Page 53 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
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It was a few more days before the ceilidh properly began, and Olivia fully immersed herself in preparations. Though Alison insisted she needed no help, there came a point where she no longer spoke up while handling a fussy Forrester. As such, Olivia spent her time preparing various dishes and tying the clan’s colors all around the keep, with Arthur occasionally slipping out of Laird Marsden’s study. And with him so busy, Rosie spent more and more time with Olivia, much to her delight.
“So, Uncle Arthur saved ye from a tarn?” Rosie asked, feet kicking over her chair as Olivia took a pan of bread from the oven.
“Aye, that he did.”
Rosie’s brow furrowed slightly. “But, why were ye swimming so late at night? Were it nay cold?”
“A-Aye, it was quite cold.”
Rosie’s brow furrowed further. “That wasnae very wise o’ye, Auntie ‘Livia.”
“Rosie!” Alison suddenly appeared in the door’s frame, Forrester in her arms and a flush on her face. “That’s nae how we speak to our guests.”
“But it wasnae wise, Mam!” Rosie insisted. “And she shouldnae do it again.”
“Yes, but-”
“And Faither says ye should always tell someone when they’re nae being wise,” Rosie huffed. “So that they stay safe.”
“Yes, but-”
“Oh, it’s quite alright, Alison” Olivia insisted. “I would much rather have someone speak candidly than cordially with me.” She set the pan aside, removing her mitten before patting Rosie’s head. “I shall keep yer warning in mind, wee Rosie. No more midnight swims for me.”
Rosie beamed brightly, hand reaching for a cooled shortbread.
“Daenae even think about it,” Alison called from farther down the hall. “Ye’ll spoil yer dinner.”
Rose grumbled under her breath, returning the treat with another huff. “‘Livia, are ye gonna get powers like Mammie when yer baby’s born?”
Olivia snorted with startled laughter, nearly tripping on her feet. “I’m nae expecting a babe, Rosie!”
“Aye, but ye will be,” Rosie insisted. “Once ye an’ Uncle Arthur get married. And when ye are, ye have to tell me if ye get powers like Mammie. Seeing through walls, and all that.”
Olivia turned, covering her mouth to repress awkward giggles. “I’ll be certain to do so, Rosie dear.”
At last, the proper day of celebration began, and the keep was filled with friends and family alike. Arthur stood beside the Marsdens properly, greeting newcomers with Rosie on one side and Maesie on the other. He sighed lightly, lamenting at the fact that he and Olivia hadn’t had a second to themselves. Outside of their impromptu archery contest (to which he was still recovering from his traumatic defeat by Rosie’s hand), Olivia barely had time to even tend to herself.
Poor Alison practically tied Forrester to her hip; this was the first time Arthur had seen her without the babe in hand. Of course, it was wonderful for Olivia to help–just another of her many qualities he found himself enjoying about her–but it would have been nice if she were a bit more selfish.
Or, perhaps just selfish for his sake.
“Why do I have to greet everyone, too?” Rosie grumbled, her face having settled into a semi-permanent scowl since the beginning of the greetings.
“’Tis the curse of leadership, rosebush,” Arthur replied with a wink. “Daenae worry; there arenae many guests left. Ye’ll be playing with yer new pup soon enough.”
“Fergus,” Rosie corrected him.
“Aah, excuse me. I hadnae realized ye named him already.” Arthur chuckled, offering a nod of apology. “‘Fergus’ will be eagerly awaitin’ yer return, Rosie. Just a few more folk left.”
Laird Marcus of MacGunn was the first of many familiar faces, his shockingly blonde hair fashioned neatly and icy blue eyes noticeably lowering the temperature around wherever he stepped. “A thousand greetings to ye, Laird and Lady Marsden. And to ye, Laird MacDonnell.”
Arthur nodded his head curtly, Maesie letting out a soft rumbling deep in her throat. He placed his hand reassuringly against the deerhound’s head, ensuring her protective nature didn’t make unnecessary enemies. “Ye’ll have to forgive me hound, Laird MacGunn. She doesnae do well around unfamiliar folk.”
“Aye, but what sort o’hound would she be if she doesnae protect her master?” Marcus offered a slight smirk, kneeling down to offer his hand Rosie’s way. “And a special greeting to the wee princess of the roses. I hope the next few days are filled with joy an’ laughter.”
Rosie eyed his hand for a moment, then begrudgingly took it.
