Page 40 of Outlaw Ever After

“What be yer business, man?” Seamus, studying her, finally seemed to heed her discomfort and changed his questioning.

Alexander’s glare darted away from her and landed squarely on Seamus.

He withdrew a scroll from his satchel and handed it to Seamus, who ripped the seal open and snapped his wrist to unfurl it.

“Laird Seamus Grant, Earl of Morriston . On behalf of the Lord High Treasurer of Scotland, his Grace the Archbishop of St. Andrew, I, Alexander Stewart Esquire, Royal Deputy Comptroller, summon ye immediately to Court. Ye’re to face inquisition in the matter of yer arrears owed to the Crown regarding yer charter of Castle Freuchie.”

A dark grin lifted the apples of Alexander’s cheeks, revealing his bloodstained teeth tinged red with satisfaction.

The hall quieted.

“I’m here to inspect each location where ye used royal funds to perform repairs after, eh,” Alexander looked over the rim of the parchment in her brother’s hand, “ye damaged the castle in a reave years ago? Ye will produce every record, reveal to me every repair, so I may correlate with my records and ensure ye nay owe more than it indicates. Ye will do this before departing for Edinburgh.”

Alex cocked a brow despite his swelling eye, but Peigi’s blood pumped harder. Was Seamus’s charter in jeopardy? Was she at risk of losing her dower property? Not as if she’d wanted this spectacle, but she needed the castle in order to ensure a quick marriage. Why was Alexander delighting in Seamus’s embarrassment?

“Ye’re more of a blackguard than I realized,” she whispered.

“Ye celebrating an engagement, my lady ?” Alexander asked with that shite-eating grin, glancing around. Yet his jaw ticked with accusation.

“When I win this tournament she will be,” said Kendrew smoothly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “And when I win, ’twill nay be a handfast. ’Twill be the kirk wedding she deserves.”

Alexander’s glare trained upon MacGregor’s touch as if he wanted to stab his dirk beneath each of MacGregor’s fingernails. His nostrils flared and that tick in his jaw jumped harder.

Was he angry at Kendrew for touching her? He had no right to be, for it wasn’t as if he’d wanted her. Still, she slipped discreetly free.

The other contestants grumbled. “Nay truth, man… Wishin’ upon stars, he is…”

Alex snatched a tournament invitation from another contestant’s hand. His eyes roved over the words and narrowed murderously as his chest rose and fell. Then his eyes lifted to hers and she swore she saw a flash of hurt.

Hurt? Him? He hadn’t been compromised, abandoned, and then threatened with losing his dowry.

How she wished she could enshroud herself in shadows! She lifted her chin instead. Her cross to bear for the stain of dishonor she’d brought upon the Grant name. Even if her lip tremored and shame reddened her cheeks.

“Hell, ye’re all fearsome competition if ye were given such an enthusiastic welcome as I, a mere parchment pusher sent on an errand,” he chuckled darkly.

“…Nay possible…he’s a warrior through and through…” murmured voices in the crowd. “…No mere administrative lackey can fight off nine guards as weel as he just did…”

So he truly had taken employment with the Crown. Apparently he could tell the truth, sometimes.

A scheme brightened Alex’s eyes. Cocksure, stirring the cauldron like a wily mage. She’d loved his recklessness. How he’d had no worry for tomorrow, living on the whims of today.

“Were ye beaten when ye arrived, Laird Graham?” Alex asked.

Oh God… She’d once told him about Laird Graham’s suit.

“Of course, nay.” Graham stood, licking chicken grease from his lips and adjusting his belts around his paunch.

“Hmm. Ye?” Alex nodded toward Lairds Maxwell and Gordon, burly warriors who both shook their heads.

“No? What about ye, MacGregor? Were ye deemed so much a threat as to be beaten?” Alex arched that same brow. He hooked an arm around him as if long-lost mates from boyhood and slapped his chest. “Huh. ’Twould appear to be an honor just for me…”

MacGregor frowned, straightening his coat with a tug as Alexander released him, a twinge of discomfort tensing his mouth as he swung free his injured arm.

He needed treatment. His eye swelled in a dangerous way. His lip, too, was fattening, as did his nose keep staining his coat with a rogue’s finest red paint, as if he didn’t notice. She shouldn’t care, and yet, he’d sustained that stab protecting her .

“Ye’re that cretin, Reaper,” Kendrew muttered.

Alex didn’t answer.