Page 19 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
“Aye, I remember.” His little selkie looked so precious, what with her cheeks all puffed up and lips pursed into a little pout. “Ye think they’ll be quick about it?”
Arthur chuckled once more, moving one hand to stroke his beard in mock-consideration. “Ye met them yerself; what do ye think?”
Another angry huff, another flush of red color across her cheeks. God, but she was infatuating when she was so hot and bothered like this. The desire to bed her pressed against Arthur’strousers, and he moved to lean forward a touch, not wanting to necessarily show his interest fully just yet.
“Really, though,” Olivia’s voice sounded a touch softer now, genuinely holding a note of curiosity. “They seem awful impatient with ye to start a family.”
“They’re worried ‘bout the clan’s future, ‘tis all.” Arthur blinked, surprised to find himself agreeing with his mother so readily.
“Aye; who wouldn’t be worried of a future o’violence?” Olivia partially teased.
“Me.”
That seemed to take Olivia genuinely by surprise. “Come off it; ye really think o’nothin but fighting, do ye?”
Arthur shrugged his shoulders. “If it keeps me kinsfolk safe, I’d happily lay down me life.”
“Shut yer gob.”
Arthur blinked, surprised at the sharpness of her tone.
“Ye daenae really mean that,” Olivia began, nervously picking at the hem of her dress. “Do ye, m’laird?”
A cold ache welled inside Arthur’s chest, but he remained resolute. “‘Tis how me faither lived an’ died, and ‘tis how I shall as well. A laird’s life is to his people; no future to fear if I already ken what it is.”
But, that had been told to him since the day he could pick up a sword properly. It was nothing new, and frankly, he was far more interested in picking up where the two had left off. Though, judging by the sad, somber look on Olivia’s face, Arthur had a feeling the spark between them had already died off.
His mind raced, trying to find another path to steer the conversation down. “I gotta say, though. If I had kenned about ye earlier, I woulda tried finding a more peaceful way to end the fighting between our clans.” Before the last words left his mouth, Arthur immediately knew he’d said the wrong thing.
Olivia’s eyes burned as she stood from her stool, nearly knocking it clean off its legs. “Is that so?”
He kicked himself internally, a slew of curses echoing off his mind as he, too, stood up. “Nay, that’s–I dinnae mean to say it like that. I just meant…”
“Aye, I ken what ye meant,” Olivia snapped. “If ye knew ye’d get a pretty lass out of the deal, ye would have considered nae killin’ me faither and braither. Is that about right?”
Oh, no. No, no, no. “I meant if I had taken a moment to think about people like ye–the innocents involved in this mess–”
“–So ye’d spare our lives if it meant ye got to play hero?” Olivia snapped. “Is that why ye decided to take me back with ye? See me as some naive, hapless lass too desperate to say no t’yer face?!”
This was very quickly spiraling out of control. “Olivia.”
Olivia huffed loudly, turning on her heel to stomp towards the door. “I prefer ye refer to me as ‘selkie’. Least then, I know ye only see me as a wee pet, ye ugsome troll!” She flung the door open, then paused, craning her neck behind to shout one last thing. “And ye better keep yer hands off me from here on out!”
Arthur flinched as the door slammed behind her, leaving him in the guest room by his lonesome. The feelings of desire still ran hot in his blood, even after it was obviously not going to happen, cock rock hard and chafing against his trousers.
He blew out a frustrated breath and started towards the door himself; as tempting as it was to break something inside the room, it would win him no favor with his selkie. So, Arthur elected to exit the room and make for the barracks, desperate to get a sword in his hand and do some damage.
11
The evening lights bruised the skies above Olivia as she stormed out the back entrance of the castle. She’d sworn profusely under her breath the entire time, finally letting out an irritated snarl before dropping into what appeared to be a bed of wildflowers.
Her fingers plucked the stem of a nearby sea lily, pulling out the petals as she gritted her teeth. “Ooh, that–that–I cannae believe I even considered–!” An angry huff escaped as she threw the torn-apart flower to the ground.
Folding her legs against her chest, Olivia pressed her forehead to her knees and continued to mutter incoherently–angrily–trying to work through her racing thoughts. An absolute insult of a man–and she’d let him kiss her! Him! The enemy of her people, the enemy of many clans in a stupid war between stupid men and–and–! “And I let him kiss me?!” Worse; Olivia had wanted more out of it.
Her limbs flung outward like an arrow released from a taught bow’s string, and she flopped onto the flowering grass with one, massive exhale. She felt a bit lightheaded, the darkening sky spinning slightly as she tried to get herself to breathe normally once more. Stupid.
That man–Laird MacDonnell–she would’ve liked to have seen him drowning the tarn instead of her. Flailing about helplessly with his massive arms, and kicking beneath the frozen waters with his defined legs. And…the cold would probably cause the hair on his body to raise, and those muscles of his to tighten further, and certainly, once he swam out of the tarn (because obviously, he would), and when he’d strip, she could finally see if his size was as massive as that ego of his–
