Page 6 of The Highlander’s Fake Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #4)

I t was common for Arthur to wake well before the rest of the castle. He enjoyed the quiet of it all, filled in occasionally by either the cry of gulls or the ocean itself, beating against the isle’s rocky outcropping.

Taking nothing but the clothes on his back (and the occasional sword, if he felt in the mood to train), he’d climb down the natural footholds to the beach below, taking in the sight of the gloomy grey sky above the restless sea.

Today, however, he was joined by the one man he trusted above all else, a man whose outward appearance could have easily been mistaken for the stoney walls of the keep.

Nathan Bisby was quite massive for a man-at-arms, and not simply due to his extraordinary height. Often mistaken for a giant, his ruddy hair was typically tied back in a series of intricate braids, allowing his square jaw and powerful features to be all the more on display.

Eyes as grey as the clouds currently drifting above them watched with careful scrutiny as Arthur joined his side, the pair standing out to face the waters as the seabreeze tangled through the giant’s similarly braided beard. “Flora was terribly sullen about me risin’ this early, m’laird.”

Arthur chuckled lightly. “I’ll make sure to make it up later. Though, she still had time to do yer hair?”

A swirl of salty air drifted between his man-at-arm’s braided locks. “Wanted me to be presentable.”

A comfortable silence between the pair for a moment, Arthur working out exactly how much of his plan he needed to reveal.

Nathan was loyal to a fault, especially when it came to keeping secrets.

At least, when his sister wasn’t involved.

Something about her broke the usually rock-solid man’s facade completely, as if she were a cool stream slipping between the cracks.

“I need ye to send a small party to a convent just outside MacCulloh’s territory. ”

Nathan raised a bushy brow. “I thought we took care of ol’ MacCulloh already?”

“Aye, that we did,” Arthur replied. “But the lass I brought back wit me last night–she’s the man’s daughter. Some o’ her kin turned against her an’ her maither; war’s been won, but we still have business to take care of. Her kin are now under me protection.”

Nathan nodded. “Ye want us to gather the other kinsfolk who are still loyal?”

“Just the lass’s maither for now,” Arthur insisted. “The wee MacCulloh said she might be tryin’ to meet her there.”

Again, Nathan nodded, staring quietly out towards the sea. A beat passed between them, and his man-at-arms spoke up once more. “Are ye not gonna join the lass for breakfast?”

Arthur turned to face him, his brow now arched slightly.

“Mam’ll be awful cross if ye daenae show,” Nathan continued nonchalantly.

“Aye, she would be, wouldnae she?” Arthur chuckled lightly once more.

“She would,” Nathan agreed, expression never once moving from its neutral position.

Olivia could barely contain herself as she ogled the morning’s breakfast spread. The entire table had been covered in dishes, ranging from sizzling square sausages and herbaceous fish that looked freshly caught that morning.

There were fried eggs, tattie scones, butter-smeared oatcakes; her mouth began to water at the sight of a large bowl of black pudding farther down the line.

Her stomach rumbled loudly in protest, and she quickly found the closest seat and immediately began to pile on her plate.

It’d felt like ages since she had a proper sit-down like this.

Before Olivia could begin to tuck in, a quiet clearing-of-the-throat caught her attention. She glanced down the length of the table, surprised to see another young woman sitting near the head of the table, a book closed beside her own, empty plate.

For a moment, she almost mistook her for the laird himself, as she had the same shade of dark hair and brilliant sea-green eyes.

In fact…the longer Olivia stared, the more she realized that, if the laird had indeed been born a woman, he’d look exactly like the stranger sitting at the table.

She quickly remembered that she, in fact, was the stranger in this scenario, and thus quickly put down her plate and stood to offer her greetings.

“Oh, daenae bother yerself,” the woman offered gently. “I’m glad for the company. Everyone’s either asleep, or out on patrol.”

Olivia blinked, still offering a polite nod before returning to her seat.

“I didnae mean to interrupt yer feastin’,” the woman went on sheepishly. “The maids told me ye came in haggard late last night alongside me braither; I cannae imagine the awful things ye must have gone through to get here.”

“N-Nay, it’s alright,” Olivia insisted, then paused, processing the former part of the sentence fully. “Oh! The laird is yer braither?”

The woman nodded, smiling shyly. “Aye; the name’s Flora, miss.”

“Olivia.” She hesitated, taking a beat before committing to adding, “Olivia MacLarsen, yer ladyship.”

Flora’s eyes widened slightly, though she seemed to take great care to hide the remainder of her surprise.

Olivia squirmed slightly in her seat, desperate to take attention away from her heritage.

Her own eyes flickered towards the now-abandoned book, its well-loved cover prompting an idea. “What are ye reading there?”

Flora followed Olivia’s gaze, hand resting against the book rather tenderly. “O-Oh! It’s a copy of John Barbour’s, ‘The Brus’. Me braither got it fer me–I must have read it over a dozen times.”

“Aiming fer a dozen an’ one?” Olivia teased.

A small smile crossed Flora’s lips, but before she could respond, the doorway swung open once more, allowing Elspeth to shuffle in with the Laird and another man.

“Aye, good morning, mo laochain! How did ye sleep?”

Flora’s smile brightened, standing to embrace her mother warmly.

“Very well, Mam.” She gave her a quick peck on the cheek, remaining upright as her mother found a chair across the way.

Olivia’s brow furrowed, wondering why Elspeth didn’t take a seat next to her daughter, when the lumbering giant greeted Flora next with a kiss on the lips.

Her face flushed slightly, and she was relieved to have kept her thoughts to herself as the loving couple sat down next.

“Daenae take too long now, Nathan,” Laird MacDonnell ordered. “There’s plenty to get done today.”

The giant–Nathan–offered a slight nod, fixing his own plate with one hand while the other remained holding Flora’s.

“And how about ye, Olivia?” Elspeth inquired. “Ye werenae too cold? The bed was soft enough?”

“A-Aye, m’lady,” Olivia insisted quickly.

“It–honestly, it was the best sleep I’ve had in a while.

” Elspeth’s beaming face made Olivia feel a touch embarrassed, and she did her best to hide it behind a feigned sip from her goblet.

She followed the laird as he sat at the head of the table, taking a few fried eggs and a string of sausages before feeling it was proper to begin eating herself.

“After we eat,” the laird suddenly said. “I’d like ye to call the council fer a meeting, Mam.”

Olivia nearly choked on her pudding as Elspeth nodded. “Aye, I can do that, sweetness. We should make sure they know about our wonderful new guest before rumors begin to spread.”

The laird offered a slight, though Olivia caught the subtle mischief behind his eye. “Aye, that we should, Mam. That we should.”

Breakfast finished in a timely manner, with Nathan heading out on patrol while Flora busied herself with book.

Olivia, meanwhile, was forced to follow between Laird MacDonnell and his mother, being led throughout the twists and turns of the castle while her food soured slightly from the nerves in her stomach.

“Me son’ll make sure no harm’ll come to ye,” Elspeth reassured, offering her hand for Olivia to take. She was more than happy to oblige, needing something desperately to ground herself to before she walked into a room filled with enemies.

Eventually, the trio found themselves within the council’s study, a number of older men sitting around the table with the head chair remaining empty. Laird MacDonnell was quick to fill the seat, leaving his mother and Olivia to wait near the entrance until the appropriate time.

The men spoke in length about various subjects–housekeeping, Olivia reasoned–until eventually, their conversation led to the laird’s most recent conquest.

“Excellent job with the Anderson clan, m’laird,” one of the councilmen congratulated.

“That square o’land will be perfect for raising workbeasts,” another beamed.

“Aye, and some for slaughter,” a third piped up. “It’ll be nice to have our own supply of meat that isnae fish.”

The councilmen chuckled at this, though Laird MacDonnell remained carefully neutral. It was a strange sight, seeing him appear so…emotionally distant. Olivia couldn’t help but marvel at the sight; he really did deserve his reputation as fearsome laird.

“A shame yer talent fer war isnae the same for bedding a wife, though,” a councilmen lamented.

“Aye! When will we be treated to the sound of wee bairns’ feet patterin’ about the keep?” another complained.

“Yer not gettin’ any younger, m’laird,” yet another teased, followed soon after by a round of boisterous laughter.

Again, the laird remained quiet, hands folding against the table as he leaned forward in his chair.

Olivia watched as, one by one, the councilmen fell silent, an obvious tension quickly filling the air.

One of the councilmen awkwardly cleared his throat, unable to break the silence that hung for a good ten seconds between them all.

Finally, the lair sat upright, face still unable to be read. “That topic is the main reason I had ye called in today.” He immediately captured the council’s interest, and their looks of nervous shame quickly turned to cautious intrigue.

A hand gestured toward the back of the room, and Olivia felt herself pulled forward by Elspeth, similarly bemused and bewildered by her son’s declaration.

She gently released Olivia’s hand, which the laird quickly took into his own, and he held it upright for all to see.

Nerves jumped from her stomach and skittered across her skin, and she turned to Laird MacDonnell, whose smile was far more smug than she believed he meant to reveal.

“Friends, this here is my betrothed; Olivia MacLarsen, once-member o’clan MacCulloh.”