Page 42 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
“And, when I kenned ye were alright…” His tone sounded so somber all of a sudden, as if he were making an impossiblechoice. “I would kiss ye gently on the forehead, and bid ye goodnight.”
Olivia felt something inside her ache. She wished desperately he would break down the door, take her into his arms, and carry her back to his bed. She wished they could curl up beneath the quilt together, that she could run a hand through his hair and trace the scars on his bare chest. She wish his warmth would remain beside him…but that simply wasn’t the case.
“Goodnight…Olivia.”
“Good…” Olivia swallowed, doing her best to find her voice after all of that. “Good night…Arthur.”
He lingered at the door for a moment longer. Then, his footsteps trailed faintly down the hall, and Olivia remained still, listening to his footsteps until they had long since vanished down the hall.
22
Arthur could willingly admit that, perhaps, his actions last night weren’t the wisest. He didn’t regret going back to Olivia’s room, per se, and hearing how pleased she was only solidified that point further. No, the laird of MacDonnell had no regrets in regards to what he helped his selkie experience last night. He was, however, reconsidering his approach when, during breakfast, his attempts to sit beside Olivia was completely foiled by her mother.
As he sat with his plate barely touched, he couldn’t help but note how closely Olivia’s mother sat, how concise her responses were whenever conversation turned her way. And Olivia hardly lifted her own gaze, speaking in quiet mumbles and appearing as distant as her mother. She was practically drowning in her arisaid, with her mother adjusting it against her shoulder every so often to ensure a rather ridiculous level of modesty. Elspeth exchanged a concerned look Arthur’s way, and he could only shrug his shoulders in response.
Throughout the morning, Olivia’s mother remained attached at her side, making it impossible for Arthur to pull his selkie away for private conversation. There was still so much they had to talk about–so much he had to properly say–but it seemed Olivia’s mother had made it her mission to remain at her daughter’s side for the remainder of…forever, if Arthur had to guess.
There was a moment–the briefest of periods at around midday–when his mother suddenly announced a need to discuss wedding details with Olivia’s. Though she tried to object, Elspeth put on too grand an act to ignore; Arthur was certain even he wouldn’t be able to say no, given Olivia’s mother’s position.
“I’ll be back soon,” Olivia’s mother promised, grasping her daughter’s hand as if they were being forcefully torn apart.
Olivia offered a weak nod in reply, eyes trailing after the motherly pair as they crossed the sitting room. Once the door closed behind them, she let out a massive sigh of relief, slumping down into her chair while her hair strewn out wildly behind her.
“Ye noticed it too, then?” Arthur joked.
Olivia replied with a groan, sitting upright as she buried her face in her hands. “She’s absolutely suffocating! I mean, I’m glad she’s speaking to me, that I didnae push her away entirely, but I just–?”
“It’s a lot,” Arthur said.
Olivia lifted her head, nodding gently Arthur’s way.
“And…I daenae think this next topic’ll be helping to lighten that load, selkie.”
A grimace immediately spread across Olivia’s face. “Oh, Arthur–I cannae even begin to think about what happened last night.”
“I ken.”
“It’s just–with me maither, and–and ye told me ye werenae interested in actual marriage…”
“We daenae have to talk just yet,” Arthur insisted. “But, we should. At some point, we should discuss it.” He let out a gentle sigh of his own, taking the chair across from Olivia’s as he stared at the crackling hearth. “Fer now, if ye can handle me just sittin’ quietly with ye…?”
Olivia chuckled, running a hand through her mess of hair.
“Or, if ye’d like,” Arthur began to offer, staring at tangled strands as ideas for braids flooded his mind.
“N-Nay, Arthur. I daenae think I can…” Olivia’s sentence trailed away, and she shook her head gently. “If ye wish to sit with me, I’d be alright with that. At least fer as long as yer maither will give us.”
For the time being, Arthur accepted that. He hated it…but he was willing to take what he could.
“We couldnae even spar today without her maither insisting otherwise.” Arthur growled under his breath, leaning back in his chair as the alcove’s hearth flickered gently. “’Tis ridiculous! We’re to be married soon, and I’ve nae had a moment alone with her.”
Flora nodded, though seemed far more focused on their hnefatafl game. She eyed the king and moved to grasp it, only to shake her head and reconsider.
“Ye already touched yer piece,” Arthur interjected.
Flora shot him a scowl, but she begrudgingly took the king and moved it closer to the edge of the board.
“Ye cannae blame her maither too harshly, son,” Elspeth said, setting her knitting against her lap with a soft, sad sigh of her own. “She hasnae seen her daughter in days; I would feel just as protective if I heard me child declare sudden loyalty to a once-enemy.”
