Page 54 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
“Will ye nae thank Laird MacGunn for his kind words, Rosie?” Duncan asked.
Again, Rosie hesitated.
“Go on, sweetness,” Alison insisted softly.
With a forced smile, Rosie tilted her chin and spoke words that seemed entirely rehearsed. “Thank ye kindly, me Laird. I hope ye enjoy our hospitality.”
Marcus chuckled lightly, bowing his head before standing upright once more. “Aye, what a fine young lass ye’re growin’ to be, Rosie.”
“We lairds will gather once Hector gets here,” Duncan said. “For now, enjoy the festivities.”
“Thank ye, Laird Marsden. And,” his gaze flipped to Arthur, icy eyes hardening slightly. “I’m fascinated to learn what ye needed us for, Laird MacDonnell.”
Arthur exhaled sharply as Marcus entered the keep. He was not as familiar with the laird as Hector was, though such familiarity had come from multiple skirmishes between the pairs’ clans. The peace treaty was in effect, certainly, but trust was a hard-earned good. And, that was reasonable enough; the ink had only just begun to dry. Still, he could respect the laird for the power he carried behind himself. It wasn’t obvious, didn’t scream in your face with blood and fury. It reminded him of the wintertime, a cold, chilling presence that clung to your skin and lingered well after Marcus had left.
It was another hour or so greeting unfamiliar faces, and Arthur suddenly sympathized with Rosie’s boredom. He leaned across to Alison, carefully whispering as to not attract attention. “Do ye ken where Olivia might be, Alison?”
She gave him a bemused look in return. “Worried she’ll wander off, yer lairdship?”
He hadn’t been, until she’d brought it up.
“I’m teasing ye, Arthur,” Alison chuckled lightly, nodding her head in greetings to another pair of guests. As they passed into the keep proper, she leaned in once more to speak. “I’m a bit surprised, though. Usually, ye’d already be eyeing other ladies as they fluttered by.”
“Usually, I’m nay betrothed,” Arthur pointed out.
“Nay, that’s true,” Duncan interjected, clearly too interested in the conversation to stay out of it any longer. “Which, if we’re being honest, is equally as strange a sight.”
“Aye; I dinnae even ken ye found someone until ye wrote back to us!” Alison admonished.
“What are ye, a pair o’ peckin hens?” Arthur hissed. “The pair o’ ye were the loudest o’ the bunch in tryin’ to get me married.”
“True,” Duncan admitted.
“Very true,” Alsion agreed. “It’s just…the timing of it all seems rather quick.”
“Rather convenient, given how noisy yer council’s been getting,” Duncan added with a raised brow.
Arthur wished he had an excuse to walk away from this conversation. And, much to his relief, it came in the arrival of Laird and Lady McKimmon. Or, more precisely, it came with the appearance of a large, gray mastiff, sprinting through the crowd before tacking Maesie to the ground. Rosie let out a startled–delighted–squeal, dancing in place as the dogs wrestled playfully across the ground.
“Pipkin! Pipkin’s here!” Rosie said.
A pair of children came clambering next, the boy just on the edge of his manhood while his sister still had a few years leftto go. “Rosie!” The little girl immediately sprinted ahead of her brother, grabbing Rosie and similarly taking her to the ground in a tight hug. “Rosie, Rosie! I’m here!”
“Ye’re here!” Rosie repeated excitedly, arms squeezing her friend back.
The older boy slipped beside both Arthur and Duncan, arms crossed loosely as he rolled his eyes over the dramatic display. “Bonnie, yer gettin’ too old to act like this.”
“Well, yer too young to be nagging like that, Lyall,” Bonnie argued back.
“Aye, that’s enough outta the both of ye.” Arthur easily picked the two girls up and tucked them under his arms, the pair of them squealing with laughter. “Nice to see ye again, Bonnie, lass.”
“Hello, Uncle Arthur!” Bonnie laughed.
Again, Lyall rolled his eyes, turning to give a more subtle bow towards Laird and Lady Marsden. “Greetings, yer laird and ladyship. Thank ye again fer inviting our family to yer ceilidh.”
“Ooh, how very formal of ye.” Alison offered a curtsy of her own, her husband giving a nod of respect. “We’re quite grateful that ye kinfolk made the journey here.”
“Laird MacKimmon is right behind us,” Lyall explained, “Katie has slowed in pace due to the babe that’s coming any minute now, and as such, Hector’s ensuring she doesnae hurt herself.”
