Page 74 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
“I’m just glad y-ye’re not cross about the dress,” Olivia admitted, her voice wobbling with tears that had threatened to fall throughout the rest of the day.
Her mother simply scoffed in reply, muttering something about utter foolishness and material things before pulling Olivia into another tight hug.
More than anything, Olivia wanted to know how Arthur was fairing.
The children had long-since been taken out of the keep, taken to the grove of rowans once Alison was told of the terrible tragedy within her own home. The cooks had hastily packed a picnic from the wedding’s banquet, and the small group was accompanied by a number of Duncan’s best and brightest–there was no telling how far the murder plot stretched, how many of MacCulloh’s traitors still lurked in the shadows.
“I wish ye could come,” Rosie grumbled as the stablehands readied their horses.
“I ken, love. But Arthur needs me help here to clean up the mess.” Olivia smiled sadly, ruffling the girl’s hair with a wink. “But once we’re done, I’m certain Arthur will do whatever ye ask of him.”
“Really?” Rosie asked, eyes wide as her mind raced with possibilities.
“I truly believe that, Rosie-dear.”
Those were words Olivia held fast to as the afternoon tumbled into the evening. Belief was hard to maintain, but Arthur had been right; both lairds were reasonable men, and they would certainly believe the truth, once it was presented to them.
Nighttime fell over Marsden’s keep, and Olivia had nodded off on a chair outside the study. She only stirred at the sound of footsteps, immediately straightening herself, in hopes of seeing Arthur.
It was her mother, again.
“Perhaps ye should wait for him in his room. Ye shouldnae tire yerself like that.”
Or not. This was one time Olivia wouldn’t listen to her mother’s advice.
38
Aloud knock interrupted their conversation. “Let me in! I will only be a minute.” Arthur heard his selkie defying three Lairds at once. Now that was his bride. Duncan raised an eyebrow at him and Arthur shrugged. “She’ll probably nae stop unless I talk to her.” Arthur said and got to the door, carefully placing himself in front of her so the others wouldn’t see her.
“What is it, selkie?”
Her eyes were red from crying and dark circles showed him she hadn’t slept. He took in the chair by the door and sighed. “We just need to discuss what happened. Nothing more.” He says as reassuringly as he could.
“I know. That’s what I wanted to say. Everything will be all right, ye troll.” She gave him a small smile and went back to her chair, as he closed the door and returned to his seat.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to hear such reassurance until it came out of Olivia’s mouth. While he projected a rather confident appearance to his peers, there was a small part of him that worried. Perhaps Hector’s men would find something at the keeps that somehow incriminated him. Perhaps, somehow, the folks at MacCulloh and MacGunn would weave such a powerful tale of deception, that it would cause doubt amidst the other lairds.
Perhaps their wills would be unshaken, their loyalty remain strong; perhaps these fools wouldn’t fear death, should it mean keeping the truth from coming to light. These worries were new to him, unnerved him terribly, and he couldn’t show it to anyone here.
Yet, as Olivia came in defense of his honor, Arthur felt a small wave of relief wash over him. At the end of the day, she was there. And at the end of it all, she would stand by his side.
As expected, his fellow lairds had quite a few questions to ask of him. How he’d discovered Marcus’ ploy, why he didn’t share his suspicions with anyone else, why he decided to wait until his wedding day to spring his trap.
“During our meeting, he mentioned how close his keep was to MacCulloh’s, as well as an extensive messenger chain.” Arthur let out a breath, feeling the fatigue of the day growing heavier with each minute that crept closer to midnight. “I dinnae suspect him until after information about Olivia and mine’s whereabouts were discovered. I figured he’d try something big during me wedding–cause as much chaos as possible.”
“And ye were right,” Duncan admitted.
“But that doesnae explain why ye kept it to yerself!” Hector snapped. “We’re supposed to be yer allies, Arthur. If ye had told us from the start, we wouldnae have to go through this ridiculous song and dance.”
“Then, ye daenae think I attacked Marcus intentionally?” Arthur asked.
Both lairds exchanged similar looks with the other. “Ye thrive on violence, Arthur, but yer nay demented.” Duncan leaned back in his study chair, arms loosely crossed over his chest. “Ye’re nae the type to make the first strike. Ye only finish what another’s started.”
Arthur exhaled slowly, massaging a growing ache behind his temples. “I’m sorry I left ye pair in the dark. I couldnae be certain–I didnae want to cause a scene.”
Duncan simply rose a brow to this.
“All right–I didnae want to cause abiggerscene. And, truthfully,” Arthur admitted, “I didnae ken if either of ye were in league with him. I hadn’t suspected anything about Lucy back then, so I couldnae take that risk. Not with me family behind yer walls, Duncan. And not with yer armies so quick on their feet, Hector.”
