Page 25 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
Arthur rolled the idea around in his head. It would certainly help convince the council how ‘serious’ he was…“I daenae see why not. Though, I’m certain Olivia willnae leave until her maither’s safe, so I’ll send a few kinsfolk ahead to let Duncan ken I’ll arrive late.” He paused, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Ye think Rosie would like a deerhound? Alison sang high praises fer Maesie last we visited.”
“The houndmaster’s finished training the latest litter,” Nathan said. “Ye can have yer pick o’the best.”
“Ye mean Flora can,” Arthur chuckled.
“Do ye think it wise, m’laird?”
“Aye!” Arthur insisted. “We both agreed Flora has–”
“--to bring Olivia MacLarsen with ye, m’laird” Nathan explained.
Arthur’s brow furrowed slightly. “Ye dinnae trust her?”
His man-at-arms remained silent.
Arthur sat forward in his chair. “Ye really think she can hurt me, Nathan?”
“I think it’s yerself that will cause pain, m’laird.”
A spark of anger flashed through Arthur’s blood, boiling over into his tone. “I have done naething to hurt her.”
“Recently, aye.”
Arthur shook his head, waving his man-at-arms to leave before his temper won out. Nathan did so with a quick bow, though he lingered at the laird’s door for a moment longer. “I passed a few lasses interested in ye tonight.”
“Send them back to their own quarters,” Arthur replied immediately. As the door closed, he stood and snatched Nathan’s unfinished cup, polishing off in one swig. This sea goddess intended to drive him mad.
14
Alight drizzle took the next morning, and Olivia woke to the soft pitter of rain against the castle walls. Breakfast was much the same, with Flora quietly reading her book amidst a massive spread of food.
This time, Maesie sleepily stretched out beneath her chair, having half a chewed sausage between her paws as she took her time to savor each bite. Olivia offered a quick ‘good morning’ before snagging an oatcake and heading for the back entrance.
“Where are ye off to in such a hurry?” Flora inquired.
“Yer brother–ah, Laird MacDonnall,” Olivia corrected herself. “He wanted to show me something at the training grounds.
“In this weather?” Elspeth appeared from one of the main door frames, brow creased with worry. “Ye two’ll catch yer death out there!”
“I’m a selkie, remember?” Olivia teased. “We quite like the rain. And it’s only a wee drizzle; if it gets any worse, I’ll insist we come in.”
Elspeth didn’t look entirely convinced, but she also seemed to realize Olivia wouldn’t change her mind. “Well, at least take yer arisaid wit ye. It’ll help keep ye dry.”
“‘Tis been fixed?” Olivia asked, excitement edging into her voice.
Elspeth pulled her arms out from behind her back, presenting the cloth now newly-sewn back together. “I couldnae get the color exactly right,” she apologized, and Olivia did indeed notice the shade was noticeably off from the original.
“Ye had a hand in fixing it, yer lady--ah, M-Mam?” Olivia blinked, unable to stop herself from embracing the laird’s mother completely. “Thank ye so much! This–it was something me maither and I sewed together, and…” she stopped, unable to speak past the lump in her throat any further.
“Never mind all that, sweetness.” Elspeth carefully draped the arisaid against Olivia’s shoulders, tucking and folding the cloth until it draped beautifully against her as a makeshift cape. “Just promise me to let me talk yer maither’s ear off when she arrives. Her stitchwork’s quite impressive; I need to ken how she does it!”
The thought eased some of Olivia’s anxiety, and with another goodbye spoken between the three women, she set out towards the back of the castle, a bit more eager now to see what Arthurhad planned for her. The drizzle was no match for her arisaid, and Olivia was grateful Elspeth had insisted she’d taken it.
An occasional bitter breeze rolled off the ocean waves and drifted about her, and the warm cloth did wonders for keeping it at bay. Eventually, she caught sight of Arthur over the hill, swinging a sword against a straw-filled dummy. Its head flew from its body in one swing, hay dancing in the air before the aforementioned head rolled into Olivia, bumping her leg gently.
“Sorry, selkie!” Arthur sheathed his sword, shaking his own cloak free of raindrops as he moved to close the distance between them. Olivia’s face heated against the cool air, and she was certain it looked as red as her hair as the laird approached. He moved like she imagined water would if personified; smoothly, with a weight and purpose behind every step he took. Like a river, knowing full well it would one day return to the sea. Like how certain Arthur was that he would die for his…
“Ye alright there, Olivia?”
