Page 9 of A Virgin for the Beastly Highlander

Desperate for a distraction, she rooted through her trunks to find a book, an old English fable translated into French her mother had read to her as a child, and which she found comforting. Tristan et Iseult was a romance story, but she read it for the adventure.

Romance is an ideal I never thought will happen to me. Even now, with this marriage to Ó Riagáin, I suppose I’ll settle for a cordial friendship.

Starting from the beginning, she got to a third of the book before the scraping of her door had her head darting up. Ó Riagáin came in, rubbing his face, and Olivia stemmed her desire to go to him.

He cocked his hip on the opposite chair, “Well, it took me a while to get them settled, but they are now. Elder Balloch was out of order to ask ye that question.”

“I kent it would come up in time,” she said, reading another line. “T’was nay as if we’re a secret.”

His sigh was distinct, and he drew his boot up, scraping the floor. “What is that yer reading?”

She smiled, “Tristan fit atterrir dans une île, et, lassés de la mer, les cent chevaliers de Cornouailles et les mariniers descendirent au rivage.”

Ó Riagáin stared at her for a long while until it grew uncomfortable. “The love story of Tristan and Iseult?”

Her mouth parted in shock, “Ye ken French?”

“A little,” he shrugged. “Ye ken we Scots have an agreement with the French, aye. I learned enough to talk about peace.”

“It’s a lovely story,” she set the book to the side then gripped her skirts a bit. “What are the elders sayin’ now?”

“A good number of them have accepted ye, but I should let ye ken, they arenae as easily to be swayed entirely. They will need to see—”

“How true I am to ye,” Olivia said, her eyes darting to her lap. “I ken.” She looked up and dared to ask, “Last time before we…argued. I was going to ask ye if ye are perturbed with me kenning how to fight.”

His hawklike gaze met hers. “Respect is given when respect is due, and in fact, I appreciate ye fighting more than if ye were a wilting flower needing someone to watch over ye.”

“Thank ye,” she said, fighting the urge to curl her legs to her chest. “Me faither never understood it.”

“Why?”

She trained her gaze out the window, “He said it was unladylike and men are the only ones who should hold swords. Which is confusing because he didnae object to me learning how to throw daggers.”

“Matters nae,” Ó Riagáin said, drawing in a booted leg. “Listen lass, I must be frank with ye. This edict from the king must have meddled with yer life more than it was reasonable. Ye must have been set on some lad—”

She snorted without realizing it, drawing his attention. At his curious look, Olivia explained. “There was nay lad.”

“None?” His brow arched to his hair.

Olivia shook her head, “Well, nay for me faither’s trying. But I never made a connection with any of the Lairds’ sons or young lairds I met.”

“I still feel as if I am depriving ye of a better life,” Ó Riagáin said grimly.

She sighed then turned to meet his eyes, “I never hoped for a romance of the ages, or loving songs at moonlight, if that is what ye are thinking I do.”

“Why nae?” His brows lowered.

“I—” she paused. “—have nay answer to that. I suppose I never thought of it that deeply.”

Ó Riagáin nodded once, “All the same, I am sorry. I assure ye that while ye are here, ye will be taken care of and provided for, and live here in peace for as long as it may be. Anything ye would like will be yers, but as far as I am involved, this match is a marriage in name only.”

His words were blunt, but they did not hurt her. Olivia expected something of the sort. “I understand.”

An emotion flashed across Ó Riagáin’s face, as if he could not understand why she was being so accommodating to him. But he did not question it, instead, he accepted her words.

“Ye havenae problem with me fighting,” she steered the conversation back to an easier matter.

“Nay.”

---