Page 112 of Outlaw Ever After

“Steal a kiss and twirl the miss,” she teased. He grinned. Her playful side again, finally. “I will have to dance again and tonight, I want to dance with ye .”

“Ye’ll have me, lass.” His heart burgeoned, to be so wanted, and he whispered, “Go, before someone finds us, so naybody tries to take me head.”

She began to leave, yet he pulled her back. Leaned down and kissed her well-softened lips. Let her go again—pulled her back once more and planted another kiss upon her, earning a sweet giggle, even if frustration at their situation leached into his blood.

And Kendrew was never touching her again. Not until he got to the bottom of this. If Richard MacGregor had been stripped of land and title for being a heretic and turning traitor, then how had Bale become a laird of those very lands? How did he get away with being Protestant in a Catholic court?

And something wasn’t sitting right about what she’d said about Seamus. When Alex had eavesdropped on him, he’d heard a hesitant man who valued caution and methodology over anger and action, nay the type of man ready to make haste for a troop of soldiers to string him up.

Peigi’s confession of what she’d once witnessed also raised questions about who had truly done it, who this dark-haired fellow was. And Kendrew…vying for Freuchie on the River Spey when Richard MacGregor had been stripped of not just Glen Lyon, but also his promise of an estate in Speyside?

Chapter Thirty-Five

Soul Mass. Wrestling match and Souling Night. Second day of November.

Alex strangled Maxwell’s wrist. Tight . Forced his arm above his head to reveal the knife he’d discreetly brandished.

The crowd at the wrestling match roared their disapproval as the knife finally fell from Maxwell’s grip.

Villagers dipped beneath the bunting, fists in the air.

“Tell me, are blades nay forbidden?” Alex snarled in Maxwell’s ear as they grunted against each other’s force.

“Halt!” shouted Sir Donegal, storming onto the pitch turning to mud in the relentless mist. “What is this?”

Maxwell’s lips pinched shut. Alex pushed away as Maxwell added another step between them, and Alex noticed how Maxwell’s eyes flashed across the yard. To MacGregor. MacGregor shrugged indifferently. He was going to let Maxwell take the fall.

Be damned. Maxwell had been so easily swayed from a friend on yesterday’s hunt, to a foe now.

Greed did that, he suspected. After Peigi had mentioned the history book, it was too much of a coincidence that MacGregor was fighting for lands that had once been promised to his sire. It was strange that his brother was laird of lands that had been stripped of their sire. It smelled rotten.

“Explain yerself!” boomed Sir Donegal. Maxwell turned to Alex.

“Anyone put ye up to this?” Alex murmured under his breath. “MacGregor, by chance?”

Maxwell chewed a retort unto submission. “Nay. If I point my finger, MacGregor’s brother in Arran’s administration will target me with more taxes.”

Bale.

“Ye draw a blade?” Donegal commanded, arriving before them.

Swallowing his pride, Maxwell nodded stoutly. “I let my anger guide me. I meant no wrong.”

Nay, he’d let his greed guide him. He’d absolutely meant wrong.

“Ye violate yer contract committing to good sporting. Under Laird Grant’s command, I am to uphold fairness. Collect yer bags and leave the estate. Now .”

Maxwell shook his head, eying MacGregor once more, but stormed off. Disqualified.

As the wrestling throughout the day progressed, Alex found himself opposite Ross. He grunted to hold Ross down. Having already bested two others, he was tired. He braced Ross into the mud, his legs splayed and torqued, a knee plunged in the mud and the other across Ross’s legs, an arm linked through Ross’s elbows while the other pinned down his neck.

His injured shoulder burned, the stitches close to tearing.

Ross struggled valiantly, but the sand in the glass finally ran through.

“Sir Alexander has three wins!”

Alex hoisted himself up as the crowd cheered and waved their kerchiefs or punched the air, and he heard Peigi cry, “He did it!”