Page 20 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
Olivia bolted upright, frantically patting her heated cheeks as a squirm ran down the length of her midsection. “Olivia Catherine MacLarsen! He is the enemy, for God’s sake!” Another loud sigh, and she managed to cross her legs, elbows propping against her knees as she hunched over slightly. Her kinsfolk were her new enemy; the laird had done entirely too much for her safety and sake. Her; the daughter of a laird whose clan leader threw life aside over a supposed insult to his pride.
“What was he supposed to do…?” Olivia murmured under her breath. “Roll over an’ let the maithers an’ bairns…” she shook her head, moving to push herself back up to her feet. “Aye, but he still had a hand in the killin’. What, am I supposed to just ignore that part? Just,” she waved a hand in the air, as if to swat a particularly annoying fly away. “Conveniently forget how he slaughtered me faither an’ braither?”
A sudden peal of laughter pulled Olivia out from her self-ramble. She nearly lost her balance, embarrassment filling her very soul as she recalled this place not to be her own home, but a complete stranger’s. The enemy’s; and she’d just let loose a stream of killable insults towards their laird.
Covering her mouth, she strained to overhear the conversation held between the laugher and another, but it was entirely inaudible. With the fire extinguished in her chest, Olivia moved as if she were slowly being turned to ice, trying to reach the source of the inaudible chatter without getting into any further trouble.
As she rounded the berry bushes and slipped her head around for a peek, she nearly let out a lough gasp in relief. The only folks sitting amidst the attempts of a garden were Flora and her giant of a husband. They had found a comfortable place on a stonework bench, chatting away as if they’d known each other for all their lives. The same laughter as before slipped out from Flora’s mouth, causing the stone-faced man to actually crack into a smile. Olivia blinked, uncertain what exactly she’d walked in on.
Then, she blinked more furiously, a wave of emotion striking her all at once as a choking realization. If the laird–if Arthur–had done nothing to stop her own kinfolk’s assault, there was a chance that Flora’s husband would have been killed.
Flora’s fate could have been in the hands of battle-high men, whose tendency to lean towards decency died alongside the first man’s chest they carved out. She stared at the loving coupleharder, at the innocence Flora seemed to radiate alongside her husband’s adoration. If Arthur had rolled over…
“And what about Maesie?” she managed to choke out into a whisper.
What about the laird’s own mother?
“Olivia?” Is that ye over there?”
Olivia quickly rubbed her face, pushing through the brush and fully embracing the zings of pain from its thorny branches. “O-Och, Flora!” She blinked back tears, rubbing her face as the new cuts on her face stung terribly. “I’m so sorry–I was walking by and thought I heard you, and then, I tripped on something just now and…”
“Crivvens, Olivia, yer an absolute mess!” Flora shooed her husband off with a wave of her hand. “Nathan, go and find the salve for me, would ye?” She then gently grasped Olivia’s hands into her own, scrutinizing the scrapes along her knuckles and bits of thorn stuck under the skin. “I’m sorry I startled ye. Sit tight; I’ve had plenty o’practice patching up wounds, thanks to me husband.”
Olivia could only offer a grimace in reply. She noticed how colorful Flora appeared to be; even underneath the dim of twilight, a deep tinge of purple slipped between the strands of her hair, causing the green of her eyes to brighten considerably.
A world of only black and white; the phrase rang in Olivia’s head, causing her heart to grow heavy. She could never have seen Flora as her enemy; not in a million years. And yet, she held the name of the clan which Olivia should have hated more than life itself…
“Y’alright, Olivia?” Flora asked, a gentle crease of worry forming over her brow.
Olivia nodded weakly. “Aye…just a bit s-sore, I think.”
Eventually, Nathan returned with the salve in question, holding it patiently in his hands while his wife tended to Olivia’s scratches. The task was quick to complete, and soon, Olivia's nose was positively filled with the sharp smell of medicinal herbs.
“That should take care of the stingin’,” Flora reassured. “But I could make ye a tincture in to kitchen, if ye’d like?” She paused, glancing up towards her husband with an apologetic grimace.
“Ye should take care of our guest first,” Nathan reassured. “I’m not a wee bairn, Flora; I can walk to the sparrin’ grounds on me own.”
“Oh, nay,” Olivia quickly interjected. “I’m feeling much better now. I daenae want to cut in on yer time together as a family.”
Flora’s smile spun a mixture of relief and guilt in Olivia’s stomach. “We’ll be kinsfolk soon enough, ye and I. Ye have everyright to join our ‘family time’.” She gently pulled on Olivia’s hand, and soon, all three were starting across the lawn.
Even with the invitation, Olivia felt entirely like an outcast; a bloodsucking tick, riding on the back of some great stage in the forest. It didn’t help that Flora’s claim of ‘family’ was based on a ruse between her and Arthur.
“‘Tis a terrible mess, I admit,” Flora suddenly said. “But I’m hoping to have it flourishin’ fer the men to enjoy, once all to fighting’s over wit.”
Olivia blinked, a quizzical frown crossing her face.
“Ye seem awfully fixated on something,” Flora’s husband offered gruffly. “Me wife thought it was the sorry state o’this here garden.”
Flora gasped, giving her husband a fair smack on the arm. “Nathan Bisby, the tongue on ye–!”
“Och, nay, fierce goddess,” Nathan chuckled dryly, catching his wife’s hand to pull her into a close embrace. “Forgive me for such blasphemous words.”
“Ye do this to yerself, dear husband o’mine,” Flora scowled, though the corners of her lips wobbled in a desperate attempt to hold back a smile. Olivia watched as Nathan easily lifted his wife up by the waist, the pair sharing a sweet kiss between them before gently separating once more. Noticeably, theirhands remained intertwined, Flora’s completely engulfed by her husband’s.
“I think yer garden looks lovely, Flora,” Olivia offered.
Flora’s grin widened as her own giggles escaped her lips. “Och, nay, Olivia; I know it needs much more work.” She paused beside a partially-constructed bed, the wood somewhat misshapen and the florals just barely held back by the flimsy perimeter. “Much effort an’ resources goes to the wars between clans, so I try an’ work with what I have.”
