Page 31 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
Olivia found herself unable to nod, her hand tightly gripped around the stem of her goblet.
“I was so excited to see how grown up Rosie’s gotten,” Flora lamented, her hand settling tenderly against her stomach. “But I woke up so nauseous this morning–Nathan made me swear not to push meself, and I ken I’d be miserable riding horseback all the way to Duncan’s keep. But, still,” she offered another loud sigh, elbow against the table she rested her chin against her hand.
“Well, ‘tis a good thing Olivia’ll be going with Arthur, aye?” Elspeth beamed.
Olivia found herself staring at her half-eaten dinner, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. “I…daenae have anything to wear, though.”
“That’s even better!” Flora squealed. “Ye and I can go to town and find ye something!”
“Are ye nae nauseous, though?” Arthur inquired innocently.
Flora’s mood visibly dampened, and she let out a disappointed huff. “Ye such a wowser, ye ken that?”
“Aye,” Arthur agreed. “But I’d rather spoil yer fun than have Nathan angry at me. If ye got sick during the trip there, how do ye think he’d feel?”
“But shopping is me favorite pastime!” Flora whined.
“Nay, now yer brother is right,” Elspeth interjected. “Fer all we ken, ye could be in the first few weeks of expecting yer wee bairn! Imagine him or her being all shaken about a top a horse.”
Flora’s face flushed bright, as if she hadn’t even considered the possibility.
“I’m sure Olivia would be happy to shop with ye after the ceilidh,” Elspeth reassured. “She’ll be needing her own proper wardrobe if she’s going to stay here. And, if I’m right o’bout ye being with child,” Elspeth added with a wink. “She can help ye find some looser gowns once the wee one starts growing in!”
Olivia didn’t quite feel like laughing alongside the women. And, at this point, Arthur seemed fully aware that something was off. He nodded his head towards the dining hall’s exit, givingOlivia a questioning furrow of his brow. With a beat’s worth of hesitation, Olivia did manage a nod this time, and she watched as Arthur suddenly rose from his chair.
“Forgive me, Mam, but a promise I made to Olivia slipped me mind.” We’ll be excusing ourselves fer a brief spell.”
“Och, nay bother, sweetness,” Elspeth said. “But hurry back; I heard the kitchen got their hands on some raspberries and made cranachan! Ah, but I’ll let them ken to take the whiskey outta yers, Flora,” she added teasingly. “Daenae want to edge on yer ‘nausea’ anymore than needed.”
Arthur offered a sweet smile in return, moving towards Olivia and offering a hand. She took it willingly and allowed herself to be led out of the dining hall. They walked a few paces down the hall, Arthur glancing about to ensure no servant would intrude, nor that his family would overhear their conversation. Then, looking satisfied, his attention solely fixed on Olivia. “Aye, now, tell me what’s bothering ye, Olivia?”
Again, he used her name. And, again, it wove its spell, taking apart walls she’d built up for years and letting her true emotions rush forth. “I ken ye said ye’d get me maither,” Olivia began. “I just…I cannae help but worry fer her, Arthur.” She found herself staring at the freshly wiped floors, hands absentmindedly beginning to braid her hair. “Ye’ve given me so much, and–and of course, I believe yer words, I just…I…”
Gently, his hand slipped beneath her chin. And, gently, he lifted her gaze to meet his. Olivia blinked furiously, biting her lip atthe sight of his face. The kind lines around his eye, the subtle note of concern in his brow. Everything that once put her on the defensive now weakened her considerably. But, still, she couldn’t help but flicker her eyes away.
“Ah.” Arthur’s hand returned to his side. “I didnae ask.”
Olivia shook her head, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Nay, I daenae mind–but…” she exhaled loudly, dropping her hair as it settled against her chest. “Could ye braid it again? Like ye did last night?”
Arthur obliged, leading the pair to a small table set up in the small alcove of a sitting room. The hearth burned warmly against Olivia’s face, and she sat in a simply made stool Arthur had pulled out for her. He opted to remain standing, carefully separating her hair into two main sections before quietly getting to work.
Olivia’s eyes fluttered shut, the occasional tug against her head a reassurance that she wasn’t alone. Arthur didn’t push her to speak, didn’t inquire further or try and defend his word to her. He simply wove her hair into two, thick braids, slowly bringing them around her hair like a makeshift band.
“Hope ye daenae mind the milkmaid’s style,” he joked lightly.
It managed to pull a weak giggle from Olivia, and as he stepped around into her view, she carefully brushed her fingers along the braids against the top of her head. “Ye really are a marvel, ye know that?”
“I try me best,” Arthur winked. Then, he found a stool of his own and took a seat, sighing as if he’d been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for the whole of his life. “Can ye tell me what’s really botherin ye, now? I daenae think it’s all to do wit yer maither.”
Olivia squirmed slightly; it was uncanny, how easily he could seemingly read her mind. “I…hadnae considered what it may be like, if she were really gone. Me maither’s me last link to me clan–the part that daenae want me dead–and I just…” She paused, once more biting her lip, trying to find the words to say.
Or, being too frightened to say what she really meant, in fear that it would become reality. And still, Arthur patiently waited, dedicated to hearing her every worry. In some terrible part of her heart, Olivia wished that wasn’t the case. That he was as cruel as she’d heard, that his family was just as terrible. Because then, maybe…
“...I daenae think I liked me clan as much as I like yers, m’laird.”
Arthur had to admit it; he was completely taken aback. He had suspected something to be bothering Olivia, yes, but he figured it had to do with him being her family’s sworn enemy. Living with the person who murdered one’s kin couldn’t be easy, and Arthur was willing to work through that fear with her. Prove that, no matter what, he was not just a killer. He wasn’t ready to hear that she…liked his folk more than her own clan.
“I still care for all of them greatly,” Olivia quickly added. “I–I grew up beside so many of them; it’d be ridiculous not to care about them. Her fingers brushed his braidwork once more, clearly wrestling with what she wanted to say, and what was expected. “It’s just…with what they did, it got me thinking about…other things they’ve done. Constantly discussing who I’d be engaged to, having strong and healthy sons to help faither rule the clan, like I wasnae even there! I never felt like…like…?”
