Page 32 of The Highlander’s Fake Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #4)
F inally, the lairds left Duncan’s office with the makings of a plan. Arthur certainly felt more at ease than he had at the start of the conversation, but he wished he could solve the problem immediately. Killing them would be so easy, but…
“Och, selkie. Ye really softening this killer up.” Arthur sighed, mentally preparing himself to face the crowds not as a lovesickened man, but the terrifying laird of MacDonnell keep.
He managed to fix his face into a neutral glower, emptying his mind of any and all thoughts before stepping back into public.
And then immediately forgot to keep the charade going once he caught sight of Olivia.
She spun across the dance floor with little Rosie and Bonnie, grasping their little hands as they giggled and squealed in delight.
Red waves of loosely braided hair draped against her shimmering silver gown, sunlight catching against the dapple design like stones beneath a clear-running stream.
His selkie had found her coat once more, and she was all the more stunning for it.
“Uncle Arthur!” Rosie’s squealing directed towards him, and she ran full-sprint into his hastily outstretched arms. “Did ye see me dancing wit Auntie ‘Livie?”
Auntie. In Rosie’s innocent eyes, they were already married. Arthur scooped the girl up into his arms as Olivia and Bonnie joined them, sweat glistening her forehead like glittering diamonds.
“She’s positively boundless,” Olivia laughed breathlessly. “I daenae think I will last much longer.”
Arthur leaned into Rosie’s ear, whispering a quiet request. “Do ye mind if I take ‘Auntie Livie’ for a dance o’ me own?”
Rosie nodded ecstatically, sliding down his body before grabbing Bonnie’s hand. “Come on, Bonnie! Lyall’s been sneaking sweets all party; let’s see if he’ll give us some.” She froze in place, turning back to Arthur as she added hastily, “Y-Ye didnae hear that, Uncle!”
Arthur replied by covering his ears with a smirk and a wink.
Olivia watched as the pair scurried off to get into more mischief, eyeing Arthur with a raised brow. “And what exactly did ye promise her? Something nefarious I should be worried about?”
“Oh, nothin o’ the sort,” Arthur replied. “I appealed to her kind and caring nature to earn the honor o’ dancing with ye alone. After all,” he added with a smirk. “Ye already promised to save me a dance with ye.”
Olivia’s face was already flushed from dancing, but somehow, it grew even hotter. “I-I seem to remember ye all but commanding it.”
“And will ye nay heed yer laird, Olivia?” She watched as Arthur extended his hand outward, and with a delicate grasp of her own, he led her back to the dancing circle and quite literally swept her off her feet.
“G-Gracious, Arthur!” Olivia squealed. “Who taught ye to dance, a wild boar?!”
“Cannae keep up with me, selkie?” Arthur teased, setting her back onto the ground.
Olivia’s gaze narrowed slightly, spinning on her toes as Arthur’s hand kept her supported.
He then pulled her close and dipped her low, a childish laughter bubbling out from her throat.
Then, he scooped her up and held her close, the pair navigating the space as if they’d been dance partners all their lives.
The music began to slow its pace, allowing couples to settle into a gentle sway. Olivia rested her head against Arthur’s chest, still catching her breath after their whirling dervish. His own breathing had settled, a rhythmic beat in her ear that she matched her own against.
“Gracious, Arthur; at this rate, our maithers will marry us off without us realizing.”
Arthur had no response to give, and a sliver of tension settled between the pair.
“Arthur.”
“Thank ye for agreeing to dance,” he said softly. “I ken it required touch.”
Olivia blinked, nervous laughter escaping her chest. “T-Truth be told, I had all but forgotten about me rule.” Another sigh, a squeeze of his hand, and a long, steady inhale of his salty-sea scent. “Yer makin’ it awful hard to pretend, Arthur.”
His hand gently freed from hers, grasping beneath her chin as he lifted her gaze to meet his. Arthur opened his mouth to speak, the words visibly tumbling and crashing around in his head. He considered, reconsidered, then sighed lightly. “Would ye dance again with me tomorrow?”
Olivia chuckled, a bittersweet taste filling her mouth as her head pressed against his chest once more. “Aye, Arthur. I think that can be arranged.”
Three days passed in a whirl of excitement, and Olivia could barely keep up with it all. From dancing to feasts, games to late-night conversations, she couldn’t remember a time when she had felt so at ease.
Her time was spent running barefoot alongside Rosie and the dogs, baking with Alison while exchanging gossip, and sewing infant gowns with Katie beside the hearth over musings about life and the future.
The celebration proper was a cavalcade of clanging mugs overflowing with ale, of loud music and a myriad of colorful gowns.
And at the end–always at the end–Arthur would find Olivia amidst the crowd of drunken laughter and sticky fingers, of politics spoken beneath the cheery atmosphere.
They would spend hours in each other’s arms, exchanging the occasional witty quip or a tender, longing glance.
Sometimes, they would reminisce on all that had happened until now.
More often than not, they would quietly enjoy the other’s company, knowing full well that their blissful ruse would soon be coming to an end.
“Can I show ye something, selkie?” Arthur asked amidst the music’s slow tempo.
Olivia raised a brow slightly. “I daenae think this is the proper time to practice sparring, Arthur.”
That got a good chuckle out of the laird, and he gave her a gentle spin before pulling her close to his chest. “It’s something else that gives me life. Something that doesnae exist along the coast.”
“Will ye give me a hint?”
Arthur only offered a cryptic smile, tugging on her hand in an attempt to lead her somewhere new. And Olivia, still feeling the joy and rush from the ceilidh, allowed him to do so.
Arthur ached all over. In his hand, from the gentle weight of Olivia’s hand holding it. In his heart, for the burning desire he had for this woman who, almost a week ago, was nothing but a stranger.
He ached in a way that was far different than fatigue from a hard-fought battle, from his head when his eye had been unceremoniously removed. Arthur had felt physical pain before, but this was far worse than any injury he’d ever experienced. Or worse than any he’d experience ever again.
He carefully led Olivia outside the walls of the keep, ensuring the pathway he chose up the valley’s slope was one she could traverse in her delicate shoes.
At one point, she’d lost her footing completely and nearly stumbled forward, and Arthur’s arms instinctively swept her up into a bridal-style carry.
“A-Arthur!” Olivia snorted with laughter; the sound eased his throbbing ache, and Arthur was now determined in carrying her the rest of the way. “Arthur, I can walk just fine.”
“Aye, but I cannae risk ye taking a tumble before ye see it,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Plus, who ever heard of a selkie climbing up a hill? Nay; I willnae allow fer such foolishness.”
Olivia continued to chuckle softly, securing an arm around his shoulders as she settled her head against his chest. She seemed perfectly content in his embrace, and Arthur wished he had the endless stamina to hold her forevermore.
But soon, he reached the top of their hill, and Olivia purposefully pushed herself free from his grasp, a sharp gasp escaping her lips.
There had to be well over a hundred of them; strong, sturdy rowan trees, all blooming white with fragrant petals beneath the starry sky.
Moonlight caught against the florals with a shimmering pearlescence, and as a strong wind tumbled passed, it pulled the looser petals from their twigs, scattering them across like gentle flakes of snow.
“Oh, Arthur…” Olivia glanced over her shoulder, eyes wide with wonder.
“T’is where I attended the signing of a peace treaty,” Arthur explained.
“The first time I saw another hope fer the highlands that dinnae involved bloodshed. I had pushed that memory well into the back o’ me mind, but since yer arrival…
” he paused, stroking his beard in an attempt to stall for time.
It didn’t work as well as he hoped, as Olivia’s gentle, oceanic gaze left him entirely speechless.
Instead, Olivia offered a hand his way. “Will ye add a new memory to this place with me?”
He needed no invitation. With one, sweeping motion, Arthur closed the distance between them and embraced Olivia, leading her into a solitary dance that needed no music to guide them with.
The mountain air shuddering between the branches, the howling call of animals to the moon; all Arthur needed was the sound of nature itself to keep Olivia close to his chest. Their steps were perfectly aligned, moving across the grove of rowans as if they’d been together all their lives.
“Arthur?”
He stared at her, white petals woven between locks of fiery red hair.
A crown of purity, for a goddess of the waves.
Slowly, he drew her closer, hand settling against the small of her back.
Just as their noses brushed against each other, he paused, inhaling the scent of floral and forest, of the earth and the faintest traces of salt from the sea.
“You…you win our bet,” Oliva said breathlessly.
And without another word, Arthur claimed his prize.