Page 4 of Outlaw Ever After

But as he retreated inside and closed the door, Peigi tiptoed down the stairs, along the walls of the quiet great hall. She stole into the kitchens, wisped behind the umbra of herbs hanging from the rafters. She collected some nuts, some cheese, a bun. The trees had just dropped and crab apples—tart and crisp—abounded. She took a couple, putting everything into a sack. Unhooking a flagon of watered wine, she unbarred the door to the herb garden, sneaking into the night.

She crept across the yard toward the granary. Climbing the ladder, she balanced her cold toes on the rungs—always barefoot—to the hayloft. She opened the window shutters wedged shut to keep the owls from roosting or the swallows from nesting within. Moonlight streamed a shaft into the dark.

She peered inside.

“Laddie,” she murmured. Nothing. “Laddie,” she breathed again, glancing at the sentries.

A rustling sound caught her ear. She stilled. Heart raced.

Something began to shuffle. A rat? A vole?

Her pulse pounded like hooves. Someone, or something , was climbing the stacks of grain. Grunting as if in pain. And then a face rose over the sill and stared hard at her with hollow eyes, so big and wide. The boy’s face was gaunt. His eye color was indistinguishable in the darkness, but his white-blond hair was matted and his cheeks were streaked with dirt.

“It’s ye,” he whispered hoarsely, a hunger in his simple words for some sort of connection. “Were ye the one singing?”

She nodded.

“Ye played the Irish lyre, too?” he asked.

Again she nodded. “My maw is from Éireann . She taught me.”

“Ye sang like a songbird.”

She smiled at his reverence.

“What are ye doing here?”

“They want to hang ye,” she said, nervousness shaking her words. “I brought ye food. And the blessing me maw puts under my pillow .”

She dug into her pockets and wobbled on the ladder.

She held out the wilted posy. He stared at it.

“A blessing for me?” His voice cracked, as if he couldn’t believe anyone in the world would do such a thing.

Her eyes watered, too. She nodded. “A hawthorn to drive away despair.” He inspected the hawthorn as self-consciousness trembled her fingers. “A clover, for good luck.” She pointed to the clover, his grubby fingers brushing hers, energy crackling through her skin and up her arms as heat burned her cheeks for what came next. “And a forget-me-not, so ye ken that I’m always praying for thee.”

She pressed a wee kiss to his lips—

Buzzing shot through her blood, a spark touching metal, like secrets whispering through the sidh .

They yanked apart, wide-eyed. Her mither always gave the blessing with a kiss but that had never… The sensation vanished.

And there was no mistaking his eyes, hollow before, shining brilliantly now, light glinting silvery green in the moonlight. Had he felt such intensity, too? Her mother always said she had the gift of Sight, but right now, what she felt was strange and elemental, like threads braiding fates together—

She wobbled off-balance on the ladder. He grabbed her. Winced as she steadied. He must be in great pain.

“What did they do to ye?”

He looked away, refusing to answer.

Two sentries changing shifts startled her from her trance. In the distance, leather slapped leather as wrists shook. She had to leave.

“I shall leave the window open.”

Sometimes right was wrong , and now, with everyone bent on avenging her sire’s death, being just was eluding them in favor of their anger.

“Why do ye help me?” he finally said as she began to descend.