Page 38 of The Highlander’s Fake Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #4)

F inally, the sun rose on the day of the wedding proper.

Marsden keep was abuzz with activity, with final touches being made before the ceremony.

Olivia stood in her room before the mirror, trying to mentally prepare herself for what was to come.

A gentle knock came at her door, and a small part of her hoped it was Arthur.

To try and convince him that their marriage was a mistake, or to try and change his mind about children.

Maybe she just wanted to see him, take some of the confidence he always seemed to perpetually exude.

The door gently cracked open, with Olivia’s mother standing on the other side.Olivia? Do ye mind if I come in?”

Olivia let out a gentle sigh, partially out of relief, partially out of disappointment. “Aye, Maither. Ye may enter.”

Her mother slipped through the door, a folded gown tucked in-between her arms. Olivia couldn’t help but smile at her expression; at the very least, one of them would enjoy today fully. She did her best to hold onto that warm feeling, and she crossed the room to embrace her fully.

“Ooh, Olivia. A sheòid , my only daughter…” Her mother sniffled, pulling away just enough to gently wipe her face. “I dinnae think I would get to see this day, yet here you are. Getting ready to marry the man who,” her voice hitched, and she quickly shook her head.

“It’s alright if ye’re still upset wit him,” Olivia began, setting a hand against her mother’s shoulder. “There are times I catch myself still mourning our loss. They were yer husband an’ yer son.”

“A-Aye, they were.” Olivia’s mother passed the dress off, sobbing chuckles escaping her lips as she dug around her dress for a linen. “Gracious me–I’m going to ruin yer dress at this rate!”

Olivia immediately set the dress onto a nearby chair, bringing her mother into a tighter hug than before. The pair stood together for a long moment, her mother occasionally whimpering out a tear while Olivia’s mind raced with emotions.

“I will always have an empty place in me heart fer them,” Olivia’s mother admitted.

“But, I ken yer betrothed, Olivia. And he is nay a monster o’ legend or simply a spirit o’ vengance; he is a man who couldnae escape the violence o’the highlands.

As were yer faither, and yer braither.” She sighed lightly, giving Olivia another squeeze before ensuring the two separated for good.

“Ah, but, ye’re not even dressed yet. Here; let me help ye get into yer gown. ”

Olivia’s mother rounded the chair and unfolded the gown carefully, and Olivia couldn’t help but gasp.

She hadn’t fully noticed the color until it fully revealed itself beneath candlelight; it was dyed an exquisite shade of tyrian purple, matched with glittering golden trim along the bodice.

The sleeves billowed out like the white caps of waves, the neckline set just past the shoulders and hemmed in an intricate, runic design.

As the pair worked to slip the gown over Olivia’s head, she knew she had to ask. “Maither, when on earth did ye find this?”

“Elspeth had the fabric stored away,” her mother explained. “She said it was a tradition fer her side o’the family, that a woman on her wedding day would be dressed as the royal she were.”

“Then, she…?”

“We all made it,” Olivia’s mother beamed, straightening the skirt before stepping away from the mirror. “Elspeth, Flora–ye truly couldnae ask fer a better family to join hands with. Worked late in the night while ye an’ Arthur were on yer visit.”

Olivia couldn’t help but stare at the vision in the mirror. Every curve was accented perfectly, the ivory tinge of her skin in bright contrast to the deep, violet hues.

“Now, let’s see what we can do with yer…yer hair…”

Olivia turned around, unable to hold back a smile as her mother began to tear up once more. “Oh, Maither…”

“Ooh, I cannae help it!” her mother cried. “Gracious, look at me. Falling apart before the ceremony proper!”

“Ye’ll flood the keep with yer tears at this rate,” Olivia teased lightly.

The pair shared laughter between them, a lighthearted act that reassured Olivia that this was, in fact, not the end of her life.

Perhaps her path wasn’t one she’d anticipated–would have willingly walked, had she been given the gift of foresight–but if she were to be truthful with herself, this was a path she wouldn’t trade for the world.

“Ye really love him,” Olivia’s mother crooned, hands cradling her daughter’s face.

“I do, Maither. I truly, sincerely do.”

Her mother eased her into a nearby chair, hands already beginning to pull strands apart for braiding. “Well, let’s nae keep him waiting, then.”

Arthur nearly fell over multiple times as Rosie wove between his legs.

She had not left his side since the minute he’d gotten dressed, and bounded down the castle halls after him as they made their way towards the back of the castle.

Fergus was in hot pursuit, taking up the role of an obstacle to trip over when Rosie took a break to skip beside her uncle.

“Uncle Arthur, Uncle Arthur! When are ye gonna tell Auntie ‘Livia ye love ‘er?”

Arthur’s hand caught against the wall as the pup bumped into his leg. “A-ah–I tell her that everyday, rosebush.”

“Aye, but I mean in front of everyone!” Rosie slipped in front of him once more, giggling madly as she did so.

Arthur, meanwhile, kept his hand close to the wall, just in case he had to catch himself again.

Or, when he inevitably had to catch himself again.

“Cause when me parents got married, they said it in front of all the kinfolk who came to their celebration.”

“Aye, did they, now?”

Rosie nodded furiously.

“Well…” Arthur stroked his beard, watching as Fergus scampered further down the hall in pursuit of a phantom noise. “I suppose I’ll say it when it’s time to say it.”

This only seemed to fuel Rosie further; though Arthur couldn’t understand it, the little girl somehow grew even more frantic than before. “But how are ye gonna say it, Uncle Arthur? Will ye make her laugh? Are ye gonna cry while ye do it? When are ye gonna have a baby together?”

“Gracious, lass! Ye’ve got me sweatin’ over here!

” Arthur quickly scooped the girl up into his arms, giving her a dramatic squeeze as she howled with laughter.

“Ye’ll just have to wait and see what happens.

” In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to say it, either.

And it wasn’t something he’d put too much thought into, until his little niece had brought it up.

He’d promised Olivia the greatest of marriages, and he only began to realize now how unprepared he really felt.

“Uncle Arthur?” Rosie asked, shaking the man’s shoulder.

Arthur blinked, realizing their conversation had continued while he was lost in thought. “Ah…sorry, Rosie.”

“Ye never answered me question about yer baby.”

Nerves skittered across Arthur’s skin, and he set Rosie back onto the ground. “Rosie, love, babies take a lot of time and hard work to make. It may be awhile before Olivia becomes pregnant.” For a long while, Arthur kept to himself. “Why are ye so fixed on this?”

Rosie’s shoe scuffed against the cobblestone flooring, hands swinging absentmindedly at her side.

“I dunno…I just heard Olivia be awful excited about it. She gets real happy when she’s helpin’ Maither with Forrester, and she says she likes spending time with me.

” Rosie glanced upward, staring at Arthur with wide, bright eyes.

“I think she really wants one fer herself.”

Arthur blew out a breath. “I think ye’re right.”

“I bet you want one, too!” Rosie beamed. “Ye’re my favorite uncle, after all. So you’ll be a really good faither, too!”

Arthur wasn’t sure quite how to respond to that.

The praise sat heavily in his chest, his imagination trying to spin a quiet life with Olivia, her pregnant belly and child in arms. Having his and Flora’s children grow up together, help run the keep, look to their mothers for kindness and fathers for strength.

“There ye are, Rosie!”

Rosie gasped, spinning on her heel as Duncan appeared down the hall with Fergus sprinting alongside him.

She immediately took off running into his outstretched arms, squealing loudly as the laird of Marsden spun his daughter in his arms. “Faither, Faither! Uncle Arthur’s gonna tell Auntie ‘Livia he loves her!”

“Well, let’s not cause him further delay doing so, aye?” Duncan set Rosie back onto the ground, giving her head a gentle pat and flashing a warm smile. “Yer maither’s at the back o’the castle with Bonnie; ye an’ Fergus go an keep ‘em company, would ye?”

Rosie nodded curtly, breaking out into a dazzling smile of her own before taking off down the hall, Fergus hot on her heel. Duncan waved her goodbye until she vanished completely, then let out a slightly pained groan, hands pressing against his back.

“The Laird o’ Marsden showing signs o’pain?” Arthur ribbed. “How the mighty have fallen.”

“She slammed right into me!” Duncan argued back, though he held the makings of a smirk at the corners of his lips.

“Och, nay; ye’ll see when ye have one of yer own.

Terrifying wee besties, always full o’more energy than I’d seen any man show in battle.

” He turned to fully face his friend, expression falling somewhat as he genuinely looked at Arthur. “Ye alright?”

Arthur went to nod, but paused. “Duncan…how did ye get over it?”

Duncan’s brow furrowed slightly. “I just stretch a lot more than usual. Stay nice an’ loose when I see her coming. At this point, I ken she’ll always tackle into me in some way or other.”

“Nay, not Rosie,” Arthur scowled. “Not in that way, at least. When ye and yer first wife had her–decided to settle and have children…” He felt his voice weaken in his throat, and Arthur exhaled sharply, doing his best not to show weakness of his own.

Regardless if Duncan caught on or not, he didn’t show it.

Instead, he simply propped himself against the wall, stroking his beard thoughtfully as he genuinely mulled the question over.

“I was terrified, truth be told. Ye ken the life a laird must live, and wit the highlands so entrenched in violence…” he sighed lightly, rubbing a hand through the dark curls of his hair.

“But, ye still had her,” Arthur said softly.

“Her maither would have beat me black an’ blue if I said otherwise,” Duncan chuckled bitterly. “And, truly, I think it was thanks to Rosie that I managed to marry Alison.”

Arthur was certain he had never heard his friend confess to such a thing. He’d never seen Duncan look so worn down, so…vulnerable before. “How did ye get over yer fear of widowing her? Of leavin’ Rosie behind?”

Another weak chuckle. “I havenae, Arthur. I’m still afraid o’ the possibility, every time I have to pick up me sword.”

“Then, why…?”

Duncan shrugged, pushing himself off the wall as he approached his friend.

“Fate had other plans, I suppose? I wasnae going to argue against something I had no control over.” He set a hand against Arthur’s shoulder, with a voice much softer than Arthur was accustomed to.

“But, even if I am to go, Rosie has an entire keep to look after her. Kinfolk, allies–Alison herself will be there. That brings me some comfort.”

“And when it doesnae?” Arthur dared to ask. “When ye cannae be satisfied wit ‘some’ comfort?

Duncan’s tone shifted slightly, the soft gaze in his eyes suddenly hardening. “Then, I ensure the highlands daenae need to go to war anymore. I forge alliances, like with Hector. We build a world where we daenae need to fear fer our children’s safety.”

A future where the highlands weren’t constantly at war…Arthur had considered it, certainly, but to hear Ducan so passionately speak of such a dream, it made the idea seem less impossible.

“Yer awful curious about children,” Duncan noted lightly. “Something ye need to tell all of us about?”

Arthur scowled darkly. “The fact ye all think I havenae been a perfect gentleman to me betrothed is unsettling.”

“Och, Arthur! We think nothing o’the sort!” Duncan’s laughter shook deep from his chest, and he swung an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “She just seems rather taken wit ye, is all. I’m surprised ye didnae give her what she seems to be requestin’. Ye never turned down a request like this before.”

“I’ve never genuinely been betrothed before, either,” Arthur pointed out. “This is far different than a fun time wit’ a lass.”

“Aye, but what about–?”

Arthur knew exactly where Duncan meant to take the conversation, and a hard stare stopped the Laird of Marsden in his tracks. Instead, Duncan shook his head and smiled softly, offering genuine compassion in his tone. “Ye really do fancy the lass, then?”

Arthur nodded.

“Then, willnae keep them waiting any longer.”

“Before we do,” Arthur began, freeing himself from Duncan’s embrace. “Do ye ken where Marcus ran off to? I asked him to hold onto something fer the ceremony, but I havenae seen hide nor hair o’him.”

“Marcus?” Duncan furrowed his brow slightly. “He said something about checking on missives from his kinfolk. Ye’re best bet is over by the market district; there shouldnae be anyfolk there, save any runners who’ve arrived, so ye’ll find him fairly quick.

“Aye. Thank ye, Duncan.”

Duncan offered a bemused grin and a pat on Arthur’s back. “‘Course, Arthur. But daenae stall fer too long, aye?”

“I willane.” Arthur watched as his friend walked down the hallway, honing his emotions to a fine, dangerous point.

He exhaled slowly, any thoughts of guilt, of hesitation, leaving his mind.

With that, he set his hand on the hilt of his sword and turned the opposite way, hoping to do his part in making the highlands a safer place.