Page 4 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
Olivia bit her lip, eyes lingering towards Maesie in some hope she’d find a better excuse. The deerhound let out a large yawn, stretching her front paws across the ground before standing upright and trotting towards one of the untouched hares. With a greedy snap, she brought it into her jaw and partially dragged it towards the dim, intent on enjoying her own meal away from the growing tension. “Yer no help at all,” Olivia grumbled under her breath.
“I’d say I was plenty helpful,” One-Eye remarked. “Yer the one beatin’ round the bush, here.”
She could feel her temper begin to slip through the cracks. “Does it matter? I’m only a wee twig compared to ye.”
“A wee twig can still pierce flesh,” One-Eye retorted, hand gripping the hilt of his hunting knife. “Yer not exactly makin’ yerself sound anymore trustworthy.”
She couldn’t help herself; a harsh, somewhat crazed laughter escaped from Olivia, the kind that left her feeling lightheaded after the fact.
“Trustworthy? Dinnae lecture me about ‘trust’! I’ve spent the whole night runnin’ from folk I thought I could trust! I nearly drowned just now because of misplaced trust, and if ye think I’ll just–!” She froze, suddenly bolting upright from beneath thecloak. “Me arisaid; where did it go? I–I fell in the tarn with it–where is it?”
“Aye, it just about dragged ye down in the depths, selkie.” One-Eye shifted behind himself, producing a familiar cloth that now billowed with a ragged edge. “Sorry, but I had to cut ye free from yer seal’s coat.”
Olivia’s lip twitched, and she quickly rounded the fire to snatch the cloth out from the stranger’s. “Ye think it’s funny, do ye? Laughin’ at another’s misfortune? I oughtta–I-I oughtta throw yer cloak in the fire!”
Maesie’s head lifted briefly, eyeing her master as One-Eye simply rose a brow. “Would it make ye feel better?”
Olivia stood over him for a moment, the nighttime air catching against her clammy skin as a shiver ran down her spine. She grasped her arisaid tightly, thoughts of her mother’s fate threatening to crush her lungs. “N…nay. I–I’m sorry–that was horrid of me to say.”
“‘Tis an ugly cloak, wee selkie,” One-Eye teased lightly. “Old an’ worn; if ye did burn it, I’d finally get a new one.”
That managed a weak chuckle from Olivia. “Even so, I am sorry. Me misfortune isnae ye fault.”
“Will ye at least tell me whose it is?”
Olivia sighed heavily, wrapping her arisaid as best she could around her shoulders. “Laird MacDonnell, I suppose.”
This time, the crackling of animal flesh failed to break the silence between them. Olivia watched as One-Eye pulled the roasting hare out from the fire, gingerly tapping its meat before his seafoam gaze bore right through her. “So, what did I do to cause yer misfortune?”
Olivia blinked, certain she hadn’t heard correctly. She watched as One-Eye stuck the hare back onto the fire, a low growl emanating from the shade where Maesie laid. Every hair on the back of Olivia’s neck stood upright, the light atmosphere suddenly snuffed and replaced with a sour, heavy anxiety.
“Go on, then,” ‘One-Eye’ insisted. “Tell MacDonnell straight to his face what troubles he’s made in yer life, ye wee selkie.”
3
Arthur always intended for his voice to carry a certain amount of weight. A warning, of sorts, to strangers who thought of him as someone to be trifled with. So, as expected, his selkie moved to step away from him, letting out a panicked squeak as Arthur’s hand found her wrist and held fast. Not tight enough to cause any permanent damage, but enough to keep her close at bay. Enough to ensure she couldn’t worm her way out of this conversation.
Selkie–the moniker had popped into Arthur’s head after he’d wrapped the woman in his cloak, her wet hair strewn out like the grasping tendrils of red seaweed. And her body; though he’d done his best not to linger while stripping her down…it was hard to ignore the natural shape and curves.
And now, as she stared wide-eyed at him, he found her eyes mesmerising, like looking at the deepest depths of the ocean itself. He imagined her voluptuous body easily cutting through the waves, tempting any man who crossed her along the beaches.His own, personal myth, come to life before his very eyes. His goddess of the waves…his selkie.
Who very much looked like a beast trapped in the metaphorical corner.
“I…I…” Selkie stammered, reflexively twisting her wrist in an attempt to escape. When it became clear that wasn’t an option, Arthur half-expected her to break down into tears. Beg for her life, sob out some sad story about the horrors of the war between clans. What he hadn’t expected was for her free hand to ball into a fist and strike out across his face.
Maesie let out a terrifying snarl, leaping to her feet and ready to tear the woman’s throat out. But Arthur refused to give the command, and thus, his deerhound stood rigid. He allowed his selkie another strike, though he ensured she wouldn’t get to his face this time, and she punched against his chest while heaving heavily.
“Troubles? Troubles?!” Selkie continued beating against his chest, emphasizing her disgust with each pound of her fist. “Yer the reason me clan turned on me, ye ugsome troll! The reason I fell into the tarn, the reason me faither and braither are dead in the ground!”
Her last sentence took Arthur by surprise. Enough that he loosened his hold just enough for his selkie to slip free. Though, instead of running off, she instead balled her other fist and struck his chest more furiously than before.
“And–And me maither might be joinin’ them soon, ‘cause of ye! Ye took away every part of me home, and yer just gonna stand there an’ ask me what troubles ye’ve caused me? Me maither–y-ye destroyed the arisaid me maither and I…” The word hung heavily in the air, seemingly snuffing out whatever fire burned in the wee selkie’s chest. Her fists trembled, pressed against Arthur as if he were the only thing keeping her standing.
He stared at her, hard, knowing full well his next question already had an answer. “What’s yer name, lass?”
Her eyes met his, a raging storm hanging over a restless sea. “Olivia. Olivia MacLarsen, ye scabby dobber.”
Olivia. Daughter to a clan he’d long-since put out of his mind. Arthur exhaled slowly, waving a hand Maesie’s way as to reassure the beast the trouble had passed. The deerhound hardly looked convinced, but obedience won out. She settled back into the grass, half-chewed carcass between her paws as she shot daggers Olivia’s way. She seemed to notice right away, shoulders stiffening and fear flickering across her sour expression.
