Page 3 of The Highlander’s Fake Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #4)
A rthur always intended for his voice to carry a certain amount of weight.
A warning, of sorts, to strangers who thought of him as someone to be trifled with.
So, as expected, his selkie moved to step away from him, letting out a panicked squeak as Arthur’s hand found her wrist and held fast. Not tight enough to cause any permanent damage, but enough to keep her close at bay.
Enough to ensure she couldn’t worm her way out of this conversation.
Selkie–the moniker had popped into Arthur’s head after he’d wrapped the woman in his cloak, her wet hair strewn out like the grasping tendrils of red seaweed. And her body; though he’d done his best not to linger while stripping her down…it was hard to ignore the natural shape and curves.
And now, as she stared wide-eyed at him, he found her eyes mesmerising, like looking at the deepest depths of the ocean itself.
He imagined her voluptuous body easily cutting through the waves, tempting any man who crossed her along the beaches.
His own, personal myth, come to life before his very eyes. His goddess of the waves…his selkie.
Who very much looked like a beast trapped in the metaphorical corner.
“I…I…” Selkie stammered, reflexively twisting her wrist in an attempt to escape.
When it became clear that wasn’t an option, Arthur half-expected her to break down into tears.
Beg for her life, sob out some sad story about the horrors of the war between clans.
What he hadn’t expected was for her free hand to ball into a fist and strike out across his face.
Maesie let out a terrifying snarl, leaping to her feet and ready to tear the woman’s throat out.
But Arthur refused to give the command, and thus, his deerhound stood rigid.
He allowed his selkie another strike, though he ensured she wouldn’t get to his face this time, and she punched against his chest while heaving heavily.
“Troubles? Troubles?!” Selkie continued beating against his chest, emphasizing her disgust with each pound of her fist. “Yer the reason me clan turned on me, ye ugsome troll! The reason I fell into the tarn, the reason me faither and braither are dead in the ground!”
Her last sentence took Arthur by surprise. Enough that he loosened his hold just enough for his selkie to slip free. Though, instead of running off, she instead balled her other fist and struck his chest more furiously than before.
“And–And me maither might be joinin’ them soon, ‘cause of ye! Ye took away every part of me home, and yer just gonna stand there an’ ask me what troubles ye’ve caused me?
Me maither–y-ye destroyed the arisaid me maither and I…
” The word hung heavily in the air, seemingly snuffing out whatever fire burned in the wee selkie’s chest. Her fists trembled, pressed against Arthur as if he were the only thing keeping her standing.
He stared at her, hard, knowing full well his next question already had an answer. “What’s yer name, lass?”
Her eyes met his, a raging storm hanging over a restless sea. “Olivia. Olivia MacLarsen, ye scabby dobber.”
Olivia. Daughter to a clan he’d long-since put out of his mind.
Arthur exhaled slowly, waving a hand Maesie’s way as to reassure the beast the trouble had passed.
The deerhound hardly looked convinced, but obedience won out.
She settled back into the grass, half-chewed carcass between her paws as she shot daggers Olivia’s way.
She seemed to notice right away, shoulders stiffening and fear flickering across her sour expression.
“Relax,” Arthur offered in reassurance. “She willnae attack unless I command it.”
“And ye dinnae command it?” Olivia asked tersely.
Arthur shook his head. “Nay, lass; me feud wasnae with ye personally.”
“Just the whole of me folk,” Olivia retorted.
Irritation rose onto Arthur’s tongue, but he forced himself to sit back down instead. The fire continued to flicker between them, the hare’s skin charred and visibly crisping. “Ye can argue all ye’d like after we eat, selkie.”
Olivia’s brow rose, staring her own set of daggers his way. “I told ye my name, didnae I?”
“Ye did, aye,” Arthur remarked, pulling the hare away from the fire and tapping it tentatively. “Though ye’re still actin’ like a beast to me.”
Goddess of the waves indeed; she was as temperamental as the open waters were, unpredictable in their strength and vindictive in nature.
He began to slice a strip of cooked flesh with his knife, balancing it across the blade as the woman’s glare continued to bore through him.
He let out a snort, eye lifting to greet her gaze.
“Yer nae gonna tell me yers?”
“Ye dinnae ken it yerself?”
Her cheeks flushed crimson against the flickering flames, and she immediately rounded the fire to put as much distance as she could between them. Dropping back to the ground in a huff, she tightened her grasp around her arisaid, subtly shivering beneath the now-fraying cloth.
“Put me cloak back on, ye thrawny lass,” Arthur said. “Yer nae gonna undo the work I put into savin’ yer skin.”
Olivia shot a dirty scowl his way, though her hand was already grasping for the cloak’s hem. “Why do ye care, anyway?”
His knife slid across another sliver, offering the piece Olivia’s way. When she simply stared at it, Arthur shrugged and popped it into his mouth.
“Yer look on life is narrow, selkie. Far too many colors to see everything as just black ‘n’ white.” He sliced through the hare’s haunch this time, shifting to stretch his hand around the fire to close the distance between the two. “Ye better take it this time, or I’m throwing it to Maesie.”
The deerhound’s ears perked, having messily finished her own hare meal and licking her bloodied lips in anticipation.
Olivia let out a hiss of indignation, hesitated, then finally gave in.
Her slender hand grasped the leg from Arthur’s hands, and he couldn’t help but notice the slight callus built along the tips of her fingers.
He rose a brow, watching as she once more bound herself in the cloak and nibbled on the hare.
“I stand corrected–maybe yer more of a hunter than I first thought.”
Olivia gave him a curious, if not cautious, raise of the brow. “What are ye gabbin’ on about?”
Arthur gestured to her hands. “I expected more delicate hands from the only daughter o’MacCulloh, but ye can fire an’ arrow, cannae ye?”
Olivia visibly hesitated.
“Aye, I dinnae think yer a threat to me, selkie,” Arthur reassured, though the woman looked somewhat insulted. “I’m just surprised, is all. Ye ever killed anythin’?”
Olivia shook her head.
“But ye’ve seen death, aye?” Arthur watched as a memory passed over Olivia’s eyes, a tremble following soon after.
“Ye ken I have, but that’s the cost o’war.
” He held the half-eaten hare in his hands, glassy eye staring lifelessly into his own.
“Saw plenty o’me own kin die as well. Fought like hell to make sure as few did as possible. ”
His eye found Olivia’s, surprised at how soft his voice had become. “I killed yer faither, aye. But he killed my own, too. Would ye expect me to roll over and let the maithers an’ bairns of my clan perish at MacCulloh’s hand?”
It was obvious Olivia didn’t, but she remained quiet, though stared rather intently at the haunch of meat in her hand.
“War’s nae black ‘n’ white, selkie,” Arthur said quietly. “People arenae, either.” He paused, guilt squirming in his chest and curling against his tongue. “I…am sorry about yer kin, though. An’ yer clan turnin’ on ye and yer maither; nae right, what they put ye through tonight.”
Olivia shrugged, taking another bite of hare before discarding the bone off to the side. Maesie let out a mournful whine, tail swishing across the dirt as she eyed it longingly.
“Aye, go on an’ fetch, then,” Arthur said.
The deerhound immediately scrambled to her feet, snapping up the bone as Olivia let out a startled squeal. Maesie gave her a curious look, bone shards splitting between her teeth, and she seemed to come to a decision, sitting beside the woman with a thump of her tail.
“Yer not cross with me, then?” Olivia hesitantly reached her hand out, patting the deerhound’s head as Maesie thrummed happily, still noisily chewing away.
“She’s just protective, is all,” Arthur explained. “Bit like me second maither while I’m out huntin’.”
Olivia chuckled lightly, pressing both hands against the deerhound’s face and giving her a good rubbing. “Aye, is that right? Ye teachin’ him manners then, Maesie?”
The deerhound let out a throaty groan, clearly enjoying the extra attention.
“‘Maesie, though?” Olivia asked. “I mean, I suppose she looks a touch like a pearl, but where…?”
“Hard not to think about to ocean when yer livin’ right next to it,” Arthur said.
Olivia’s eyes widened. “Nay; ye really live ‘side the sea?”
Arthur nodded, amused at how excited his selkie had suddenly become. “I’ll take ye on a personal tour when we get there.”
Olivia nodded absentmindedly, still stroking Maesie as she crooned gently towards the deerhound. “Aye, I imagine it must be spectacular to look at ‘round this time o’…” She blinked, attention snapping towards Arthur as her expression fell blank. “Wait; what did ye say about, ‘getting there’?”
“That I’d give ye the tour,” Arthur explained once more. “Probably take us a day or two on horseback, though we might stop fer yer sake. Wish I had a buck to bring back, but suppose it all worked out for to best, given yer ridin’ on the spot where I’d put–”
“Stop, stop!” Olivia shot to her feet, Maesie scampering out of the way with a surprised yelp. “I–I didnae say I’d go travelin’ with ye!”
“Yer options are fairly scarce, selkie,” Arthur pointed out. “An’ last I checked, yer were awful quick to throw yer own life away.”
Her face visibly paled. “B-but, I–!””
“Dinnae make excuses,” Arthur insisted, tossing the hare’s carcass into the shadows as Maesie chased after it. “Ye forfeited it after all ye made me do to keep ye goin’, tonight. It’s mine now, lass, and if that dinnae please ye,” a dangerous smirk crossed Arthur’s face. “Yer welcome to disagree.”