Page 39 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
“We cannae do that anymore, selkie,” Arthur whispered gently. “It has to stay a ruse.”
Olivia blinked furiously, wanting nothing more than to fall into his embrace. But he put up a chilling air around him; cold, distant, incredibly clear that he wanted her to keep his distance. She stood and took a step away from him, fingers brushing the braid he had done so carefully in her hair.
“Ye ken, ye could have just announced I’m under yer protection without convincing people we were betrothed. I’d still be safe here, I think. Why insist yer fake betrothal to be me then?” she managed to croak out.
Arthur’s hand reached out, and she leaned forward once more, desperate to feel his warmth against her face. “I’d like to know that meself, selkie,” he replied, withdrawing his hand and stepping around her toward the door.
Olivia watched him go to leave, a terrible panic grasping at her chest.
“Daenae ye ever think about making this real?”
Arthur’s shake of the head stabbed her chest worse than any knife ever good.
“But why not?”
The door opened up, with Arthur stepping beneath its frame and closing it wordlessly behind him.
But why not?
Arthur shook his head, bracing himself against the wall opposite Olivia's bedroom door. Anger trembled throughout his body–at himself, for allowing it all to get so out of control. The way Olivia had looked at him nearly made Arthur break there and then; he had to leave, knowing full well that if he had stayed, he would have certainly struggled to follow Olivia’s one and only rule.
Was that how she looked when she learned of her father and brother’s deaths? Was that how she looked when her clan turned against her? He never wanted to see that look again–a gut-wrenching mixture of disappointment, of betrayal, of a lie coming to light and shattering the world around her. “But…” Arthur sighed, forcing himself to take a step away from Olivia’s room.
But, he couldn’t imagine how much worse that look would be if they wed. If they begin to build a life together, have children…only for fate to take him away from her. She would wear thatlook for the rest of her days, alone in a strange land with children who were lucky to make it another day alive. The highlands were savage, merciless; it demanded its pound of flesh from the lairds who lived beside it, and Arthur was no exception.
“I willnae leave her a widow,” Arthur resolved once more, tightening his fists as he picked up his pace. More than anything, he needed to relieve the burning in his chest. The aching desire he held for Olivia–it needed to be channeled elsewhere. And without emotional connection as an option, Arthur turned to the only thing he knew with more certainty than his destiny; violence. So, without another glance cast towards Olivia’s door, he made his way through the castle and out to the training grounds, desperate to reclaim the first thing that gave him life after Olivia had all but encompassed his reasoning.
21
The rain only grew worse as the night stretched on, and Olivia found herself tossing and turning terribly. Night terrors plagued the corners of her mind–of her mother abandoning her, of her brother and father dying in front of her eyes, of Arthur coldly staring over a mountain of corpses, eyes as dead as his victims. She let out a frustrated groan and sat upright, a flash of lightning briefly blinding her from her window as rumbling thunder followed suit.
“Bloody eejit,” she grumbled under her breath, wrapping a robe around her still-trembling body. “Daft, doaty gowk of–of an ugsome troll!” Her foot struck out against the bed’s wooden stand, more curses streaming out at the throbbing ache. Olivia hobbled to one of the armchairs, collapsing into it with a hiss. “Now me foot’s hurt, and it’s–it’s all his fault!”
It was not, of course, and Olivia knew that. But blaming him was better than having her heart ache because of him, so shecontinued to tarnish his name under her breath. At least, until someone knocked lightly on her door.
Getting herself together, Olivia stepped lightly across her room, opening the door and injecting as much polite sweetness as she could. Though, that immediately soured to venom as she stared at Arthur on the other side. She didn’t even give him the chance to speak, closing the door respectfully in his face.
“Olivia?”
“It’s late, m’laird,” Olivia called out. “I’m very tired and daenae wish to entertain anyone.” Clarity grasped her for a brief moment, leading her to realize she’d just closed the door on the laird who was–very generously–allowing her to stay in his keep. A laird known for killing sprawls of folks for lesser infractions against him. A laird who had, on numerous occasions, completely decimated clans from the highland’s history books. Spinning on her heel with a swear, Olivia moved to open the door once more, but stopped as Arthur spoke up,
“Ye daenae have to entertain me, Olivia.” A pause, a breath, then, “But, I’d appreciate it if ye hear me out.”
Olivia weighed her options carefully. On the one hand, she really didn’t feel like speaking to Arthur any further tonight. On the other hand, he currently wasn’t dragging her forcefully out of her room by the hair, which he had every right to do after the disrespect she’d just shown him. She sat her back against the door, legs tucked against her chest as she hugged her arms around them.
“That’s…fine, I suppose.”
She waited for what felt like a good, long while, hearing the laird breath through the door and pace about. He seemed to be just as unsure as she was–something rare, for such a dangerous man–and finally, Arthur’s monologue began. “Ye asked me earlier why I cannae make the betrothal official. And, truthfully…” a beat of silence. “Truthfully…you were nae the first I was set to marry.”
Olivia’s brow rose slightly, a new rush of questions bubbling up her throat. She opted to stay quiet for now, waiting to see how deeply Arthur would willingly go to dig his own grave.
“Her name was Sasha,” Arthur went on. “Sasha MacKay; her clan was one under a few o’me braither-maithers. Uncles me maither hadnae spoken to in years. Conquerors, like meself nowaday, but when they realized ‘twas their own nephew’s clan they had their eyes set on, a deal was struck. A marriage of convenience; an alliance betrothal with me own cousin.”
Arthur grew silent, and Olivia couldn’t help but feel a pang of dread forming in her stomach. “Did…something happen to her?”
“Nae her, specifically,” Arthur explained. “One thing led to another, and I ended up in a brawl wit the eldest o’me Mam’s braithers. He had his own, twisted way o’lookin’ at th’world,” Arthur sighed heavily. “And I wasnae willing to compromise me own ideals.”
“Is…that how ye lost yer…?”
