t help but soar in his chest. He loudly cleared his throat, draping the now-damp linen across his shoulders as he gestured towards a chair. Olivia moved to get it for him, but Arthur shook his head.

“I meant it to be for ye.”

“Oh.”

“Dinnae want to get yer furniture wet,” Arthur explained.

“Of course.” Olivia immediately sat down, hands folding over her lap and posture horrifically stiff.

Arthur didn’t exactly feel at ease, either, his leg bouncing off from the nerves skittering through his body.

Why was he so nervous, though? They were just talking to each other–he hadn’t had this problem before, especially when it was just the two of them.

Though, the subject of their conversation was… unpleasantly new.

Arthur exhaled loudly, deciding he had to be the one to start. “I’m sorry about yer maither, Olivia.”

Olivia visibly flinched; the metaphorical wound was still fresh. “She…just needs some time. If I’d had the chance to tell her about the ruse beforehand…”

“Aye, me own maither was a bit too excited,” Arthur admitted. Silence hung between them, and once more, he cleared his throat. “Then, ye haven’t the chance to tell her, yet?”

Olivia shook her head.

“I’m sorry I made ye lie so much, lass.”

Much to Arthur’s surprise…Olivia shook her head once more. “It’s nae yer fault entirely. I do think me maither needs some space, but…” she grasped a strand of her hair and began to absentmindedly braid it.

“May I?”

Olivia paused, visibly biting her lip and clutching the strand. Then, she nodded, setting her hands back onto her lap as Arthur crossed the room and stood behind her. “This is…much harder to say than I thought.”

“Take yer time,” Arthur reassured, bringing strands together for a braid.

And take her time she did; Olivia sat in her chair for what felt like forever, watching small flames dance within her hearth as Arthur quietly worked. It gave him a chance to think for himself as well, truly string his sentences together so as to not have them misconstrued.

Each finished braid brought new resolve, and once he finished the partial updo, his hands lingered against her shoulders, wanting nothing more than to gently caress them. To slide his arms around her chest, grasp her bosom, and endlessly kiss the back of her neck.

“Ye asked me once if we should simply betroth for real,” Olivia began softly. “To make it so I daenae have to lie as much.”

“Aye, I did.”

Olivia glanced over her shoulder, expression wavering between a desire and desperation. “Do…do you think we could do that, now?”

There it was. Out in the open, for Arthur to do with as he saw fit. Olivia felt as if she could melt into the chair itself, vanish completely from the world and her lackluster confession

. She should have said more, been clear and concise, as to not confuse the laird with her tip-toeing around the subject. But now, her words failed her. Now, it was Arthur’s turn to speak, and as she heard him inhale to do so, Olivia was certain she couldn't handle it.

She watched his expression closely, noting the slight twitch at the corner of his lip, the range of emotions flashing across his eye.

It was like watching the sea churn beneath his gaze; unpredictable, powerful, and dangerous if someone made the wrong move.

Moment by moment, she could feel her chest begin to tighten. Moment by moment, regret overtook her.

“Ye really meant all those things ye said to yer maither,” Arthur began. “Didnae ye, selkie?”

Olivia could barely will herself to nod.

“Ye really have done so much for me, Arthur. And…” she bit her lip, but bravely continued.

“And it truly is hard not to ignore that.” The way Arthur’s expression shifted…

Olivia knew he felt the same. Then, suddenly, Arthur walked around the chair, closing the distance between them in mere moments.

Olivia’s breath hitched in her chest, their noses practically touching.

“We cannae do that anymore, selkie,” Arthur whispered gently. “It has to stay a ruse.”

Olivia blinked furiously, wanting nothing more than to fall into his embrace. But he put up a chilling air around him; cold, distant, incredibly clear that he wanted her to keep his distance. She stood and took a step away from him, fingers brushing the braid he had done so carefully in her hair.

“Ye ken, ye could have just announced I’m under yer protection without convincing people we were betrothed. I’d still be safe here, I think. Why insist yer fake betrothal to be me then?” she managed to croak out.

Arthur’s hand reached out, and she leaned forward once more, desperate to feel his warmth against her face. “I’d like to know that meself, selkie,” he replied, withdrawing his hand and stepping around her toward the door.

Olivia watched him go to leave, a terrible panic grasping at her chest.

“Daenae ye ever think about making this real?”

Arthur’s shake of the head stabbed her chest worse than any knife ever good.

“But why not?”

The door opened up, with Arthur stepping beneath its frame and closing it wordlessly behind him.

But why not?

Arthur shook his head, bracing himself against the wall opposite Olivia's bedroom door. Anger trembled throughout his body–at himself, for allowing it all to get so out of control. The way Olivia had looked at him nearly made Arthur break there and then; he had to leave, knowing full well that if he had stayed, he would have certainly struggled to follow Olivia’s one and only rule.

Was that how she looked when she learned of her father and brother’s deaths?

Was that how she looked when her clan turned against her?

He never wanted to see that look again–a gut-wrenching mixture of disappointment, of betrayal, of a lie coming to light and shattering the world around her.

“But…” Arthur sighed, forcing himself to take a step away from Olivia’s room.

But, he couldn’t imagine how much worse that look would be if they wed.

If they begin to build a life together, have children…

only for fate to take him away from her.

She would wear that look for the rest of her days, alone in a strange land with children who were lucky to make it another day alive.

The highlands were savage, merciless; it demanded its pound of flesh from the lairds who lived beside it, and Arthur was no exception.

“I willnae leave her a widow,” Arthur resolved once more, tightening his fists as he picked up his pace.

More than anything, he needed to relieve the burning in his chest. The aching desire he held for Olivia–it needed to be channeled elsewhere.

And without emotional connection as an option, Arthur turned to the only thing he knew with more certainty than his destiny; violence.

So, without another glance cast towards Olivia’s door, he made his way through the castle and out to the training grounds, desperate to reclaim the first thing that gave him life after Olivia had all but encompassed his reasoning.