Page 16 of Outlaw Ever After

He nodded. “He’s always wanted ye . This’s good, aye?”

No, it wasn’t, nor did it make sense. What laird wanted to marry a pedigreed lady who brought no riches to the board? “Please, I wish to have a say in this.”

His expression gentled. “What’s really wrong, Peigi?”

“I just…” She wrung her fingers together, eying MacGregor as he jested with Sir Donegal, Seamus’s first in command. Silly of her to feel such desperation, for her mystery man had made no declarations. “Nay him.”

He took her arms. “Ye’re past yer twentieth year. I finally have some coin for a celebration and the debt is mostly repaid. I want ye wed to someone powerful, and whilst I’m undecided, MacGregor does have a royal ear. His brother, Bale, has become an advisor to the Earl of Arran. Ye might remember Bale. He was there…that day—” Seamus’s words cut off. But she knew what he’d meant. That day . That name of Laird Bale MacGregor on the flyer who she didn’t actually know. When she’d been wee and her whole world was thrown sideways. “MacGregor carries political clout and will—”

“Warmonger and bring trouble aplenty to my doorstep when his enemies reave upon us.”

She remembered MacGregor’s fiery demands for the outlaw’s—the lad’s—hanging. The thought of marrying him—as kind as he’d been to her people—twisted her belly with unease. He, too, was under the illusion that the outlawed boy had murdered their sires. She couldn’t bear a lifetime trading in her brother’s anger for a husband’s.

Seamus’s hands dropped. She schooled herself and shook away memories of the laddie who’d once haunted her every dream, though now he’d taken only to echoing, an outlaw evermore. If Seamus suspected she was venturing toward that subject again, he’d quash it.

“No decision will be made today. Promise.” Seamus drew her to his chest. “But I wish ye to consider him.”

He kissed her forehead. “Go and be merry.”

Peigi snagged her lyre, whirling the strap across her chest, and hurried toward the greenwood, away from MacGregor’s silent perusal. She kicked off her slippers as she cut through the festival, across the contest fields, and vanished into the trees. Down the deer path, she splashed through a burn, soaking her hem. Pebbles poked her toes. So early, it was silly that her first thought was to come here when her reluctant warrior with the ink-stained fingers might nay have even broken his fast—

A flute trilled the melody they’d sung the day before: Thars a lass near inverness, sing oh sing ye laddie …

Green gems locked upon her. The man on her mind, groomed today with doublet fastened and weaponry sheathed about his form, curled his mouth into a grin as he pushed off the rock where he’d been leaning.

Chapter Four

A knot of tension uncoiled in Alex’s chest. She came . Like a fairy queen with her floral crown and slippers dangling from her fingers.

At her approach he fluttered the music and hopped a teasing circle around her.

She giggled at his foolishness. He could swear her posture relaxed upon seeing him.

“Are ye pleased to see me?” he murmured between notes.

“Of course nay,” she teased back, lifting her chin.

He lifted her instrument on her hip, waggling his brows. “Lyre .”

“Mon Dieu !” She laughed a genuine laugh, belying her typical quietness, then pushed his arm playfully as he dodged her and ducked around her. “Such a da’s jest.”

His grin hitched higher. He…liked the sound of that.

She twirled and tracked him in her deep sapphire gown, slants of light blinking through the trees setting her chestnut locks aglow.

“Ye came.” Relief lilted her remark. “I worried that ye’d be cured of yer interest in me.”

His brow furrowed and he dropped his flute as pink stained her cheeks and she bit her lip.

Something had flustered her.

“What ails ye?” He took up her hand and pressed those knuckles to his lips. He noticed those fingers didn’t have just callused fingertips, but also tiny cuts and nicks that spoke of a woman unafraid to work. Cured of his interest in her? Did this lass ken that all eve in the tavern tent, as the bonny wench who’d made sheep’s eyes at him at the spear throw had tried her best to seduce him, he’d only been able to think of her ? Nay wanting to touch the wench for fear it would ruin the draw he felt toward his songbird? A lass who inspired him, a lass whom he had no business consorting with?

She swallowed. “My brother tries to secure a marriage for me this morn.”

What in Christ’s name? “So soon? To whom?” he twisted out in disgust.

She exhaled, revealing a crack in her manicured demeanor. “A man of money and prestige and, oh.” She flitted her hand dismissively. Interesting. She didn’t approve of her brother’s matches? Aye, and she has a brother to take my head if I steal a kiss after all . “The first contender yesterday has already been twice widowed, once by a woman who bore him eight bairns and the second who bore him five. A religious sort. Carries much clout and yet, smells of stale ale and garlic and I’m certain nay washes his hair frequently,” she said.