Page 22 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
Flora took her hands gently, a sweet–but concerned–smile crossing her lips. “Olivia…I’m not tryin’ to chase ye away. I just want to make sure yer not caught up in one of me braither’s schemes. A betrothal like this…” she sighed, giving Olivia’s hands a slight squeeze. “‘Tis the perfect means of getting the council off his back. And ye hardly deserve to be part of his nonsense; I’ve truly enjoyed the time we spent together, short though it may be.”
Oh, no. “I…truly appreciate yer concern, Flora,” Olivia began. “But I promise ye that me feelings fer the laird are true. The time we spent in the highlands–we really did grow to like each other.” Another lie told for Arthur’s sake. She was going to give him such an earful after this.
Flora still looked skeptical, though she offered a slight nod in reply. She turned back to watch the spar, Olivia joining suit and surprised at the sudden lack of shirts on the men’s bodies. Expectedly, Nathan’s gigantic frame was backed up by equally impressive muscle, but Arthur was more masterfully toned, the definition of his arms visible with each swing of his sword.
Sweat glimmered off the torchlight, and he moved as if he were the ocean itself, slipping between his opponent’s attacks like water through one’s fingers. She couldn’t help but stare…then, couldn’t help but notice all the other folks staring as well. Women in particular, ranging from maids tending to their duties to kinsfolk quite obviously ogling his frame.
“Aye, he draws quite the attention, doesnae he?” Flora asked innocently.
A spark of rage coursed through Olivia, and she felt a quite sudden desperation to have Arthur all to herself. There was even a moment where she was ready to throw a hand at any woman whose eyes lingered a touch too long, but this violent urge ultimately helped Olivia come back to herself.Ugsome troll, Olivia reminded herself, glaring at Arthur as if the blame entirely sat on his shoulders. His rippling, powerful shoulders, which could quite easily lift her up off her feet and carry her off to–
“–Olivia?”
She blinked, noticing how tightly she was squeezing the cloth of her dress. Olivia quickly smoothed her gown, arms crossing tightly over her chest as she tried to calm the fluttering heat building up in her core. “It–It’s hardly his fault all these lassies are staring. Not like he’s returning their affection.”
“Of course he wouldnae,” Flora agreed. “He’s far too focused on the fight itself. And every lass here respects his dedication to honing his skills. Though, if this were a festival…?”
Olivia’s gaze fixated on Flora, a desperate pang aching in her chest. “If it were?”
“Well, he wouldnae anymore” Flora emphasized quickly. “Not with yer betrothal an’ all.”
“But, if I were werenae here?” Olivia insisted.
Flora looked nervous, as if suddenly regretting voicing the thought aloud.
“Flora?”
She shook her head with a slight grimace. “Let’s just say, me braither wouldnae be wrestling with a sweaty man.”
A nervous peal of laughter caught Arthur briefly off-guard, allowing Nathan to strike out unexpectedly. He nearly lost his grip on his sword –a fact he’d never admit to out loud– and he quickly used the momentum to shift his positioning and angle his attack for a lower, looser sweep.
As expected, Nathan caught it, and the two found their swords locked in struggle. Arthur dug his heels into the ground, knowing full well that against such a massive opponent, he was destined to lose. And yet, he found his gaze drifting away from the fight and towards the laughter’s origin; to Olivia.
She stood beside his sister amidst the front of the crowd, face still flushed from her sudden outburst. Two, tight braids had been woven into her hair, Flora undoing some of her own head to tie around Olivia’s. A pair of brilliant sea lilies stood starkly against rubescent hair, and as Olivia’s eyes caught his own, Arthur once more found himself falling into the depths. A sea goddess, indeed. One whose wrath he wanted no part of any further.
With a quick huff, Arthur dropped one knee and shifted his weight to the side. Nathan came stumbling forward, startled by the sudden lack of support and unable to catch his massive frame as momentum took him towards the ground. The man-at-arms managed to catch his hand against the ground, going to spin back upright before he felt the blade settle neatly along his back.
“I think that may be a win for me, Nathan,” Arthur chuckled.
Nathan managed to crane enough of his neck around to shoot his laird a scowling look. But, he resigned himself to his fate and allowed himself to lay across the ground, a cheer rising up from the crowd as Arthur held his sword victoriously aloft.
After a beat, he helped his man-at-arms back onto his feet, eyeing Olivia once more. Much to his delight, his selkie was clapping alongside the rest of his kinsfolk, albeit more modestly, with a slight smirk and a raised brow set as her expression.
“Ye won this match, m’laird,” Nathan spoke in a hushed tone. “But it seems yer own war’s far from finished.”
“Aye,” Arthur replied, exhaling loudly before patting his man-at-arm’s shoulder heavily. “She’s certainly the worthiest opponent o’mine to date.”
13
As the crowd began to disperse for nightly activities, Olivia found herself watching Laird MacDonnell himself start towards her. It would have been far too convenient for him to simply exchange pleasantries with his sister, so Olivia prepared herself mentally for conversation.
“Och, brother," Flora chuckled lightly, pulling him in for a quick embrace. “Ye didnae have to be so rough with me dear husband.”
“Me?” Arthur’s face twisted into shock, putting on quite the act as the victim of the scenario. “Yer giant of a husband nearly crushed me!”
“That’s nae what I saw,” Flora chided, offering an encouraging smile Olivia’s way before going to see said husband next. Olivia stared awkwardly at her shoes, occasionally glancing up to catch Arthur’s eye.
“So, selkie?”
