Page 7 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
There were a few times she tried striking up conversation, in particular about her mother’s last wishes. While a nagging voice in her head said her poor mother had been captured and killed by who she once considered kinsfolk, Olivia had to believe she would be waiting at the convent instead. And, after all, the laird had seemed fairly reasonable…thus far. Surely, he would understand her need to go and check? If only for hope’s sake?
The laird, however, hardly seemed one for conversation this time. Whenever they’d stop for a rest, he’d slip wordlessly into the forest. His pace was quick, but cautious, hardly making a sound at all. Even Maesie seemed to be blessed with ethereal grace, slipping in and out the brush directly on her master’s heels. It was honestly quite the sight to behold; like Cernunnos himself visiting her in a flesh-and-blood disguise. And yet, Olivia never once lost sight of him, knowing full well which direction he’d headed and, thusly, which direction she should follow, if she needed his help.
The forests thinned into rolling hills, which in turn dropped off into sheer-sided cliffs. A salty tang now hung permanently in the midnight air, and Olivia couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose at the unfamiliar scent. Far below them, the echo of white-peaked waves crashed into the rocky outcrops, clawing against the cliff in a desperate bid to reach their traveling band and sweep them out farther into the sea. By instinct, she leaned away on the horse as much as she could, nearly losing her footing as Laird MacDonnell moved to catch her.
“Yer nae ‘fraid o’heights, are ye?” the laird asked, tone somewhat serious.
“J-just taken aback, is all!” Olivia snapped, though she kept herself pressed against the laird’s chest.
Maesie offered a cheerful yip as reassurance, bounding beside the pair in a breathless pant.
“Aye; Maesie agrees with me,” Laird MacDonnell called out.
“With what?”
“That yer full of it.” He continued to smirk, glancing towards the cliffside with his one eye. “What sort of selkie’s afraid o’the water, anyway?”
“One that is nae a real seal, ye bampot,” Olivia scowled. “And I told you me name already!”
“Aye, lass,” the laird nodded. “Ye did.”
Olivia waited impatiently, feeling her temper begin to burn in her cheeks. “And?!”
“And,” Laird MacDonnell tug on his horse’s reins, dropping off the saddle as he offered a hand. She begrudgingly took it, sliding down and staring nervously at the drop to the beach below them. “It looks like our journey’s over, selkie.”
Olivia’s eyes trailed out, catching sight of a narrow stripe of land acting as a natural bridge between them and an isle almost completely cut off from the mainland. Torchlight flickered across the way, illuminating the vague shape of what she’d originally believed to be a jutting of rock climbing toward the sky.
But, no; worn and perfectly placed stonework held the foundations of MacDonnell’s keep. The moon’s pallid light occasionally bathed it in an ethereal glow, the sight producing a violent shudder down the length of Olivia’s spine. And she’d be staying here for the unforeseeable future.
The trio made their way silently across the natural bridge, the keep looming high and high above the closer they got. Warriors greeted them wordlessly at the outer wall, showing proper respect to their laird and a curious furrow Olivia’s way. Torchlight flickered within the keep proper, and expectedly, there wasn’t another soul wandering about this late at night.
But as they came up to the laird’s castle, the large, double-doors creaked open, a much older woman hurrying out across to greet the pair. Her silvery hair was partially done up and out of her face, a pair of warm, brown eyes widening at the sight.
“There ye are, Arthur!” She sighed with relief, immediately moving to embrace as much of the laird as her arms would allow. His mother, Olivia reasoned; she couldn’t think any other woman outside of a wife who might be so bold as to engage a clan’s laird in such a way. “Ye had me worried sick–I thought ye were just chasing down an injured buck?”
“He had a bit more fight in him then I anticipated.” The laird–Arthur, Olivia realized with a start–returned the hug warmly, Maesie excitedly circling the pair with a skip in her step. Arthur…no, that was entirely too familial.
Olivia grimaced, promising to herself that he would remain as, ‘Laird MacDonnell’. So lost was she in her own mind, Olivia completely missed the rest of the pair’s conversation, though she quite suddenly found herself the center of attention. His mother’s expression had changed from relief to curiosity, approaching Olivia with a welcoming smile.
“Ah…g-good morning,” Olivia managed.
Arthur’s mother chuckled lightly, offering her hand for Olivia to take. “I cannae believe my son happened to cross paths with ye–something awful powerful must be keepin’ ye safe, lass.”
Olivia wasn’t so sure about that. “A-Aye. I suppose it…must be.” She paused, adding quickly after the fact, “I’m grateful to yer son fer his help, Lady MacDonnell.”
“Aw, ye sweet wee thing.” Arthur’s mother laughed with surprising vigor, and moved to take Olivia’s hands for herself. “‘Tis Elspeth fer you, love. Or, ye can call me Mam!” She then gasped, both hands now covering one of Olivia’s as she rubbed them furiously. “Gracious, love! Yer hands are still cold as ice!”
“Ye got us standin’ out in the dim still, Mam,” Laird MacDonnell teased.
“Oh, aye, I do–well, come in, then!” Elspeth gently tugged on Olivia’s arm, ushering her inside the castle proper. “We’ll find ye a maid to run a warm bath–ye dinnae worry about her, Arthur! I’ll get her all set up.”
Admittedly, a bath did sound heavenly right about now. And the long day of walking, coupled with last night’s run from her clansfolk, put Olivia in quite the persuadable mood. So, without any fuss on her end, Olivia allowed the laird’s mother to lead her down the hall, leaving her savior–her enemy–alone in the entryway.
It didn’t take long for Arthur to get comfortable himself. After handing the horse off to stable hands and dropping his string of hares at the kitchen, he released Maesie for the rest of the night, watching as the deerhound bounded through the castle in search of his sister, if he had to hazard a guess.
Chuckling to himself, Arthur made his way to his room, changing out of his bloodied and dirt-smeared hunting gear before splashing his face with a nearby bucket of water. It wouldn’t be as effective as a bath, but he wanted to ensure he had finished far before Olivia had. Just as he finished belting his plaid, there was a gentle series of raps against his door. “Come in.”
The door eased open, his mother standing outside and positively beaming. “She looked so relaxed in to water, Arthur.”
