Page 72 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
Pride welled into Olivia’s chest, freeing her of the fearful haze she’d briefly been stunned into. With a quiet grunt, she worked to crawl back out from beneath the table, bow in hand, andslipped off into the marketplace, eyes cast towards the sky in search of a higher vantage point. Like hell she was going to stand by and let a stranger dictate her life. “This is for the people who got me this far,” she swore under her breath.
Marcus drew his sword in an instant, the remaining members of MacCulloh charging in to try and attack all at once. Arthur’s sword became a blur, clashing metal loudly ringing between his ears as the true fight began. He twisted to the right to catch a blade, then the left to try and sweep at his opponent’s legs. The pair stumbled back, catching their breath as Marcus barked out behind them.
“Ye make her sound far more important than she is, Laird MacDonnell.” With a wave of his hand, the men threw themselves back into combat, putting Arthur back on the defensive. “She just happened to stumble her way into the middle o’ things.”
Arthur’s sword whipped out once more, a crimson gash slicing across one of the warrior’s legs as he howled in agony. Arthur shoved against the injured man’s chest, sending him to the ground as the second attacker’s swing managed to slice through the top layer of his tunic. “I liked this, ye bastard!” He spun around, headbutting the man and wrenching the sword free from his trembling hands as he instinctively rose to cover his head. Then, Arthur turned back to the man on the ground, plunging the pilfered sword directly into the man’s chest, pinning him instantly.
“What could this snake have possibly promised that was worth betrayin’ yer clan, boy?!” Arthur snarled, sword pointed at the disarmed warrior cradling his head in pain.
Instead of answering, the warrior suddenly lunged towards Arthur, ducking beneath his sword and around to his back in an impressive burst of speed. Arthur bit back a pained gasp as something sharp pierced the back of his shoulder, and as his arm swept across to try and shove his attacker away, another gash appeared across his hand. The warrior skittered back, a dagger missing its pair spinning between his fingers.
“Revenge against the laird who destroyed it,” the warrior spat. “And to cut out the weed who ye twisted to yer side.”
Hearing Olivia be spoken about in such a way filled Arthur with a terrifying rage. He grasped for whatever stuck out of his shoulder and ripped it free, finding the dagger’s match before flinging it across, directly at Marcus’ head. Another of the MacCullohs suddenly appeared with a tall shield, the dagger thumping loudly against its wood-carved surface. More eyes watched from behind the stalls, the walls, the very shadows themselves; Arthur became acutely aware that he was, in fact, surrounded.
“All ye lairds are pathetically predictable,” Marcus sneered. “I barely had to lift a finger to get ye all to fight each other.”
He needed to find an opening somewhere. A warrior whose stance wasn’t balanced, someone not completely behind cover so he could overtake it. Arthur scanned and scanned, but couldfind no such opening to take advantage of. “Those lairds are yer friends. Or was that all a lie as well?”
Something briefly flickered across Marcus’ expression, his tone not as sharp as it once was. “Nay; they were like a second family to me. I dinnae wish to cause them pain, but…” he shook his head, as if genuinely regretting what he had done. “Just like yer wee lass, folks got in the way. Seventy years, I allowed our lands to be ravaged. But, soon, Braeriach will be put back to how it once was, no matter the cost.”
Arthur’s stomach dropped as realization began to creep in. “Duncan’s first wife…that was ye, wasnae it? To get him an’ Hector fightin’ again.”
“Not me directly,” Marcus clarified. “But, aye. Women are helpful pawns in rekindling conflict. And the fact that Johnson had been in love with her helped. Made it too easy to blame it on him after Hector and Duncan made peace.”
“And Evander’s castle,” Arthur continued. “What was the purpose o’ that?”
Marcus shrugged his shoulders. “Any war is better than no war. Even if the enemy doesnae exist. As long as it got me closer to my goal.”
“Which was?”
Marcus almost seemed thrilled to explain. “Unite the clans, of course. But under me own hand; a proper, steady hand, of a laird who isnae willing to throw his people into conflict.” He exhaled sharply, and Arthur swore he adopted a tang of bitterness to his tone. “I promised me faither as much…to take back what everyone tore from our family’s rightful hand.”
Arthur shook his head, almost unable to believe it all. “Why admit all o’ this to me?”
Marcus’ smile turned cutting, his sword lazily swinging at his side. “Ye’re a smart man, Arthur. I think ye ken I willnae let ye leave here alive.”
Witnessing such blatant cockiness only stocked Arthur’s fire further, but he kept his anger in check. This was no time to get lost in the thralls of the fight; one misstep would not only be his end, but Olivia’s. Their families’. The whole of MacDonnell clan, and beyond. He had to keep Marcus talking, had to force someone to make a mistake he could capitalize on. “And yer plan before Olivia appeared? Before ye warped the minds of such weak-willed men?”
“I can admit, ye were a tougher nut to crack than the others. No real enemy, no real weakness, enough loyalty to the other lairds in power that a simple slight against ye wouldnae send ye stumbling into conflict.” Again, Marcus shrugged, but it came off as far more condescending this time. “But as I said before; women are helpful pawns. Yer Olivia caused quite a stir wit’ the MacCullohs, and I saw a bit o’ meself in them.”
Arthur’s brow furrowed, noting the slight tremble of Marcus’ hand. He’d somehow managed to stumble upon a tender subject. “Ye mean how the lot o’ ye have the backbone of a slug?”
Marcus’ laughter was cruel, thoroughly enjoying the position he held in their stand-off. “How, because of foolish men, we both lost what made our clans great. I admit, yer demise will hold a special place in me heart, especially after I tell everyone all the terrible acts ye perpetrated against them.” He lifted his sword towards his face, gingerly cutting across his face as Arthur stared on darkly. “Cannae be very convincing without an injury or two, though. No one would believe the great Arthur Ross didnae go down without a fight.”
As if a secret cue, the men began to step closer, the shadows flickering from the corner of Arthur’s eye. He held his sword steady in both hands, resolving to take down as many men as possible. Resolving to give Marcus an injury by his own hand before destiny caught up to him. He had no need to worry about the latter half of his promise, though, as an arrow suddenly dug itself into the traitorous laird’s thigh.
And the scream he let loose distracted the others long enough for Arthur to take hold of the advantage once more.
37
Olivia almost couldn’t believe she had made that shot. The spot she’d found wasn’t exactly as close to the market square as she had wanted, and climbing up the stonework onto a domicile’s balcony had only caused her dress further harm.
Seams had popped from her hem, and the skirt had begun fraying from rubbing up against said stone. She was somewhat disturbed how easily she managed to scale the wall, though such a short distance was child's play in comparison to MacCulloh’s castle.
Her biggest worry had been somehow shooting Arthur entirely by mistake. But just like he did, Olivia bided her time, waiting for some form of opening. Whether that horrible man, Marcus, would cause it, or Arthur would instigate it, she wasn’t sure. But as Marcus lowered his sword, his guard, she knew her time had come. And, amazingly, she had made the shot.
Olivia watched as absolute chaos erupted below her, crouching below the balcony’s railing in an attempt to stay hidden. As Marcus’ scream filled the air, Arthur became a living work of art, slicing through her traitorous clan as if he were decapitating a field of flowers. His sword glinted against rays of sunlight, and as he practically flew across the ground, quickly closing the distance between himself and Marcus, Olivia couldn’t help but be reminded of their dancing during Rosie’s ceilidh.
