Page 23 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
“Aye?”
A slight smirk crossed the laird’s face. “Did ye enjoy the show?”
Olivia snorted as she crossed her arms. “I’ve seen better.”
“Have ye?”
She turned her nose upward, voice thick with exaggerated contempt. “Perhaps.”
“Och; ye wound me, selkie!” Arthur’s hand grasped his chest, as if her words had struck his heart directly. “I dinnae ken if I’ll ever recover from such barbs.”
“Aye; ye’ve recovered from worse, I’m sure.” The pair stared at each other for a beat, Olivia briefly getting lost in his seafoam gaze. She wanted to tell him off about the string of lies she’d been forced to spin so far, but then Arthur cleared his throat, glancing about as folk continued to trudge back into the setting dark of the keep.
“I noticed yer wearin’ some of the garden flowers,” he began.
Olivia blinked, fingers brushing against the petals in her hair. “Aye–yer sister put ‘em in for me.” It was such a strange shift in mood; Arthur’s usual sway and braggart nature seemed absent,replaced with a gentle stillness that allowed some of his softer emotions freedom.As still as glass,Olivia thought to herself, though quickly pushed the idea aside. “What, did she do a poor job?”
Arthur’s gaze narrowed slightly. “I ken a trap when I see one, selkie. Ye willnae get me to shame me own sister.”
Olivia giggled and offered a nod of respect.
“I just mean–if ye were interested in putting a few more in there…” Arthur’s sentence trailed off, and Olivia almost couldn’t believe this was the same man who’d just taken down an opponent twice his size.
“Laird MacDonnell,” Olivia gasped. “Are ye tryin’ yer hand at proper courtship?”
His returning smile seemed…far more genuine than before. “Well, we are meant to be betrothed. Should appear as if we enjoy each other’s company.” He offered his hand, which Olivia hesitantly accepted.
He was right, of course; they needed to sell their infatuation, and there was no better proof than spending intimate moments together. It immediately worked as a number of clansfolk whispered and grinned to themselves as the pair walked past them, hand in hand.
Olivia allowed herself to be led towards the rear entrance, a myriad of wildflowers stretching their petals out beneath the moonlight. Arthur directed her to sit amidst a small cluster of wood sorrels, their bright yellow buds the perfect contrast to her hair. “Yer experienced with doing a lass’s hair, then?”
Arthur scoffed, immediately taking a small strand of her hair before weaving a tight braid with impressive speed and precision. He wove a number of sorrels between each twist, tying off the end before eventually moving on to another lock of hair. Olivia debated telling him off for touching her, but this wasn’t…exactly ‘touching’ her, so to speak. And she was enjoying the personal care…not that she would ever admit it to his face.
“Ye didnae think ‘twas our Mam who taught Flora how to braid so well?” Arthur suddenly asked.
“Oh, so ye willane disgrace yer sister, but yer maither is an open target?” Olivia admonished.
“Aye, she kens how terrible her braidwork is,” Arthur chuckled, finishing up another before starting on a third. “But she also kens I’d fall on me own sword to keep her–and Flora–safe from harm.”
The words settled heavily onto Olivia’s shoulders, and for a moment, she allowed silence to stretch out between her and the laird. Arthur seemed hardly bothered, entirely focused on the task at hand as Olivia occasionally came out of her thoughts from a light tug on her head. “Arthur…”
“I wanted to apologize fer before,” Arthur interrupted. He pulled her hair into a larger bunch, weaving the braids into one thick mass while peppering in flowers here and there. “Back in yer room–I hadnae meant to phrase me words as I had.” He gently tied off the last braid, placing it over Olivia’s shoulder as to allow for her inspection. “But it still hurt ye, and I dinnae want that to linger between us. Yer not a prize for me to win, and maybe,” he put extra emphasis on the word, a tinge of humor returning to his voice. “Maybe, I did enjoy the idea o’being a hero for once. Instead of…”
“...instead of a beast?” Olivia asked softly.
Arthur didn’t have a response, and Olivia’s fingers gently brushed against her new hairdo. It really was exquisitely done, each smaller braid perfectly made, each flower lovingly and carefully placed. She could feel the care and hard work radiating off the hairstyle, and she turned her head upright to meet Arthur’s eye.
“If I were to judge you on yer hand in a war, I would have to judge me own family’s involvement, too.” She blow a stray strand of hair off her forehead, moving to stand upright from the ground. Arthur moved to grasp her hand, an act that hardly surprised Olivia, even within the short time she’d known him.
“I daenae think yer that black an’ white, m’laird.”
“Oh?”
Olivia nodded, a slight blush creeping across her face. “Though, I do think yer fascination with fighting makes ye a bit strange.”
“Och, nay; ye just never experienced it like I have. That rush ye get when ye draw yer sword for the first time, when steel clangs and bites into yer enemy’s skin,” Arthur sighed, a somewhat dreamy expression crossing his face. “‘Tis what I live for, selkie.”
What he lived for…Olivia never considered such a violent pastime could bring joy to someone. But during the skirmish, while Arthur was engaged against the younger boy and his man-at-arms…he really did seem to be in a state of contentment.
