Page 61 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
Olivia’s face flushed terribly, and for a moment, she considered telling him off for being so bold, for grasping her without the slightest hesitancy or permission. But, something about his hands around her waist felt so natural…and, in truth, she worried for the time where such intimate moments would end.
Arthur seemed to catch his mistake, though, and began to pull away from her. “Ah, I–suppose I forgot about yer rule fer a moment, there.”
Much to Olivia’s surprise, her hands acted on their own, grasping his and setting them back against her hip. A mischievous smile crossed his face, and Olivia couldn’t help but turn away.
“Ye ken we daenae have time fer another go,” Arthur teased.
Now she shoved playfully against his chest, face hotter than the sun in summertime. “Och, ye scamper outta here, ye–ye wee ugsome troll! I never pack wit ye distractin’ me!”
More laughter rumbled from Arthur’s chest as he left the room, leaving Olivia to stand indignantly, hands crossed tightly against her chest. Though, if she hadn’t crossed them, she was certain they would grow limp at her side, tingling with desire to simply jump into bed and, as Arthur put it, ‘had another go’. Instead, she had little Rosie skip into her room next, and while Olivia certainly wasn’t going to send the girl away, she was…a different sort of distracting.
Rosie’s eyes watered the entire time Olivia packed. Not that she would willingly admit to being upset, of course; whenever she brought it up, the little girl simply wiped her face and protested loudly (something about lairds and ladies not crying over such foolish things). But as Olivia stood before the guest room’s mirror, ensuring her hair was tied tightly up and out of her face,she finally heard the faintest sniffling coming from behind an armchair.
“Oh, Rosie-dear…” Olivia moved away from the mirror, circling the chair as what looked to be a pile of quilts sitting atop of it. She gently removed the layers, a soft smile crossing her lips at the sad scene. Rosie had her legs curled tightly against her chest, feet propped against the seat of the chair as fat tears rolled down her flushed face.
“I–I’m nae crying,” she insisted, smearing the palm of her hand across her face. “Only wee bairns cry, like F-Forrester.”
Olivia sat across the ground, patting her lap gently as an invitation to Rosie. The little girl wasted no time scrambling down off the chair and into Olivia’s lap, head pressed against her chest as tears soaked her vest. “There isnae a thing wrong about feeling sad, love,” she insisted. “That just tells me how much ye care fer us.”
Rosie nodded, hands reaching out to clutch Olivia’s. “Will ye visit soon?”
Olivia’s smile turned to a smirk, and she leaned in to whisper something conspiratorially into Rosie’s ear. “Actually, I hear Arthur’ll be invitin’ all his dear friends to our weddin’. So ye’ll be visiting us very soon, Rosie.”
Rosie’s face immediately brightened against her tear-stained face. “Really? Are ye marrying right when ye get home?”
Olivia laughed, squeezing the girl into a tight hug. “Aye, such an impatient wee imp ye are! I would like to sleep a night in me bed, first.”
Rosie’s lips pursed thoughtfully, brow furrowing as she genuinely considered Olivia’s request. “Well…alright. But ye have to get married the next day, then. No, wait–it takes forever to ride to Uncle Arthur’s keep! Ye have to wait until I get there, first. Besides,” she added matter-of-factly. “It’ll give me time to teach Forrester the basics o’social edi–edakeh–?”
“Etiquette,” Olivia offered with a chuckle. “And, yes, it certainly would. I do believe that is a wise course of action, my lady.”
Rosie flashed a toothy grin, clearly thrilled to be called as such. “Write to me when ye’ve arrived back home, all right?”
“I think that can be arranged.” Olivia gave Rosie one more squeeze before letting her go. “It was very nice to meet ye. Thank ye again fer inviting us to yer ceilidh.”
Rosie offered a formal curtsy in response, only to burst into giggles and jump into Olivia’s embrace. “See ye soon, Auntie ‘Livia.”
“See ye soon, Rosie dear.”
“Ye’ll write to use when the date’s settled on, Arthur?” Alison inquired for the dozenth time that morning.
Arthur made a show of rolling his eyes, leaning close into Duncan’s ear and whispering loudly, “Yer wife seems far more eager for me marriage than I do, Duncan.”
“Aye, well, ye made us wait a long time fer this,” Duncan staged-whispered back, earning an approving nod and smile from his wife. The lairds separated soon after, Arthur reaching for the reins of his steed as Olivia trotted up beside him.
“Thank ye again fer hosting us so early,” Olivia began.
“Ooh, nay bother, hen! Just remember that kindness when we decide to pop in fer an unexpected visit.” Alison flashed a playful smile, lifting Rosie up and propping her against her hip.
“Sorry Forrester cannae say good-bye!” Rosie apologized.
“I’d be surprised if he did,” Olivia laughed. “Be awfully impressive, hearing one so young speak so eloquently.”
“Aye; I suppose ye’ll just have to say an extra-goodbye fer him, Rosie,” Arthur said.
Rosie took the request to heart, waving both hands and shouting loudly well-after the pair had directed their horses to the entrance of the keep. A few kinsfolk wished well-travels as they passed, and soon, Arthur was back out beneath the wide-opensky, Maesie running at his heel and Olivia’s steed following closely behind. They rode up the peaks and over the hillside, the pathway all-too familiar, yet somehow brand new, what with the company he kept.
They broke midday to water the horses, Arthur occupying himself with double-checking supplies and ensuring they were still on the quickest route homeward. Every so often, he’d cast a glance over his shoulder, catching Olivia staring back at him with Maesie circling curiously around her. She’d gathered the hem of her dress to act as a makeshift basket, carrying a number of forageables found within the bounds of their makeshift camp.
