Page 36 of The Highlander’s Fake Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #4)

D uncan’s study was in uproar as the lairds tried to voice their idea.

Hector spoke at great lengths about launching a campaign against the MacCullohs, with Arthur quietly agreeing under his breath.

He wanted nothing more than to rid the highlands of such a traitorous clan, to watch the life fade from the eyes of the last MacCulloh.

But instead, he exhaled loudly, trying to remove as much anger from his system as possible before he spoke.

“Ye ken Olivia willnae have it,” Arthur said, ensuring his voice carried over the rest. “We’re nay going to wipe out her family clan, Hector.”

“Ye say that after they attacked her so boldly?!” Hector spat.

“I’m more concerned with how they discovered their whereabouts.” Duncan sat back in his chair, arms folded beneath his chin as his brow knitted in contemplation. “It’s worrisome to think there is a leak in our information chain.”

The laird of Marsden made an excellent point.

Arthur had made sure no word of the ceilidh left his own castle’s walls, and the MacCullohs were too far away to hear it directly from Duncan himself.

Hector certainly could have used the gathering as a way to lure the clan in and take them out, but that would be entirely too much effort.

And, on top of that, it would ruin the fragile peace he’d made with Duncan.

Arthur glanced around the table, Hector and Duncan’s continued discussion falling to the background.

Marcus had remained quiet during their exchange, looking particularly annoyed as discussion over a possible leak remained the topic of interest. Something he’d said earlier bubbled into Arthur’s memory, and he tried to wrestle it into clarity.

“It doesnae matter how the MacCullohs learned of Olivia’s whereabouts,” Marcus finally said. “What should be the focus is their fate. I daenae trust a clan so easily swayed to violence; Hector is right. We should send our armies and take MacCulloh’s keep for our own.”

Duncan’s fist slammed against the table. “I willnae condone such violence! We only just escaped a terrible war between meself an’ Hector. We daenae need to add to the tally o’dead.”

“That’s why ye would have lost against us, Duncan,” Hector growled. “Ye cannae make the difficult choices a laird must often make.”

“Abstaining from violence is a difficult choice,” Duncan snarled back. “Though I can make an exception, if ye think o’ threatenin’ me like that again, Laird McKimmon.”

“That’s enough.”

All three lairds turned to Arthur, each surprised at how cold his demeanor had turned.

He inhaled deeply, allowing his rage to blow out with his next breath.

“I stand by me decision; Olivia’s clan willnae be subjected to our wrath.

I shall continue my plans to marry her, and only then, if her kin daenae join her at our side, will we discuss the possibility o’violence.

” His eye swiveled to Marcus, storing away the memory of a slight twitch over the young man’s brow.

“Duncan, if ye dinnae mind,” Arthur continued, attention back on the laird of Marsden. “I think it safest to stay here fer the wedding. If ye would be so charitable as to host us once more,”

“Dinnae even speak another word about it,” Duncan reassured. “I’ll ensure Alison helps with preparations."

“Hector,” Arthur turned to Laird McKimmon next, still scowling darkly in his chair. “I need yer men to bring me family safely to Marsden Keep. Escort them alongside me own warriors from me keep; I have to stay here with Olivia.”

Some of Hector’s sour mood seemed to fade away at the prospect of such a mission. “I already told ye, Arthur. Me men are yers to use; just say the word, and we’ll ride out immediately.”

Arthur’s attention then fixated on Marcus, who seemed to straighten quickly in his chair. “Marcus, ye mentioned ye were closest to the MacCulloh’s keep?”

“Aye, m’laird.”

“Then ensure yer channels remain open,” Arthur instructed. “See if yer kin overhear any future plans o’the MacCullohs. The last thing I need is them is growing bold while I’m away from MacDonnell keep. Nor can I bear the responsibility of Marsden’s being attacked.”

Marcus nodded curtly.

“We’ll reconvene on the day before me wedding. Fer now,” Arthur raised a hand, the other lairds following suit. “Move out.”

Olivia couldn’t remember when she fell asleep. Her dreams were vague, terrifying visages of blood and death, of familiar faces cut down by the man she was falling in love with. Bhaltair grabbed her by the shoulders, spat venomous words of betrayal and hatred.

Should have killed her when I had the chance…

She woke in a cold sweat, the sunlight barely peeking through the keep’s window.

Olivia scoured her mind, trying to remember where exactly they ended up staying.

Had they made it home to MacDonnell’s territory?

Was she still at Marsden? Briefly the thought occurred that, perhaps, the MacCullohs had managed to capture her and bring her back, but this room’s interior wasn’t quite right.

A concerned whine came from beside her bed, and Maesie suddenly hopped up.

She crawled across the quilts and snuggled up to Olivia’s side, head nuzzling the crook of her neck as the deerhound licked her face.

“M-Maesie…” Olivia wrapped her arms around the hound’s neck, giving her a hug as she forced a breath into her lungs.

As she willed herself to try and calm herself.

“It’s Marsden,” Olivia reassured herself, stroking Maesie’s fur for comfort. “Ye’re back at Marsden…”

Memories began to flitter back, and Olivia exhaled slowly, parsing through the events bit by bit.

She had been attacked by her people, but Arthur had protected her.

They had rode back to Marsden, herself wrapped in her arisaid, and Arthur had protected her.

She remembered being taken to her guest bed, reassured that nothing would get to her, sitting amidst the ladies and Alison as they sewed, the had tea, and discussed lighter topics amidst themselves.

All while Arthur ensured her further protection.

A light knock rapped against her door, and Olivia’s heart fluttered at the voice that followed. “Ye awake in there, selkie?”

She nodded, though realized quickly that Arthur couldn’t see. “A-Aye, I am.”

A pause. “Would…ye like me company?”

Olivia absolutely did. “Please, come in, Arthur.”

The door creaked open, Arthur slipping through before closing it behind him.

He looked well-worn, heavy bags underneath his eyes from what had to be a long, sleepless night for him.

He crossed the room and joined Olivia at her bedside, seemingly desperate to get as close as he could to her.

She offered a hand, and Arthur quickly took it, kissing her knuckles gently as he murmured something lovely under his breath.

“I’m…alright,” Olivia reassured, flushing slightly at the touch of his lips against her skin.

Maesie yipped in agreement, catching Arthur’s face with her tongue as well.

“Ye’re alright this time,” Arthur said, giving Maesie a gentle shove away from him. “And that’s nay acceptable to me.”

Maesie let out a disgruntled snort, rounding around Olivia and laying down behind her, head propped against her paws. Just like when Olivia had first met her.

“We’ve had too many close calls,” Arthur continued. “And that’s while ye’ve been actin’ as me betrothed. I cannae imagine–if ye were on yer own, with yer maither…” he visibly bit his lip, pressing the back of Olivia’s hand against his forehead.

“I wasnae, Arthur,” Olivia reassured. “Ye were there.”

“This time, I was.” Arthur shook his head, expression far more stern than before. “Olivia, I’m sorry, but I cannae sit by and willingly let ye live yer life in peril. Our plans have to change.”

Change?

“We’re getting married, selkie. And it willnae be a ruse anymore; ye will properly become Lady MacDonnell.”

Olivia blinked, the words not fully processing in her mind. She gently pulled her hand free from Arthur, setting it against Maesie’s head as the deerhound let out a loud sigh. “I…what?”

“Daenae argue wit me,”

“Nay, I will do just that!” Panic squeezed Olivia’s chest as she pushed the quilts off her body, swinging her legs off the opposite side of the bed. She couldn’t lay down anymore, couldn’t be so–so close to Arthur, anymore.

“Selkie,”

Olivia shook her head, beginning to pace as thoughts flew past her mind. But, this is what she wanted, wasn’t it? Wasn’t she falling for Arthur? Hadn’t they already affirmed that in the grove of rowan trees? And yet, the pit in her stomach only grew harder.

Arthur stood, trying to extend a hand Olivia’s way. As she recoiled, he let out a short breath, visible irritation crossing his face. “Olivia, ye ken I’m right. We cannae allow yer clan to do whatever they please. They need a laird, and they willnae respect ye unless ye become their lady.”

“But marriage–!” Olivia shook her head, hands absentmindedly finding a thick strand of her hair as she began to nervously braid it. “Arthur, ye–ye dinnae want children. Unless ye’ve suddenly changed yer mind,”

“I havenae,” Arthur interrupted. “This will be a marriage o’ convenience. And–and I will uphold yer rule. I willnae touch ye; not unless ye ask.”

Olivia shook her head furiously. “Ye–ye’ve already touched me! And I–I was alright with it–Arthur, ye daenae want to settle down with me.”

“Olivia,”

“Ye daenae wish to raise a family, build our own life together–how can ye demand such a life fer me?” Tears began to form in the corner of Olivia’s eyes, and she wiped them furiously away. “How can ye so easily take away what would give me life?!”

Arthur was quiet for a long moment, simply watching as Olivia continued to pace, to braid her hair, to try and grasp at the pieces of her life he had so suddenly shattered apart.

He was right–he knew he was, and he knew Olivia agreed–but it still hurt him deeply to see her in such a state.

He wanted nothing more than to approach her, ease her into a chair and braid her hair for her.

To reassure her that her life wasn’t over, that their marriage would be happy, that she would be safe.

But he did none of those things. That’s not what she needed right now, and if he tried to approach her in such a way, he was liable to get a slap across the face. “Ye’re upset. I can see that, selkie.”

Olivia blinked furiously, on the verge of tears. “Then take it back. Daenae subjected me to this.”

He couldn’t take it back. He wouldn’t, and the look on Olivia’s face told Arthur that she knew that.

“I...I…” Olivia dropped into the closest chair, hair strewing past her shoulders in a messy display of partial braids.

She covered her face with her hands, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to comfort her.

He tried to take a step towards her, the wooden boards of the floor creaking beneath his feet.

“P-Please,” Olivia whimpered. “Daenae do it. Just–just leave. I daenae wish fer yer company anymore.”

Arthur wanted to say something. Anything to convince his selkie to let him stay, to comfort her, to bring her into his arms and reassure that she would have a life beyond this terrible moment.

That he would do all he could to make her happy, to give her something worth living for.

But, he couldn’t say any of those things.

Not now, when he’d been the reason for her miserable state.

So Arthur obliged by her request, turning to leave as the first of what would be many sobs escaped Olivia’s throat.