Page 64 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
A pained wail slipped out from Olivia’s bundle, and Alison quickly returned to the scene. “Duncan, I told our best to go and reinforce the border.”
“Good,” Duncan said. “The last thing we need is the MacCullohs growing bolder.”
“Arthur, the other lairds havenae left, yet–ye’ll need to tell them what happened.” Alison’s voice softened, her gaze lingering on Olivia’s bundled form. “Help me wit Olivia, first. I cannae carry her inside by meself.”
Arthur tightened his grasp, knowing full well what Alison was implying.
“We need to have a meeting, Arthur,” Duncan insisted. “Olivia will be safe with me wife and her ladies.” He set a reassuring hand on Arthur’s shoulder, looking directly into the bloodied laird’s eye and speaking with a level of sincerity Arthur had never heard from him before. “I ken yer faith’s shaken, but ye have to trust us.”
He did. He knew he did, and it was killing him inside. “I’ll find ye in yer office once I ken Olivia is safe.”
Duncan nodded, and Arthur strode past him, following Alison toward the castle as he held fast around Olivia’s bundled form.
Time became a bit of a hazy concept to Olivia. She recalled the sky, the bright sunlight that followed her and Arthur as they rode together across the highlands. She remembered the bodies, the blood, Bhaltier’s younger face as she tried to shoot an arrow at the target…
Then, darkness. The warmth of a beating heart and the body heat of someone she knew would do anything to protect her. She clung to Arthur’s voice as he held her, as familiar names chimed into a conversation she was only partially aware of. She nuzzled her head further against his chest, her arisaid acting as another, comforting layer of protection.
But, eventually, a door closed gently behind her, and she felt herself be set across a plush mattress. As her arisaid was removed from the top of her head, she blinked furiously, rubbing her eyes to adjust to the candlelit room. Immediately, her eyes found Arthur’s, sitting loudly at her bedside as he quickly inspected her for…injuries? Distress?Likely both,Olivia decided.
“Listen, selkie,” Arthur spoke gently, as if ensuring he didn’t scare off a deer in the woods. “I need to leave ye in Alison’s capable hands.”
Panic clawed its way up Olivia’s throat. She grasped for something to anchor her, Arthur’s hands immediately moving to take her own.
“Olivia, love?” Alison’s motherly tone immediately caught Olivia’s attention. “He’ll nae be gone fer long. He needs to tell the other lairds what happened, so they can all make a plan to protect ye.”
“I ken ye’re scared right now,” Arthur continued. “But I trust the Marsdens wit me life. So, if ye cannae trust yer judgement right now, put it in mine, instead.”
Olivia’s eyes squeezing tightly. She didn’t want him to leave—she wouldn’t survive if he left her here.
“Do ye trust I’ll return?” Arthur asked. “Do ye trust me to protect ye?”
She did. She truly, sincerely did. Still, Olivia had trouble letting go of his hand, and she exhaled loudly, trying to find her voice. “C-Could ye leave me with a kiss?”
Arthur leaned in immediately, placing his lips gently against her forehead. The sensation lingered long after he’d gently pulled his hand free and crossed the room, leaving Olivia alone with Alison and her fellow ladies.
33
Duncan’s study was in uproar as the lairds tried to voice their idea. Hector spoke at great lengths about launching a campaign against the MacCullohs, with Arthur quietly agreeing under his breath. He wanted nothing more than to rid the highlands of such a traitorous clan, to watch the life fade from the eyes of the last MacCulloh. But instead, he exhaled loudly, trying to remove as much anger from his system as possible before he spoke.
“Ye ken Olivia willnae have it,” Arthur said, ensuring his voice carried over the rest. “We’re nay going to wipe out her family clan, Hector.”
“Ye say that after they attacked her so boldly?!” Hector spat.
“I’m more concerned withhowthey discovered their whereabouts.” Duncan sat back in his chair, arms folded beneath his chin as his brow knitted in contemplation. “It’s worrisome to think there is a leak in our information chain.”
The laird of Marsden made an excellent point. Arthur had made sure no word of the ceilidh left his own castle’s walls, and the MacCullohs were too far away to hear it directly from Duncan himself. Hector certainly could have used the gathering as a way to lure the clan in and take them out, but that would be entirely too much effort. And, on top of that, it would ruin the fragile peace he’d made with Duncan.
Arthur glanced around the table, Hector and Duncan’s continued discussion falling to the background. Marcus had remained quiet during their exchange, looking particularly annoyed as discussion over a possible leak remained the topic of interest. Something he’d said earlier bubbled into Arthur’s memory, and he tried to wrestle it into clarity.
“It doesnae matter how the MacCullohs learned of Olivia’s whereabouts,” Marcus finally said. “What should be the focus is their fate. I daenae trust a clan so easily swayed to violence; Hector is right. We should send our armies and take MacCulloh’s keep for our own.”
Duncan’s fist slammed against the table. “I willnae condone such violence! We only just escaped a terrible war between meself an’ Hector. We daenae need to add to the tally o’dead.”
“That’s why ye would have lost against us, Duncan,” Hector growled. “Ye cannae make the difficult choices a laird must often make.”
“Abstaining from violenceisa difficult choice,” Duncan snarled back. “Though I can make an exception, if ye think o’ threatenin’ me like that again, Laird McKimmon.”
“That’s enough.”
