Page 24 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
“Aye, ye know what?” Arthur clapped his hands together, as if a bolt of inspiration had just struck him down. “Ye oughta experience it for yerself! I ken ye got experience with a bow; meet me here tomorrow, after ye’ve had something to eat. And wear something comfortable,” he added with his unique way of winking. “Yer likely to get awful worked up.”
Olivia felt her face flush hotter, watching as the laird had–at some point–closed the short distance between them. He still smelled heavily of sweat from his brawl, yet the musky odor didn’t seem to bother her as much as she expected. If anything, Olivia was eager to test that ‘legendary’ stamina for herself. Perhaps with a swim in the ocean, a run through the hills, a wrestling match of her own in the confines of their–!
“Y-Yes!” Olivia took a healthy step back, offering a quick curtsy before making a dash for the castle’s back entrance. “I’ll see ye in the morning, then! Goodnight for now, m’laird!” As she graspedthe doors and quickly ducked inside, her legs nearly gave out at the hearty laughter that trailed out from the laird, still standing in the makeshift garden without a care in the world.
As Arthur watched the door close behind his little selkie, he couldn’t help but sigh softly, his chuckles ebbed. He wished there wasn’t so much to care about in his world, but as laird of the keep, his day didn’t fully end until every matter had been resolved. So, willing his own resolve to complete his duty, Arthur started towards the front of the castle, ensuring his little selkie had the time to recover after their intimate meeting.
An apology…the Laird of MacDonnell apologized for nothing–it would make him look weak to his kin and enemies, after all–but Arthur would do just about anything to ensure that beautiful sea goddess held him in good terms. He wanted her to hold far more than that, of course, but Arthur couldn’t afford such distractions. Right now, his main task was hunting down the whereabouts of Olivia’s mother, a task he was certain could be accomplished.
“The only problem is the part I cannae control,” he mumbled under his breath, pushing through the front gates and entering the castle proper. And that…was if Olivia’s mother had made it to the convent at all.”
He reached the large double-doors, Maesie immediately leaping to her feet as she circled him enthusiastically. “Och, ye fearsome beast,” Arthur chuckled, kneeling down to give the deerhounda proper rub-down. “Ye havenae followed after Flora to her room?”
Maesie let out an excited yip, licking her master’s hand furiously.
“Aye…well, thanks for waiting up.” Arthur stood upright once more, holding the doors open for Maesie to trot in first. He followed close behind, bidding a polite, ‘good night’ to any passing servant or kinsfolk. One of his councilmen stopped in mid-step, offering a nod to the laird before continuing his journey to his quarters.
“Ye think they bought my wee little trick, Maesie?” Arthur asked under his breath.
The deerhound replied with a slight tilt of her head, tail wagging furiously at the mere mention of her name.
“Aye…I think I’ll need to be more convincin,” Arthur agreed. He paused at a stonecarved staircase, Maesie standing patiently at his side with the occasional glance upward. As spirited as she was, it always brought him reassurance that the deerhound knew when to focus on her duties. And she would have likely sat beside him for hours, stiff as a board and waiting for her next command.
“Release, Maesie,” Arthur said sternly. “Go an’ protect Flora.”
With a delighted bark, Maesie took off up the stairs, intent on getting to Flora’s room in record time. It brought a reassuringsmile to Arthur’s face, and as he turned to make his way toward his study, he wasn’t surprised at all at his man-at-arms’ sudden appearance. As massive as he was, Nathan could be surprisingly silent when he chose to. “Maesie’s on her way up,” Arthur informed him.
Nathan nodded curtly.
“She really is perfectly trained, Nathan.”
“Best dog to date,” Nathan replied. “Flora ken what she saw in that wee runt, and I strive to remain trusting o’her judgement.”
“Ye sayin’ that as respect to her title as laird’s sister,” Arthur inquired innocently. “Or because she’s yer wife?”
Nathan simply offered a raised brow in reply. He followed his laird to the cellar as taking the chair closest toward the hearth. Arthur wandered to a shelf filled to the brim with war memorabilia; scraps of tabards taken from now-decimated clans, bits of chipped weaponry from lairds he’d taken down, and a number of seashells carefully displayed highest of all, with a dried floral crown encircling it. He reached behind for a small cask of whiskey, the strong scent of alcohol hitting the air immediately as he filled a pair of goblets.
“Yer special reserves, m’laird?” Nathan inquired.
“Feels like a special night,” Arthur replied, offering the cup towards his man-at-arms before taking a seat across from him.The pair offered a silent toast between them, Nathan slowly nursing his drink while Arthur downed it in one go. His man-at-arms raised a quizzical brow, but remained quiet on the matter. Instead, he cleared his throat and set his cup against a nearby table, removing a folded slip of parchment from his vest.
“Missive came back from to warriors we sent out this morning,” Nathan began. “Seems the convent closest to our border had nay sign of Olivia’s mother."
As expected. Arthur blew out a heavy breath, filling his goblet once more. If her mother had made it that far, there would have been quite a number of holes cut into his little selkie’s story. Luckily for her–for his peace of mind–it seemed Olivia’s narrative held its weight in truth. “‘Tis likely to be further in the MacCulloh’s territory. Send message back to tread with caution; we dinnae need anymore o’their blood on our hands.”
Nathan nodded, though dug back into his vest once more. He presented another parchment, though this one was neatly rolled and faintly smelled of rose petals. “Duncan sent this one. ‘Tis for Rose; he’s havin’ a ceilidh when the moon’s nay but a sliver in to sky.”
A celebration, and amidst all the excitement at his own keep. Arthur accepted the invitation, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. “Aye, that sleekit…ken full well I wouldnae say ‘nay’ to wee Rosie.” He placed the letter beside him and glanced back toward his man-at-arms, who continued to look as if he had more to say. “What else, Nathan?”
Nathan’s expression hardly wavered. “‘Tis nay important, m’laird.”
“Go on, then,” Arthur insisted. “Ye ken I value yer opinion on matters.”
The briefest flicker of hesitancy, but Nathan spoke nonetheless. “Will ye be takin’ yer betrothed with ye?”
“To the ceilidh?”
Nathan nodded, quietly waiting for his laird’s response as his cup remained abandoned on the table beside him.
